The cat was seen by an efficient veterinarian of few gestures or words. By the time he finally arrived at the clinic, it was snowing again and Três was being shaken with fresh convulsions, bringing up more pink froth. ”Ī journey that would normally have taken twenty minutes took twice as long. I can’t go any quicker because if we skid we’re done for. You’re a proletarian cat, you’ve got steel guts, a bit of antifreeze is nothing, hang in there,” Richard encouraged him as he drove with painful slowness through the snow, conscious that each extra minute could prove fatal for Três. “Don’t you dare get the idea of dying, Três, please. Brooklyn had become a Nordic city, white on white, the angles softened by the snow, empty streets, and a strange peace, as if nature were yawning. He was glad he had brushed the snow off that morning, and relieved the disaster had not occurred the day before while the blizzard was raging. He wrapped the cat in a blanket and put him in his car. He looked up the address of the nearest veterinary hospital, which he remembered passing by at some point.
Traffic was restricted except for emergencies, which was exactly what this was. Int'l Women's Conference - México, 2013Īudiobook excerpt (for a diffrent section).Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards Ceremony, 2017.
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