cat stories Read Free Page B

when?”
    “Tomorrow morning.” Next day, in the operating room, as Siegfried and I bent over the sleeping cat, my mind was racing. We had been doing much more small-animal surgery lately, but I had always known what to expect. This time I felt as though I was venturing into the unknown. I made an incision and in the stomach I found a large, matted hair-ball, the cause of all the trouble. Something which wouldn’t show up on an X-ray plate. Siegfried grinned. “Well, now we know!” “Yes,” I said as the great waves of relief swept over me.
    “Now we know.” I found more, smaller hair-balls, all of which had to be removed and then the incision stitched. I didn’t like this. It meant a bigger trauma and shock to my patient, but finally all was done and only a neat row of skin sutures was visible. When I returned Alfred to his home, his master could hardly bear to look at him. At length he took a timid glance at the cat, still sleeping under the anaesthetic. “Will he live?” he whispered. “He has a good chance,” I replied. “He has had some major surgery and it might take him some time to get over it, but he’s young and strong. He should be all right.” I could see Geoff wasn’t convinced, and that was how it was over the next few days. I kept visiting the little room behind the shop to give the cat penicillin injections and it was obvious that Geoff had made up his mind that Alfred was going to die.
    Mrs. Hatfield was more optimistic, but she was worried about her husband. “Eee, he’s given up hope,” she said. “And it’s all because Alfred just lies in his bed all day. I’ve tried to tell “im that it’ll be a bit o” time before the cat starts running around, but he won’t listen.” She looked at me with anxious eyes. “And, you know, it’s getting him down, Mr. Herriot. He’s a different man. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever be the same again.” I went over and peeped past the curtain into the shop. Geoff was there, doing his job like an automaton. Haggard, unsmiling, silently handing out the sweets.
    When he did speak it was in a listless monotone and I realised with a sense of shock that his voice had lost all its old timbre. Mrs.
    Hatfield was right. He was a different man. And, I thought, if he stayed different, what would happen to his clientele? So far they had remained faithful, but I had a feeling they would soon start to drift away. It was a week before the picture began to change for the better. I entered the sitting room, but Alfred wasn’t there. Mrs.
    Hatfield jumped up from her chair. “He’s a lot better, Mr. Herriot,”
    she said eagerly. “Eating well and seemed to want to go into t’shop.
    He’s in there with Geoff now.” Again I took a surreptitious look past the curtain. Alfred was back in his place, skinny but sitting upright. But his master didn’t look any better. I turned back into the room. “Well, I won’t need to come any more, Mrs. Hatfield. Your cat is well on the way to recovery. He should soon be as good as new.
    ” I was quite confident about this, but I wasn’t so sure about Geoff.
     
    At this point, the rush of spring lambing and post-lambing troubles overwhelmed me as it did every year, and I had little time to think about my other cases. It must have been three weeks before I visited the sweet shop to buy some chocolates for Helen. The place was packed and as I pushed my way inside all my fears came rushing back and I looked anxiously at man and cat. Alfred, massive and dignified again, sat like a king at the far end of the counter. Geoff was leaning on the counter with both hands, gazing closely into a lady’s face. “As I understand you, Mrs. Hird, you are looking for something in the nature of a softer sweetmeat.” The rich voice reverberated round the little shop. “Could you perhaps mean a Turkish Delight?”
    “Nay, Mr. Hatfield, it wasn’t that. …” His head fell on his chest and he studied the polished boards of the