Stella isn't wearing her name tag. She put it somewhere on the desk the other day. Maybe it was
Tuesday. She isn't sure, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore. There isn't anyone who needs to
know who she is. Not that it ever mattered who she is. Clients rarely call her by name unless it
was to complain about a bill. Or maybe ask her questions that she wasn't supposed to answer,
even when she knows that Boots had kidney failure or Peaches is allergic to chocolate. Though
why anyone would feed an animal candy bothers her. The phones have been quiet for over a week
and she hasn't left since the lights blew and the sky streamed scarlet ribbons. No, that's not true,
that can't have happened. Anyway, she's still on duty until someone comes to take over.

She checks the food supplies. There won't be enough for the dogs, but the cats might make
another month. And birds well, there's only a lame parrot some kid found at beside the road.
Plenty of seed.

The vets didn't show up this morning. They haven't been around for days. The waiting room has
been empty for she doesn't remember how long and she's afraid to leave, afraid of what she'll find
outside the doors.

Back against the wall, she slides down. Sits on the floor. Stares at the cages. The dogs whine,
pacing back and forth. The felines are curled far back in their cells, noses tucked under tails.

When darkness falls, she crawls into an empty cage.