nothing, don't worry. She'll have the kittens, that's all, and I'll
find homes for them. Everything will be fine." I was putting on my
breeziest act, but it didn't seem to help. "But Mr. Herriot, I don't
know anything about these things. I'm now terribly worried. She
could die giving birth--she's so tiny!" "No, no, not at all. Cats
very rarely have any trouble that way. I tell you what, when she
starts having the kittens--probably around a month from now--get
Eddy to give me a ring. I'll slip out here and see that all is well.
How's that?" "Oh, you are kind. I feel so silly about this. The
trouble is ... she means so much to me." "I know, and stop worrying.
Everything will be absolutely okay." We had a cup of tea together
and by the time I left he had calmed down.
I did hear from him at last one stormy evening. "Mr. Herriot, I am
telephoning from the farm. Emily has not yet produced those kittens,
but she is ... very large and has lain trembling all day and won't
eat anything. I hate to trouble you on this horrible night but I
know nothing about these things and she does look ... most unhappy."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I tried to sound casual. "I
think I'll just pop out and have a look at her, Mr. Ireson."
"Really--are you sure?" "Absolutely. No bother. I'll see you soon."
It was a strange, almost unreal scene as I stumbled through the
darkness and parted the sacks forty minutes later. The wind and rain
buffeted the tarpaulin walls and by the flickering light of the
tilly lamp I saw Eugene in his chair stroking Emily, who lay in the
basket by his side. The little cat had swollen enormously--so much
as to be almost unrecognisable and as I kneeled and passed my hand
over her distended abdomen I could feel the skin stretched tight.
She was absolutely bursting full of kittens, but seemed lifeless and
exhausted. She was straining, too, and licking at her vulva. I
looked up at the old man. "Have you some hot water, Mr. Ireson?"
"Yes, yes, the kettle has just boiled." I soaped my little finger.
It would only just go into the tiny vagina. Inside I found the
cervix wide open and a mass beyond, only just palpable. Heaven only
knew how many kittens were jammed in there, but one thing was
certain. There was no way they could ever come out. There was no
room for manoeuvre. There was nothing I could do. Emily turned her
face to me and gave a faint miaow of distress and it came to me
piercingly that this cat could die. "Mr. Ireson," I said, "I'll have
to take her away immediately." "Take her away?" he said in a
bewildered whisper. "Yes. She needs a caesarean operation. The
kittens can't come out in the normal way." Upright in his chair, he
nodded, shocked and only half comprehending. I grabbed the basket,
Emily and all, and rushed out into the darkness. Then, as I thought
of the old man looking blankly after me, I realised that my bedside
manner had slipped badly. I pushed my head back through the sacks.
"Don't worry, Mr. Ireson," I said, "everything's going to be fine."
Don't worry! Brave words. As I parked Emily on the back seat and
drove away, I knew I was damn worried, and I cursed the mocking fate
which had decreed that after all of my airy remarks about cats
effortlessly giving birth I might be headed for a tragedy. How long
had Emily been lying like that? Ruptured uterus? Septicaemia? The
grim possibilities raced through my mind. And why did it have to
happen to that solitary old man of all people? I stopped at the
village kiosk and rang Siegfried. "I've just left old Eugene Ireson.
Will you come in and give me a hand? Cat caesar and it's urgent.
Sorry to bother you on your night off." "Perfectly all right, James,
I'm not doing a thing. See you soon, eh?" When I got to the surgery
Siegfried had the steriliser bubbling and everything laid out. "This
is your party, James," he murmured. "I'll do the anaesthetic." I had
shaved the site of the operation and poised my scalpel over the
grossly swollen abdomen when he whistled softly. "My God," he said,
"it's like opening an abscess!" That was exactly what it was like. I
felt that if I made an incision the mass of kittens would explode
out in my face and, indeed, as I proceeded with the lightest touch
through skin and muscle, the laden uterus bulged out alarmingly.
