This story appeared in the October 1995 Tomorrow Speculative Fiction , edited by Algis Budrys, and was a finalist for the 1996 Nebula Award for Best Short Story. You sneak another look at your watch. Twenty minutes to lunch, assuming your relief shows up on time. Saturday mornings are always the busiest.
Rainy ones are really bad.
People get to feeling cooped up and start looking around the house for something to do, some unpleasant duty they've put off for a long time. Next in line is a tall guy in a black leather jacket, with a small, brightly dressed girl balanced on his shoulders. Also squirming is the disposable pet carrier in the guy's left hand. It shifts heavily as he sets it on the counter and a garbage-gray paw scrambles out through one of the airholes. The paw bends at an impossible angle and reaches up to work at one of the carboard locking flaps.