By Katelyn S Alcott

I’m a woman with no maternal instinct. I’ve never even had a pet. I’ve certainly never rescued an animal before. But here I am, in the corner of the vet’s office with a carrier in my arms. The air has the harsh sting of antiseptic, mixed with the unmistakable blend of honey and shit that is wet dog. The woman behind the counter calls me over and holds up a clipboard. She’s grinning. I hate her. 

“And who do we have here?” she gurgles into the carrier. 

I pull away, hiding it from her eyes. Is this an act, or does she actually like this job? 

“You’ll need to fill this out,” she smiles, handing me the clipboard. She’s totally Ed’s type. Ed was always going on about how he wanted a woman who’s good with animals, good with kids. Fertile. He said I’m just good to look at. Like I’m a damn painting. 

So three days ago, when I found the egg beside the frozen pond in the park, I took it home. A few hours later, the thing was on the heating pad I use when my endometriosis gets bad. I tried to find out the species by looking at images of eggs online. It was large, which had me thinking it was a duck. 

I was wrong.

The first line of the form asks for the name of my pet. I skip that. We aren’t on a first-name basis. The next line asks me to circle species: cat, dog, bird, reptile, other. I lower my head to the mesh carrier and peer inside. Two beady black eyes glint at me from within, poking out from behind leathery wings. There’s a nervous hiccup, followed by a release of smoke and a whiff of sulfur. I look to see if anyone noticed. A woman to my right carries what I can only assume was once a chihuahua. The now toothless lump is clutched in her arms like an infant. Neither one is paying attention to me. I consider reptile. I circle other. 

When the tech calls my name, I smirk at him. Ed. My ex. I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for this creature. To be a good caregiver. Ed takes my clipboard with a smile that doesn’t show his teeth. I follow him into the exam room. 

“So you’re stalking me now?” he asks when the door shuts.

“I’d like to speak to the vet about—”

“Oh please, is there even anything in there?” Ed hunches over to look into the bag. There’s a clicking noise, then flame licks the mesh. The bag is surprisingly hardy. I found it discarded on the street. Someone’s cat must’ve died. It’s too big and smells like piss, but so far, it’s flame resistant. Like children’s pajamas. 

Ed jumps back, extinguishing his thick eyebrows. He needed a wax anyway. “I’ll get the vet,” he says. 

But from the small glass window, I can see that he doesn’t get the vet. He walks to the front desk, whispers with Smiley, his hand on the small of her back. They both look toward me. I sit down in the squeaky metal chair. I’ve never been to a vet, but I’m sure these things always take forever. Like at the doctor. You just gotta be patient. 

I wait ten minutes. There’s a noise out front, and I poke my head into the hall. A camera crew. A goddamn camera crew. And Ed points at me. Snitch. There’s no way I’m talking about this thing on Channel Five. I hate cameras. Ed knows that. 

I consider leaving the carrier. I’m not cut out for this motherhood thing. But when I picture the leathery little guy pinned up in a museum, I grab the damn thing and run. 

I collide with the vet. “Bathroom?” I ask, since there’s no other reason to be running in a vet’s office. But she’s not looking. She’s noticed the cameras.

In the bathroom, there’s a window near the ceiling. I step on the sink and crawl out. I haven’t crawled like this since the third grade. The carrier gets stuck and I’m dangling from the window with my belly on the hard frame. There’s two news vans and a woman with a microphone out front. I can hear the vet shouting at them to leave. They’ll see me. I roll, unzipping the bag and shoving the creature in my sweatshirt pocket. I leave the bag on the floor. 

The creature is warm, and sits like a heating pad against my stomach as we run down the street. I’m scratching his chin, and his little wings curl around my hand as we run. I’m in front of Ed’s house before I know where I’ve gone. 

“Don’t ever get a boyfriend,” I say, wrapping my hands around his boney frame and placing him on my shoulder so he can see the house. It starts to snow, and I feel a warm snout against my ear. He coughs, and I light a cigarette with his flame. The two of us stare at the house. 

“You wanna start a real fire?” I ask. I flick my cigarette, still lit, towards the front porch. The creature clicks, flames bursting from his chest, his tail tickling my shoulder. He really is a sweet little guy.