"Hell!" I breathed. "How many are in here?" "A fairish number!" said
my partner. "And she's such a tiny cat." Gingerly, I opened the
peritoneum which, to my relief, looked clean and healthy; then, as I
went on, I waited for the jumble of little heads and feet to appear.
But with increasing wonderment I watched my incision travel along a
the neck, drew forth a kitten and laid it on the table, I found that
the uterus was otherwise empty. "There's only one!" I gasped. "Would
you believe it?" Siegfried laughed. "Yes, but what a whopper! And
alive, too." He lifted the kitten and took a closer look. "A
whacking great tom--he's nearly as big as his mother!" As I stitched
up and gave the sleeping Emily a shot of penicillin, I felt the
tension flow away from me in happy waves. The little cat was in good
shape. My fears had been groundless. It would be best to leave the
kitten with her for a few weeks, then I'd be able to find a home for
him. "Thanks a lot for coming in, Siegfried," I said. "It looked
like a very dodgy situation at first." I could hardly wait to get
back to the old man, who, I knew, would still be in a state of shock
at my taking away his beloved cat. In fact, when I passed through
the sacking doorway, it looked as though he hadn't moved an inch
since I last saw him. He wasn't reading, wasn't doing anything
except staring ahead from his chair. When I put the basket down by
his side, he turned slowly and looked down wonderingly at Emily, who
was coming round from the anaesthetic and beginning to raise her
head, and at the black newcomer, who was already finding his private
array of teats interesting. "She's going to be fine, Mr. Ireson," I
said, and the old man nodded slowly. "How wonderful. How simply
wonderful," he murmured.
When I went to take out the stitches ten days later, I found a
carnival atmosphere in the igloo. Old Eugene was beside himself with
delight, while Emily, stretched in the back with her enormous
offspring sucking busily, looked up at me with an expression of
pride which bordered on the smug. "I think we ought to have a
celebratory cup of tea and one of my favourite buns," the old man
said. As the kettle boiled, he drew a finger along the kitten's body.
"He's a handsome fellow, isn't he." "He certainly is. He'll grow up
into a beautiful cat." Eugene smiled. "Yes. I'm sure he will, and it
will be so nice to have him with Emily." I paused as he handed me a
bun. "But just a minute, Mr. Ireson. You really can't do with two
cats here." "Why not?" "Well, you take Emily into the village on a
lead most days. You'd have difficulty on the road with two cats, and
an
yway you don't have room in here, do you?" He didn't say anything,
so I pressed on. "A lady was asking me the other day if I could find
her a black kitten. Many people ask us to find a specific pet for
them, often to replace an older animal which has just died, and we
always seem to have trouble obliging them, but this time I am
delighted that I was able to say I knew the very one." He nodded
slowly, and then, after a moment's cogitation, said, "I'm sure
you're right, Mr. Herriot. I hadn't really thought about it enough."
"Anyway," I said, 'she's a very nice lady and a real cat lover.
He'll have a very good home. He'll live like a little sultan with
her." He laughed. "Good ... good ... and maybe I'll hear about him
now and then?" "Absolutely. I'll keep you posted regularly." I could
see I had got over the hurdle nicely and as I took a sip at my tea I
thought I'd change the subject. "I must say, Mr. Ireson, you do seem
to be a remarkably happy person. Very content with life. Maybe it's
something to do with Emily." "Very true! In fact I was about to say
that but I thought you might think me silly." He threw back his head
and laughed. A merry, boyish laugh. "Yes, I have Emily, the all-
important thing! I'm so glad we agree about that. Come now, do have
another bun."
