Vets Might Fly

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by James Herriot

eyes.

  "I understand and I'm sorry. I can only tell you again that the only

  way prevent this trouble is to spay your cat and the charge IS one

  pound."

  "Nay, I can't afford that much!"

  I spread my hands.

  "But you are asking me to do it for half the price. That's ridiculous.

  This operation involves the removal of the uterus and ovaries under a

  general anaesthetic. You just can't do a job like that for ten

  shillings." : "Oh, you are cruel!" She turned and looked out of the

  window and h shoulders began to shake.

  "You won't even take pity on a poor widder."

  This had been going on for ten minutes and it began to dawn on me that

  was in the presence of a stronger character than myself. I glanced at

  my wet, - I should have been on my round by now and it was becoming

  increasingly' obvious that I wasn't going to win this argument.

  I sighed. Maybe she really was a poor widow.

  "All right, Mrs Beck, I'll it for ten shillings, just this once. Will

  Tuesday afternoon be all right for you' She swung round from the

  window, her face crinkling magically into a smile "That'll suit me

  grand! Eee, that's right kind of you." She tripped past me al I

  followed her along the passage.

  "Just one thing," I said as I held the front door open for her.

  "Don't give, Georgina any food from midday on Monday. She must have an

  empty stomach' when you bring her in."

  "Bringer in?" She was a picture of bewilderment.

  "But I 'aven't got no car I thought you'd be collect in' her."

  "Collecting! But Ray ton's five miles away!"

  "Yes, and bringer back afterwards, too. I 'ave no transport."

  "Collect . . . operate on her . . . take her back! All for ten

  shillings!"

  She was still smiling but a touch of steel glinted in her eyes.

  "Well, that's what you agreed to charge ten shillings."

  "But ... but..."

  "Oh now you're star tin' again." The smile faded and she put her head

  on o side.

  "And I'm only a poor . . ."

  "Okay, okay," I said hastily.

  "I'll call on Tuesday."

  And when Tuesday afternoon came round I cursed my softness. If that a

  had been brought in I could have operated on her at two o'clock and

  been on the road doing my farm calls by two thirty. I didn't mind

  working at a 1 for half an hour, but how long was this business going

  to take?

  On my way out I glanced through the open door of the sitting room.

  Tristan was supposed to be studying but was sleeping soundly in his

  favourite chair.` went in and looked down at him, marvelling at the

  utter relaxation, seen only ; l i .

  s in a dedicated sleeper. His face was as smooth and untroubled as a

  baby's, the DailY Mirror, open at the comic strips, had fallen across

  his chest and a burnt-out Woodbine hung from one dangling hand.

  I shook him gently.

  "Like to come with me, Triss? I've got to pick up a cat."

  He came round slowly, stretching and grimacing, but his fundamental

  good nature soon reasserted itself.

  "Certainly' dim," he said with a final yawn.

  "It will be a pleasure."

  Mrs Beck lived half way down the left side of Ray ton village. I

  read

  "Jasmine Cottage' on the brightly painted gate, and as we went up the

  garden path the door opened and the little woman waved gaily.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen, I'm right glad to see you both." She

  ushered us into the living-room among good, solid-loo king furniture

  which showed no sign of poverty. The open cupboard of a mahogany

  sideboard gave me a glimpse of glasses and bottles. I managed to

  identify Scotch, cherry brandy and sherry before she nudged the door

  shut with her knee.

  I pointed to a cardboard box loosely tied with string.

  "Ah, good, you've got her in there, have you?"

  "Nay, bless you, she's in "'garden. She all us has a bit of play out

  there of an afternoon."

  "In the garden, eh?" I said nervously.

  "Well, please get her in, we're in rather a hurry."

  We went through a tiled kitchen to the back door. Most of these

  cottages had a surprising amount of land behind them and Mrs Beck's

  patch was in very nice order. Flower beds bordered a smooth stretch of

  lawn and the sunshine drew glittering colours from the apples and pears

  among the branches of the trees.

  "Georgina," carolled Mrs Beck.

  "Where are you, my pet?"

  No cat appeared and she turned to me with a roguish smile.

  "I think the little imp's pl ayin' a game with us. She does that, you

  know."

  "Really?" I said without enthusiasm.

  "Well, I wish she'd show herself. I really don't have much . . ."

  At that moment a very fat tabby darted from a patch of chrysanthemums

  and flitted across the grass into a clump of rhododendrons with Tristan

  in close pursuit. The young man dived among the greenery and the cat

  emerged from the other end at top speed, did a couple of laps of the

  lawn then shot up a gnarled tree.

