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crematorium, also without charge. The thought irked Skye. The man riled her even more.
    She had only had the misfortune of meeting him once, but that was once more than she considered acceptable. She had been in the process of saving her oldest cat, Ozymandeus, from sure death at that point. She had rescued him from the city pound just in the nick of time. Poor Ozzy never would have had a hope of being adopted, had Skye not come along. He was a scrawny old disinterested tom, with balding patches in his gray fur, a weepy eye and a wheezy meow that was painful to hear. The average person wanted a kitten, or at least a cat who was cute, or loving, or playful. Ozzy liked to lie around all day, hacking up the occasional fur ball and peeing in the corner. He did not have the charm or presence to win over a potential master. All he could count on was possibly a sympathy vote.
    He found the sense of pity that he had needed for his salvation in Skye, and she had taken him in, adding him to her menagerie – much to her neighbours’ disgust. Three days after she had first brought him home, his little wheeze had worsened into major breathing problems. Skye awoke to him gasping and rattling, and had rushed him over to the Green St. Clinic.
    Skye had been one of only two people waiting and the clinic saw patients primarily on the basis of severity, as opposed to first come, first serve. Dr. Taurian had emerged from his office and after gauging the urgency of the ailing before him, he had escorted Skye and Ozzy into the examination area. Skye was hoping that she would never have to repeat that situation, under any circumstances.
    As Skye turned into the worst of rush hour traffic, she considered the doctor with distaste. He had moved to the city a few months ago, in response to the clinic’s search for a veterinarian willing to take on the night shift. He was a handsome broad-shouldered man, with a Scandinavian look to him, pale skin and blond hair. His eyes were surprisingly dark, in comparison, and he spoke with an accent that supported the suggestion of a European origin. That and a first name like Odin. Skye shook her head. Who named their children after Norse gods nowadays?
    He had been gentle with Ozzy, it was true, and had remedied his breathing issues, but that alone had not won Skye over. The doctor had been flirtatious in a subdued way, and Skye might have taken an interest in his subtle advances, drawn in by his inviting smile and suggestive gaze, until she had been reminded of his heinous activities by a late night delivery of animals to be euthanized by the city shelter. Ozzy had originally been scheduled to be included in that run. The taste in Skye’s mouth had suddenly soured and she had hurried Ozzy out of the clinic, with no plans on ever returning. She had not seen Dr. Taurian since, much to her relief.
    While traffic inched forward in one of the innumerable morning snarls, Skye returned her attention to the radio. The weather was now on, and there was a high UV warning for the weekend. She really did have to replenish her supply of sunscreen, but it would have to wait until the trip home. She would be preoccupied with hosting a luncheon for a couple of Strays to Stay’s major benefactors and she would not have the time to step out around the noon hour. The other option would be to stay in all weekend, and that just would not be fair to her canine companions, Toby and Fred.
    Skye pulled into her parking spot and then started towards the building that housed just over three dozen lost or abandoned animals. It was a small shelter, compared to the city pound, but the animals were safe here until they found a home. The receptionist, Marina, waved at Skye as she approached the door.
    “Mr. Anderson called to confirm that he and Mr. Conroy will be here at 11:45,” she informed Skye.
    “What about Mrs. Fuller?” Skye asked. She was their primary donor, and they were heavily dependent upon her funding.
    Marina paled a