Olly and Ginny Settle In
As a cat lover, it irked me that my own cats couldn't stand the
sight of me. Ginny and Olly were part of the family now. We were
devoted to them and whenever we had a day out the first thing Helen
did on our return was to open the back door and feed them. The cats
knew this very well and were either sitting on the flat top of the
wall, waiting for her, or ready to trot down from the log shed which
was their home. We had been to Brawton on our half-day and they were
there as usual as Helen put out a dish of food and a bowl of milk
for them on the wall. "Olly, Ginny," she murmured as she stroked the
furry coats. The days had long gone when they refused to let her
touch them. Now they rubbed against her hand in delight, arching and
purring and, when they were eating, she ran her hand repeatedly
wildness expressed only in fear, and now, with her, that fear had
gone. My children and some from the village had won their confidence,
too, and were allowed to give them a careful caress, but they drew
the line at Herriot. Like now, for instance, when I quietly followed
Helen out and moved towards the wall. Immediately they left the food
and retreated to a safe distance where they stood, still arching
their backs but, as ever, out of reach. They regarded me without
hostility but as I held out a hand they moved further away. "Look at
the little beggars!" I said. "They still won't have anything to do
with me." It was frustrating since, throughout my years in
veterinary practice, cats had always intrigued me and I had found
that this helped me in my dealings with them. I felt I could handle
them more easily than most people because I liked them and they
sensed it. I rather prided myself on my cat technique, a sort of
feline bedside manner, and was in no doubt that I had an empathy
with the entire species and that they all liked me. In fact, if the
truth were told, I fancied myself as a cats" pin-up. Not so,
ironically, with these two--the ones to whom I had become so
deeply attached. It was a bit hard, I thought, because I had
doctored them and probably saved their lives when they had cat flu.
Did they remember that, I wondered? If they did it still didn't give
me the right apparently to lay a finger on them. And, indeed, what
they certainly did seem to remember was that it was I who had netted
them and then shoved them into a cage before I neutered them. I had
the feeling that whenever they saw me, it was that net and cage
which was uppermost in their minds. I could only hope that time
would bring an understanding between us but, as it turned out, fate
was to conspire against me for a long time still. Above all, there
was the business of Olly's coat. Unlike his sister, he was a long-
haired cat and as such was subject to constant tangling and knotting
of his fur. If he had been an ordinary domesticated feline, I would
have combed him out as soon as trouble arose, but since I couldn't
even get near him I was helpless. We had had him about two years
when Helen called me to the kitchen. "Just look at him!" she said.
"He's a dreadful sight!" I peered through the window. Olly was
indeed a bit of a scarecrow with his matted fur and dangling knots
in cruel contrast with his sleek and beautiful little sister. "I
know, I know. But what can I do?" I was about to turn away when I
noticed something. "Wait a minute, there's a couple of horrible big
lumps hanging below his neck. Take these scissors and have a go at
them--a couple of quick snips and they'll be off." Helen gave me an
anguished look. "Oh, we've tried this before. I'm not a vet and
anyway, he won't let me do that. He'll let me pet him, but this is
something else." "I know that, but have a go. There's nothing to it,
really." I pushed a pair of curved scissors into her hand and began
to call instructions through the window. "Right now, get your
fingers behind that big dangling mass. Fine, fine! Now up with your
scissors and--" But at the first gleam of steel, Olly was off and
away up the hill. Helen turned to me in despair. "It's no good, Jim,
it's hopeless--he won't let me cut even one lump off and he's
covered with them." I looked at the dishevelled little creature
standing at a safe distance from us. "Yes, you're right. I'll have
to think of something." Thinking of something entailed doping Olly
so that I could get at him, and my faithful nembutal capsules sprang
immediately to mind. This oral anaesthetic had been a valued ally on
countless occasions where I had to deal with unapproachable animals,
but this was different. With the other cases, my patients had been
behind closed doors, but Olly was outside with all the wide
countryside to roam in. I couldn't have him going to sleep somewhere
out there where a fox or other predator might get him. I would have
to watch him all the time. It was a time for decisions, and I drew
