The vet’s office was quieter than usual on a Tuesday. I sat on the vinyl chair, the fluorescent lights above buzzing softly, waiting for Dr. Patel to return with the test results. My cat, Luna, was curled in her carrier, her eyes wide and wary. The envelope Dr. Patel handed me felt heavier than its actual weight. “These aren’t just playful bites,” she said, her voice calm yet firm. The date on the top of the form, October 3rd, marked the day everything shifted. I had always thought Luna’s nips were harmless, a quirky sign of affection. But the tests suggested something deeper. “Cats communicate in subtle ways,” Dr. Patel continued, her gaze steady. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I realized I had missed something crucial. “Let’s discuss the plan going forward,” she added, gesturing towards her desk. Just then, my phone vibrated with a message from my sister, asking how the appointment went. I hesitated before typing, unsure how to convey the complexity of emotions swirling inside me. Luna’s bites were speaking a language I had failed to understand. And now I was determined to listen more closely.
