Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘If she does, they’ll be hungry by now,’ I say to Ross. ‘I’ll go out at lunchtime to see if I can find them.’

  ‘They’ll be okay if she’s back with them tonight.’

  ‘Jack isn’t sure how long she’d been in the trap.’ She hangs around the barns at the equestrian centre. Apparently the owner, Delphi, acquired a couple of young cats from the Sanctuary some time ago, but in spite of prepaying for neutering when she picked them up, she didn’t get round to having it done. She took them on for pest control in return for bed and board. The strategy worked – the number of rats fell, but the number of cats went up. ‘I really think I should go and have a look.’ A trip out will give me the chance to put some space between us, but it turns out that Ross wants to come along too.

  ‘Let’s X-ray the dog that Emma admitted this morning, then go. We can take the ambulance now it’s back from the garage. According to Maz, the insurance company made a pig’s ear of the claim.’

  ‘Very funny, but I’d rather you didn’t remind me,’ The repairs have taken ages.

  The X-rays are not helpful. Ross makes a diagnosis of BATS, but when I’m marvelling at his superior knowledge and ability to diagnose obscure orthopaedic conditions, he turns round and explains that it means ‘bugger all to see’.

  ‘Do you want to drive, or shall I?’ he asks when I’ve stopped laughing.

  ‘I’ll drive as long as you promise not to go on about the traffic or criticise my ability behind the wheel.’

  ‘I can agree to the former. I’m not sure about the latter. When you gave me a lift in your car the other day, I thought we were going to end up in the ditch.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’ I was avoiding the fox that sauntered across the lane in front of us.

  ‘Hey, you two are beginning to sound like an old married couple,’ Izzy says, walking in to the prep area with a cat in a basket. ‘Shannon, can you find room for Toby? Maz wants to monitor him for the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Is there any chance you can do it? We’re about to go and look for these kittens.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Izzy’s forehead is lined with concern. ‘I wish we’d had some idea before. I wonder why Delphi or someone else at the stables didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t know.’ I give them the benefit of the doubt. ‘We’ll be off then. That way, we’ll be back for afternoon surgery.’

  ‘Good luck. I hope you find them.’

  ‘Well do our best,’ Ross says.

  I collect a few items of equipment, load them into the ambulance and drive to the stables, turning off the main road into a driveway and passing a sign reading ‘Letherington Equestrian Centre’. There’s a small warehouse-style building on one side and, on the other, a field divided into sections by electric fencing, where several horses are grazing, some of them reminding me of aliens in fly-masks that cover their eyes and ears. We travel on past a modern bam and into a car park, where Ross takes the carrier out of the back of the vehicle and hands me a towel and the gauntlets.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll need those.’ Smiling, I hand the gauntlets back, and we go and speak to the member of staff who’s grooming a big, dark brown horse tied up outside one of the stables. The groom is a couple of years younger than me and her jodhpurs are so tight you can see the ripple of cellulite beneath. She introduces herself and gives Ross an appreciative once-over.

  ‘Delphi says she’s sorry she can’t see you because she’s teaching. There are kittens – someone should have told the guy who came to pick up the cat in the trap. They’re in the old barn, which is through the passageway over there.’ She points towards the end of the stable block. ‘I can put Star away, and give you a hand to find them, if you like.’

  ‘We’ll manage, thanks,’ Ross says quickly.

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘You disappointed her.’ I follow him into the barn where the air is warm and heavily scented with dried grass and sweaty horse. ‘She fancies you.’

  ‘Did she? I didn’t notice. I only have eyes for you.’

  ‘I could have you for harassment.’ I give him a gentle shove.

  ‘But you won’t because you love me,’ he says, giving me a push in return. ‘You aren’t quite ready to admit it yet.’

  ‘Ross! Stop messing about. You’ll frighten the kittens.’

  ‘Which, it turns out, they did know about, but forgot to mention.’ I recognise the impatience in his voice when he continues, ‘They could have saved us a trip.’