  Tristan, eyes gleaming in anticipation, lifted a couple of windfall

  apples from the turf.

  "I'll soon shift the bugger from there, Jim," he whispered and took

  aim.

  I grabbed his arm.

  "For heaven's sake, Triss!" I hissed.

  "You can't do that.

  Put those things down."

  "Oh . . . all right." He dropped the apples and made for the tree.

  "I'll get hold of her for you, anyway."

  "Wait a minute." I seized his coat as he passed.

  "I'll do it. You stay down here and try to catch her if she jumps."

  Tristan looked disappointed but I gave him a warning look. The way the

  cat had moved, it struck me that it only needed a bit of my colleague's

  ebullience to send the animal winging into the next county. I began to

  climb the tree.

  I like cats, I've always liked them, and since I feel that animals

  recognise this in a person I have usually been able to approach and

  handle the most difficult types. It is not too much to say that I

  prided myself on my cat technique; I didn't foresee any trouble here.

  Puffing slightly, I reached the top branch and extended a hand to the

  crouching animal.

  "Pooss-pooss," I cooed, using my irresistible cat tone.

  Georgina eyed me coldly and gave no answering sign other than a higher'

  arching of the back.

  I leaned further along the branch.

  "Pooss-pooss, pooss-pooss." My voice w like molten honey, my finger

  near her face. I would rub her cheek ever so gently and she would be

  mine. It never failed.

  "Pah!" replied Georgina warningly but I took no heed and touched the

  fur under her chin.

  "Pah-pah!" Georgina spat and followed with a lightning left hook which

  opened a bloody track across the back of my hand.

  Muttering fervently, I retreated and nursed my wounds From below M Beck

  gave a tinkling laugh.

  "Oh, isn't she a little monkey! She's that playful, bless her."

  I snorted and began to ease my way along the branch again. This time

  thought grimly, I would dispense with finesse. The
quick grab was

  indicated here.

  As though reading my thoughts the little creature tripped to the end of

  the branch and as it bent low under her weight she dropped lightly to

  the grass. .

  Tristan was on her in a flash, throwing himself full length and seizing

  her by the hind leg. Georgina whipped round and unhesitatingly sank

  her teeth in his thumb but Tristan's core of resilience showed. After

  a single howl of agony he changed his grip at lightning speed to the

  scruff of the neck.

  A moment later he was standing upright holding a dangling fighting fury

  high in the air.

  "Right, Jim," he called happily.

  "I have her."

  "Good lad! Hang on!" I said breathlessly and slithered down the tree

  as quickly as I could. Too quickly, in fact, as an ominous ripping

  sound announced the removal of a triangular piece of my jacket elbow.

  But I couldn't bother with trifles. Ushering Tristan at a gallop into

  the house I opened the cardboard box. There were no sophisticated cat

  containers in those days and it was a tricky job to enclose Georgina,

  who was lashing out in all directions and complaining bitterly in a

  bad-tempered wail.

  It took a panting ten minutes to imprison the cat but even with several

  yard.

  of rough twine round the floppy cardboard I still didn't feel very

  secure as I bor' Mrs Beck raised a finger as we were about to drive

  away. I carefully explored my lacerated hand and Tristan sucked his

  thumb as we waited for her to speak.

  "Mr Herriot, I 'ope you'll be gentle wither she said anxiously.

  "She's very timid, you know."

  We had covered barely half a mile before sounds of strife arose from

  the back.

  "Get back! Get in there. Get back, you bugger!"

  I glanced behind me. Tristan was having trouble. Georgina clearly

  didn't care for the motion of the car and from the slits in the box

  clawed feet issued repeatedly; on one occasion an enraged spitting face

  got free as far as the neck.

  Tristan kept pushing everything back with great resolution but I could

  tell from the rising desperation of his cries that he was fighting a

  losing battle.

  I heard the final shout with a feeling of inevitability.

  "She's out, Jim! The bugger's out!"

  Well this was great. Anybody who has driven a car with a hysterical:

  hurtling around the interior will appreciate my situation. I crouched

  low over the wheel as the furry creature streaked round the sides or

  leaped clawing at the roof or windscreen with Tristan lunging vainly

  after her.

  But cruel fate had not finished with us yet. My colleague's gasps and

  grunt from the rear ceased for a moment to be replaced by a horrified

  shriek.

  "The bloody thing's shitting, Jim! She's shitting everywhere!"

