Wild Cat Read Online Free PDF Page B

the other pill. Two pills in the morning. Two in the evening. Got it?”
    I stare at the white, chalky dust in the bottom of the can. “Won’t it taste horrible?”
    “I never tried one, but it probably does,” Hank admits. “Which is why you mix it with oats. Okay?” He nods and starts to leave.
    “How much oats?” I know I’m bugging him with too many questions. But I don’t want to do it wrong.
    Hank’s about as patient as they come, but he sighs. “Two of the scoops, Kat. They’re in the green bin with the oats. And leave the scoop in the bin when you’re done. Okay?”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    Hank heads for the door, but he turns back. “Second thoughts?”
    “Not on your life, cowboy.” I pick up the pliers and wave good-bye to him.
    Once he’s gone, I shake out the second pill. I position the pliers just like Hank did, hold the pill over the can, and squeeze.
    Nothing happens.
    I try again. I squeeze harder. And harder. My hand aches. My shoulder hurts.
    “I can do this,” I mutter. I use both hands and every bit of muscle.
    Dakota sticks her head into the tack room. She’s got her horse, Blackfire, by the reins. “Everything okay in here?”
    “Great. Thanks, Dakota.”
    She doesn’t look like she buys it, but she leaves.
    This is ridiculous. I try everything, including beating the stupid white pill with the pliers. It doesn’t even crack.
    How can I be so useless? I can’t even break a pill.
    God, I don’t suppose You’d like to have lightning strike this pill? Or a tiny earthquake, maybe?
    Nothing happens.
    Didn’t think so.
    Then I get an idea. Hank has hammers hanging on the wall, neatly organized by size. I pull one down and raise it over the pill. “Great idea, Kat,” I mutter, “if you really want to splatter medicine all over the tack room.”
    But if I had a plastic bag . . .
    I check to make sure Dakota and Hank are in the pasture. Then I make my way to the house and get a box of plastic sandwich bags. Back in the tack room, I drop the evil pill into the bag, sealing it and then double-bagging it to be safe.
    “Here goes.” I lift the hammer with both hands and bring it crashing down on the pill. It breaks into several pieces, all of them staying inside the bag. “Gotcha!” I exclaim.
    A few more well-placed whacks, and that pill is dust. I empty the bag into the coffee can with the pill Hank crushed. Then I dump in oats and shake it up. The white powder blends in with the oats, making it look like cookie mix before you put the butter in. The whole thing smells too familiar. Not like cookie dough, though. More like the hospital. I sure hope horses don’t have a great sense of smell.
    Holding out my precious bute mixture, I walk to the stalls. When Hank and Dad started Starlight Animal Rescue, they rebuilt the whole barn, designing the stalls so horses could see out as much as possible. The top of the stallway door is always open so horses can see us coming. The back of the stalls on this side of the barn open into the pasture.
    The pony’s back stall door is shut on the bottom, but the top is open. Through it, I see Hank cantering Starlight in the pasture, the Paint’s tail flowing behind her. Dakota and Blackfire are trotting after them, with the gray mare on a lead behind her.
    The pony is standing alone and silent in his stall, his neck so low his nose almost touches the straw bedding. I want to go in and put my arms around his neck. But I won’t.
    “We have to get you well so you can play with the other horses, Pony. And I can’t keep calling you Pony, either. You need a name.”
    Kitten climbs the gate, then pounces on my shoulders. She rubs her face against my cheek and purrs.
    “I love you too, Kitten. Help me think of a name for this skinny pony.” It hurts to see his ribs poking out from his dull coat. I know there’s a beautiful chestnut under that dusty brown. “Chestnut.” I roll the name around in my mouth. “What do you think, Kitten?”
    Kitten