The cat was lying on a cat bed, barely visible under the blankets, an IV wrapped around one of her front legs. Judging by the triangular shape of her head, her black nose ears and ears, she seemed to be a Siamese. Not that I was an expert at identifying cats; I only recognized this kind because one of them clawed into my neck when I was a child. It hurt like hell. And the cat got stuck so firmly Mom had to call the firefighters so they could come and pull it away with a crowbar. Seems like I wasn't very popular with animals at the time.
We stared at the Siamese in silence for a while. The dogs, cats, and rabbits in the cages also contributed to this silence, making the place feel more like an animal morgue than an animal hospital. The only sound was the steady beeping of the cat's heart monitor.
"So," I said, stroking the cat's paw, "did you guys find out the problem?"
Takeshi sat at the examination table behind him. "We tested for infection, kidney failure, stomach ulcer, intestinal cancer—the common diseases that'd make a cat stop eating. We found nothing."
"Maybe its an, uh, psychological issue?"
"Psychological issue?" Takeshi repeated, scratching the back of his hood. "Well, the owner of the Siamese moved into a new apartment recently."
"What's that have to do with anything?"
I did this to have variation. I didn't want to repeat the Siamese or cat too much. Is this alternation annoying? Should I just stick with one of the words?