  I flick a fat bluebottle from my arm as we emerge from the far end of the passageway back into the bright sun.

  ‘Did you ever ride here?’ he asks.

  ‘I was never part of the horsey set. Mum said riding was too dangerous for her only child, and she couldn’t afford it anyway. How about you?’

  ‘I spent some time at a racing yard when I was a student. I had a go at riding, but give me a motorbike over a horse any time. Horses have minds of their own, and although the thoroughbreds are quick, they aren’t fast enough for me.’ He unfastens the rope which holds the gate into the barn closed. When he opens it, it drags across the ground. ‘What is it with people? It’s just like being at Talyton Manor. Everything’s tied up with string.’

  ‘They spend all their money on the horses. Maz told me how much it cost to keep one at livery here. I had to ask her to repeat herself because I couldn’t believe it.’

  We step into the darkness, which is cut through by swathes of light entering between the wooden slats, illuminating a stack of traditional hay-bales at one end and some bags of shavings and a couple of wheelbarrows without wheels at the other. ‘We should have brought a torch,’ I go on.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because it’s . . .’ A shiver runs down my spine. ‘Spooky.’

  ‘Really, Shannon.’ Ross chuckles. ‘You have an overactive imagination.’

  If only he knew, I think. I’m here in near darkness, alone with the hottest man in the universe and a million dangerous, delicious and positively wicked thoughts running through my head. House rules, I remind myself. Even though he didn’t want them, I created some for myself.

  ‘Your eyes will soon adapt. Stop.’ He touches my arm, making the hairs stand on end, in the nicest possible way. ‘Listen.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything.’ I hold my breath, but the sound of my heartbeat is deafening in my ears.

  ‘Sh! There it is.’

  I catch a faint mewling noise from the depths of the barn.

  ‘Kittens,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘A great deduction, Holmes, but where are they?’ Ross says wryly as he moves towards the. source of the sound, which is coming from somewhere above our heads. ‘This could be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything proverbial about it. It’s a monster.’ I look up towards the top of the stack, which is piled at least ten bales high and twenty wide, with several random gaps where bales have been removed to feed the horses.

  ‘I’m going up,’ Ross decides.

  ‘I’m coming with you.’ I throw the towel around my neck.

  ‘Do you need a leg up?’

  In answer, I reach up, grab the edge of a bale and dig my foot into a space between two more, jumping up and reaching the first platform partway up the stack. He tries to follow, hut slips back.

  ‘Pass me that.’ I reach for the carrier, and place it beside me. ‘Now, give me your hand.’

  ‘And you’ll pull me up?’ He raises one eyebrow.

  ‘I’m stronger than you think. I swim at least three times a week, remember. Go on.’

  He reaches up for my outstretched hand, our fingers touch and interlink. I take a firm grip.

  ‘After three,’ I say. ‘One, two, three.’

  He springs up and I pull, and he ends up on his stomach, wriggling onto the platform next to me.

  ‘All we’ve got to do now is get to the top.’ I take a
breath and look up at the timbers and corrugated iron, adorned with dusty cobwebs, above our heads.

  ‘I can’t hear anything now.’ He moves up and sits beside me, his thigh touching mine. I can smell his scent of musk and surgical scrub, and the coffee on his breath. I turn to look at him and his gaze locks onto mine, and for a single delicious moment, I think he’s going to lean towards me and . . . the expression in his eyes is suddenly guarded. Biting my lip in frustration, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my hands around my shins.

  There’s another mew, a louder one.

  ‘Someone’s calling for their mother,’ Ross says quietly, and we climb onto the top of the haystack. ‘They’re over there, in the corner down between the bales.’ He starts to shift the hay, perspiration shining across his forehead and his cheeks growing pink with exertion.

  ‘There. I can see them.’ He moves one last bale aside to reveal two tiny spitting kittens. ‘They’re so not cute,’ he says, grimacing.

  ‘Like mother, like daughter . . . and son,’ I say, relieved that we appear to have found them in time. I can’t be sure of the sex, but there’s a tortoiseshell and white, and a ginger one, so it’s a reasonable assumption that they are girl and boy respectively.

