Free Who's Kitten Who? by Cynthia Baxter

has so little control over her own pets,” Dorothy observed, grabbing Mitzi out of her husband’s arms and regally lowering herself back onto the couch. “Especially since she’s in the dog grooming business.”
    “That’s not what I do,” I said in a strangely high-pitched voice.
    “Don’t you? I thought your job was cutting poodles’ fur into those horrid little poofs.”
    I bit my lip. “I’m not a dog groomer,” I replied, sounding so polite even I was impressed. “I’m an animal doctor. I’m sure Mitzi has a veterinarian you bring her to regularly.”
    Dorothy sighed tiredly, as if this topic of conversation was so boring it was exhausting her. “I’ve never been a pet person. Aside from Mitzi, of course. But she’s not a dog, is she? You’re my little girl, aren’t you, Mitzi-Bitzi?
Aren’t
you?”
    I opened my mouth to speak. But before I had a chance to give my future mother-in-law a piece of my mind, Nick reached over and squeezed my hand.
    “Getting into vet school is even more competitive than getting into medical school,” he said calmly.
    “Animals always seem so
dirty
to me.” Dorothy cast poor Lou such a scathing look that he dropped his head and slunk away. “Not my Mitzi, of course,” she continued. “But she thinks she’s a person, don’t you, Mitzi-Bitzi? And that’s because we’ve always treated you like a member of our family. You’re the sister Nick never had, aren’t you?” Pointedly she added, “And she’s as clean as any other little girl.”
    Perhaps the cleanliness standards at the local Holiday Inn would be more to your liking, I thought, feeling my blood heat up from simmer to boil. Or we could always set up a tent outside.
    In fact, I was just about to suggest that alternative housing might be a good idea when the room suddenly exploded with a deafening “
AH-CHOO!”
    We all looked over at Henry, who had rallied from his stupor just in time to grab a dish towel–size handkerchief out of his pocket and thrust it against his face with alarming ferocity.
    “Ahchoo! Ahchoo! Ah-ah-ah-
choo
!”
    “Are you okay, Dad?” Nick asked anxiously.
    “It’s my allergies,” Henry replied. “I’m sure the antihistamine effects of the Benadryl will kick in soon, but sometimes it takes a while—
ah-choo
!”
    “What are you allergic to?” Nick asked. He glanced at me accusingly, as if I’d gone out of my way to spray pollen throughout the house or something.
    “Cats,” Henry and I said in unison. He’d barely gotten the word out before he broke out into another string of sneezes.
    I cast Nick a look of total desperation. One that was designed to communicate,
Plan A is not working. It’s time to come up with a Plan B.
    But he didn’t seem to be able to read my expression. Either that or he chose not to.
    You can still back out of this, I told myself. Getting engaged is not like getting a tattoo. It can easily be undone.
    A more mature voice reminded me that it wasn’t Nick’s parents I was planning to marry; it was Nick. And I liked Nick. I loved Nick.
    Still, I thought grimly, in-laws, like diamonds, are forever.

    “Nicky,” Dorothy cooed, after she’d drunk two cups of coffee that she begrudgingly admitted tasted just fine and downed no fewer than four oversize chocolate chip cookies, “would you bring in the rest of my luggage? Henry and I might as well start making ourselves at home—as much as that’s possible, of course.”
    “I’ll help,” I volunteered, jumping out of my seat. Anything to avoid being left alone with Dorothy and Henry.
    “Nick,” I said breathlessly as soon as we were outside and out of earshot, “I don’t think this is going to work. It’s just too crowded.”
    My attempt at diplomacy didn’t work. “She’s not as bad as she seems,” Nick said with a pleading look in his eyes.
    No, I thought grimly. She’s actually a heck of a lot worse. If this is Dorothy Burby on day one, while she’s still on her best