Sarah did a double take. She’d expected a witch’s waiting room to be unconventional, but this was ridiculous. Maybe she should have gone elsewhere for medical advice concerning her sciatica, but she was trying to save money any way she could.
Sarah had barely had time to sit down ever-so-gingerly on the solitary, somewhat rickety, straight-backed wooden chair when a large, possibly feral cat came through a pet flap in the door to the inner office. He came over to Sarah, walked around her chair three times, and then went back out the same way he’d come in.
A few minutes later Goody Feldman entered the room. There was no question about her occupation; she was all witch—from her head, topped with a wizard’s peaked hat, to her toes, encased in button shoes.
“Do you want me to tell you my symptoms?” Sarah asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Goody said. “I may only be dispensing folk remedies, but I base my diagnoses on a cat scan.”
“You use computerized tomography? How do you fit a CT scanner into that tiny office?”
“Oh, I don’t do the scans myself. Tesla does them for me.”
“My familiar. You met him earlier—the big hairy critter with four legs.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said.
“You’ve heard of dogs trained to sniff for drugs, termites, and the like, haven’t you?”
“Well, my cat has similar skills,” Goody explained. “He’s already determined what your problem is and placed his paw on the pantry shelf with the proper potion.”
She held out a small vial. “This will be good for what ails you.”
“That was quick.”
“Wasn’t it though? That’s one of the advantages of a male cat”
BIO: John H. Dromey was born in northeast Missouri. In the past he contributed humor to Reader’s Digest, Grit, the Wall Street Journal, and other publications. His short fiction has appeared in Woman’s World (a mini-mystery); online at Flashshot and Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers; and in a number of print anthologies.