  The cat was obviously using every weapon at her disposal and he didn't

  have to tell me. My nose was away ahead of him, and I frantically

  wound down the window. But I closed it just as quickly at the rising

  image of Georgina escaping and disappearing into the unknown I don't

  like to think of the rest of that journey. I tried to breathe through

  my mouth and Tristan puffed out dense clouds of Woodbine smoke but it

  was still pretty terrible. Just outside Darrow by I stopped the car

  and we made a concerted onslaught of the animal; at the cost of a few

  more wounds, including a particularly painful scratch on my nose, we

  cornered her and fastened her once more in the Even on the operating

  table Georgina had a few tricks left. We were using ether and oxygen

  as anaesthetic and she was particularly adept at holding her breath

  while the mask was on her face then returning suddenly to violent life

  when we thought she was asleep. We were both sweating when she finally

  went under.

  I suppose it was inevitable, too, that she should be a difficult

  case.

  Ovarohysterectomy in the cat is a fairly straightforward procedure and

  nowadays we do innumerable cases uneventfully, but in the thirties'

  particularly in country practice, it was infrequently done and

  consequently a much larger undertaking.

  I personally had my own preferences and aversions in this field. For

  instance, I found thin cats easy to do and fat cats difficult. Georgina

  was extremely fat.

  When I opened her abdomen an ocean of fat welled up at me, obscuring

  everything, and I spent a long nerve-racking period lifting out

  portions of bowel or omentum with my forceps, surveying them gloomily

  and stuffing them back in again. A great weariness had began to creep

  over me by the time I at last managed to grip the pink ovary between

  the metallic jaws and drew forth the slender string of uterus. After

  that it was routine, but I still felt a strange sense of exhaustion as

  I inserted the last stitch.

  I put the sleeping cat into the box and beckoned to Tristan.

  "Come on, let's get her home before she comes round." I was star ting

  along the passage when he put his hand on my arm.

  "Jim," he said gravely.

  "You "Yes, Triss, of course."

  "I'd do any thing for you, Jim.

  ' I'm sure you would."

  He took a deep breath.

  "Except one thing. I'm not going back in that bloody car."

  I nodded dully. I really couldn't blame him.

  "That's all right," I said.

  "I'll be off, then."

  Before leaving I sprinkled the interior with pine-smelling disinfectant

  but it didn't make much difference. In any case my main emotion was

  the hope that Georgina wouldn't wake up before I got to Ray ton, and

  that was shattered before I had crossed Darrow by market place. The

  hair prickled on the back of my neck as an ominous droning issued from

  the box on the rear seat. It was like the sound of a distant swarm of

  bees but I knew what it meant; the anaesthetic was wearing off Once

  clear of the town I put my foot on the boards. This was something I

  rarely did because whenever I pushed my vehicle above forty miles an

  hour there was such a clamour of protest from engine and body that I

  always feared the thing would disintegrate around me. But at this

  moment I didn't care. Teeth clenched' eyes staring, I hurtled forward,

  but I didn't see the lonely strip of tarmac or the stone walls flitting

  past; all my attention was focused behind me, where the swarm of bees

  was get ting nearer and the tone angrier.

  When it developed into a bad-tempered yowling and was accom panied by

  the sound of strong claws tearing at cardboard I began to tremble As I

  thundered into Ray ton village I glanced behind me. Georgina was half

  out of the box reached back and grasped her scruff and when I stopped

  at the gate of Jasmin Cottage I pulled on the brake with one hand and

  lifted her on to my lap wit the other.

  I sagged in the seat, my breath escaping in a great explosion of

  relief; and my stiff features almost bent into a smile as I saw Mrs

  Beck pottering in her garden She took Georgina from me with a cry of

  joy but gasped in horror when she saw the shaven area and
the two

  stitches on the cat's flank.

  "Oooh, my darlin'! What 'ave those nasty men been coin' to you?" She

  hugged the animal to her and glared at me.

  "She's all right, Mrs Beck, she's fine," I said.

  "You can give her a little milk tonight and some solid food tomorrow.

  There's nothing to worry about."

  She pouted.

  "Oh, very well. And now . . ." She gave me a sidelong glance.

  "I

  suppose you'll want your money?"

  "Weller ..."

  "Wait there, then. I'll get it." She turned and went into the

  house.

  Standing there, leaning against the reeking car, feeling the sting of

  the scratches on my hands and nose and examining the long tear on my

  jacket elbow I felt physically and emotionally spent. All I had done

  this afternoon was spay a cat but I had nothing more to offer.

  Apathetically I watched the lady coming down the path. She was

 

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