myself up. "I'll have a go at him this Sunday," I told Helen. "It's
usually a bit quieter and I'll ask Siegfried to stand in for me in
an emergency." When the day arrived, Helen went out and placed two
meals of chopped fish on the wall, one of them spiked with the
contents of my nembutal capsule. I crouched behind the window;
watching intently as she directed Olly to the correct portion, and
holding my breath as he sniffed at it suspiciously. His hunger soon
overcame his caution and he licked the bowl clean with evident
relish. Now we started the tricky part. If he decided to explore the
fields as he often did I would have to be right behind him. I stole
out of the house as he sauntered back up the slope to the open log
shed and to my vast relief he sett
led down in his own particular
indentation in the straw and began to wash himself. As I peered
through the bushes I was gratified to see that very soon he was
having difficulty with his face, licking his hind paw then toppling
over as he brought it up to his cheek. I chuckled to myself. This
was great. Another few minutes and I'd have him. And so it turned
out. Olly seemed to conclude that he was tired of falling over and
it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a nap. After gazing drunkenly
around him, he curled up in the straw. I waited a short time, then,
with all the stealth of an Indian brave on the trail, I crept from
my hiding place and tiptoed to the shed. Olly wasn't flat out--I
hadn't dared give him the full anaesthetic dose in case I had been
unable to track him--but he was deeply sedated. I could pretty well
do what I wanted with him. As I knelt down and began to snip away
with my scissors, he opened his eyes and made a feeble attempt to
struggle, but it was no good and I worked my way quickly through the
ravelled fur. I wasn't able to make a particularly tidy job because
he was wriggling slightly all the time, but I clipped off all the
huge unsightly knots which used to get caught in the bushes, and
must have been horribly uncomfortable, and soon had a growing heap
of black hair by my side. I noticed that Olly wasn't only moving, he
was watching me. Dazed as he was, he knew me all right and his eyes
told me all. "It's you again!" he was saying. "I might have known!"
When I had finished, I lifted him into a cat cage and placed it on
the straw. "Sorry, old lad," I said, "but I can't let you go free
till you've wakened up completely." Olly gave me a sleepy stare, but
his sense of outrage was evident. "So you've dumped me in here again.
You don't change much, do you?" By teatime he was fully recovered
and I was able to release him. He looked so much better without the
ugly tangles but he didn't seem impressed, and as I opened the cage
he gave me a single disgusted look and sped away. Helen was
enchanted with my handiwork and she pointed eagerly at the two cats
on the wall next morning. "Doesn't he look smart! Oh, I'm so glad
you managed to do him, it was really worrying me. And he must feel
so much better." I felt a certain smug satisfaction as I looked
through the window. Olly indeed was almost unrecognisable as the
scruffy animal of yesterday and there was no doubt I had
dramatically altered his life and relieved him of a constant
discomfort, but my burgeoning bubble of self-esteem was pricked the
instant I put my head round the back door. He had just started to
enjoy his breakfast but at the sight of me he streaked away faster
than ever before and disappeared far over the hill-top. Sadly, I
turned back into the kitchen. Olly's opinion of me had dropped
several more notches. Wearily I poured a cup of tea. It was a hard
life.
Moses Found Among the Rushes
It was going to take a definite effort of will to get out of the car.
I had driven about ten miles from Darrowby, thinking all the time
that the Dales always looked their coldest not when they were
covered with snow but, as now, when the first sprinkling streaked
the bare flanks of the fells in bars of black and white like the
ribs of a crouching beast. And now in front of me was the farm gate
rattling on its hinges as the wind shook it. The car, heaterless and
draughty as it was, seemed like a haven in an uncharitable world and
I gripped the wheel tightly with my woollen-gloved hands for a few
moments before opening the door. The wind almost tore the handle
from my fingers as I got out but I managed to crash the door shut
before stumbling over the frozen mud to the gate. Muffled as I was
in heavy coat and scarf pulled up to my ears I could feel the icy
gusts biting at my face, whipping up my nose and hammering painfully
into the air spaces in my head. I had driven through and, streaming-
eyed, was about to get back into the car when I noticed something
unusual. There was a frozen pond just off the path and among the
rime-covered rushes which fringed the dead opacity of the surface a