Story wise everything is on track. Writing wise, there is room for improvement, as expected. Soon enough there new Puddles and Whiskers will appear and this story will wrap up. Yes, I do have an ending in mind. For this section, language correction mostly. Enjoy.
Whiskers took another sip of coffee and stared out the window at the Medical Offices of Tablix and Aslan. Puddles positioned her tablet to record the front door. Chuck finished off his doughnut in one bite and began adjusting his eyepatch.
“Chuck, you’re up,” Puddles said to Chuck.
“Are you getting the feed?”
Whiskers looked down at his tablet with two vid-windows open, “Yes. Stay out of trouble.”
Chuck gave both of them his best “me, trouble look,” with his folded ear and eye patch looked more like “definitely trouble” and headed out of the coffee shop, tail swishing lazily to match his swagger.
“He’s going to get neutered,” Puddles said to Whiskers.
“I heard that,” Chuck’s voice came from Whisker’s tablet.
Coffee in hand, Puddles and Whiskers watched and waited.
Stepping into the minimalist decorated waiting room, Chuck looked around, making an exaggerated half-circle motion to capture the entire room on vid. Blank tope walls, six office chairs against the walls in sets of two, one office table in the middle of the room, a reception desk with a solid door to the right; first impression, no long term visitors, Chuck thought as he turned to face the receptionist.
“Can I help you?” the korogin woman wearing blue nursing scrubs behind the low counter asked in a gruff voice.
Standing in front of her, Chuck tilted his head to get the room behind her on vid.
“Excuse me! Can I HELP YOU!”
Chuck slowly looked at her, while tilting his head, and put on his best “yes you can smile;” all teeth and whiskers, “I need to see a doctor.”
“We don’t take walk-ins.”
“I have an emergency,” Chuck replied, turning his head and leaning forward over the counter.
Standing, she put one hand on his chest and pushed him back, Chuck stumbled back a step.
“We don’t take walk-ins,” she enunciated each word carefully.
Chuck clutched his stomach, doubled over, and screeched. He stumbled towards the desk, still screeching, and clutching his stomach, “Please let me see a doctor,” he said between screeches.
At that moment, the front door opened, two red-hand gangers walked into the waiting room. Clutching his stomach, Chuck gave the receptionist his best please look his one eye wide-open and sad look on his face, and screeched in pain.
“You two, toss him out,” the receptionist commanded.
“What!” Chuck blurted out.
Before Chuck could make a move, the gangers grabbed him by his arms, carried him to the door, and shoved him outside. Chuck rolled with the shove, landing on his feet. Wageslaves walking past moved around him, some making noises or comments about riff-raff, most ignored him altogether. Chuck heard laughter, a few seconds looking around before he realized the laughter was Puddles and Whiskers over the commsystem.
“No wonder you had so much trouble with Lorika,” Puddles said between laughs.
Dusting himself off, Chuck stormed back to the coffee shop, tail lashing. He tore the eyepatch off, tossing the eyepatch at Puddles.
“You think you can do better?”
Whiskers set a fresh cup of coffee and doughnut in front of Chuck, “No, you cannot. None of us is going to get past the receptionist. We are not the right patients.”