  ‘Are you certain about that?’

  ‘It’s an educated guess. I’ll check them later. You aren’t going to let me forget about the rabbits, are you?’

  ‘Probably not. It’s too much fun winding you up. Let’s get the kittens into the carrier and take them back to Otter House.’

  ‘How do we know they belong to the cat we have at the surgery?’

  ‘We’ll have to rely on circumstantial evidence.’ I feel like I should offer to mop his brow like I do when he’s operating. ‘We’ll take them anyway. If they are hers, they need feeding – they can’t be more than ten days old. We’ll see if we can reunite them with mum and, if it goes well, we can release the three and re-trap the kittens in a few months’ time before they can produce more babies’. He reaches down to grab one, but the kittens have other ideas, wriggling back into the dark tunnel between the bales and the wall.

  ‘I’ll move this – you be ready to catch them.’ As he lifts the closest bale, hauling it up by the strings, I scoop the kittens up in the towel and pop them straight into the carrier.

  ‘Gotcha,’ I say as I secure the front.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ross checks his watch. ‘We’d better be getting back.’ He climbs down and I hand him the carrier, which he places on the ground before helping me. I slide down, missing my footing as I land and falling into his arms. He jumps back as if he’s been bitten. No touching. It’s too close, too intimate. I grab the carrier, and walk back to the ambulance, flustered and hot.

  When we arrive at Otter House, I let Celine have a brief glimpse before I take the kittens straight through to Kennels to see if I can reunite them with their mum, but she isn’t having any of it. The kittens cry plaintively when she’s spitting at them as if she’s never seen them in her life. Part of me wants to put them in the cage and leave them to work things out in a forced re-adoption, but I fear for their safety because the mum’s so ferocious I think she’ll kill them. Even though I’ve handled them in a towel, they must smell different. Either that, or they’ve been apart for too long.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Ross asks, checking up on them.

  ‘Not great.’

  He reaches out and touches my hair.

  ‘Anyone would think you’d been rolling in the hay,’ he says, grinning as he drops a piece of dried grass into the bin. I wonder if I should reward him with some kind of treat to reinforce this good behaviour. ‘That’s such a shame, after all the hassle of going to catch them,’ he goes on with a sigh. ‘I guess I’d better do what’s best—’

  ‘What?’ I turn to face him, my chest tight with apprehension. ‘You don’t mean?’

  ‘I know it seems harsh, but it’s the sensible option. We can’t put them back. They’re too young to fend for themselves, and it’s obvious that mum isn’t going to look after them.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ I gaze at the kittens, two tiny bundles of fluff with bright eyes that haven’t been open for long, and my maternal instinct – such that it is – kicks in. ‘I’ll look after them. I’ll rear them by hand.’

  ‘You can’t. It’s a twenty-four/seven occupation, and you already have a full-time job.’

  ‘I did it with Seven. It was hard work, but I managed, and it won’t be long until they can be weaned onto solid food.’

  ‘There are already hundreds of other cats looking for homes.’

  ‘I know that, but these two could be neutered – ’ I gaze at him hopefully – ‘by their lovely vet and be homed as farm cats. There are lots of farms around here.’

  He reaches out and scruffs the ginger kitten to pick it up, at which it explodes into a mini-tornado of fury and scratches him.

  ‘Ouch!’ Swearing, he pops the kitten back into the box. ‘He’s drawn blood.’ Ross holds out his finger.

  ‘Good. It’s no more than you deserve.’ I pick up the bottle of surgical spirit and squirt it over the tiny wound.

  ‘What did you do that for? That’s made it ten times worse.’

  ‘It serves you right. I have no sympathy.’ I cross my arms across my chest, a wall of hot tears building behind my eyelids. ‘I’d never have let you come with me if I’d known you wanted to put them to sleep. You’re a vet – you’re supposed to love animals.’

  ‘I always do what I think is best for them.’ His brow is deeply furrowed. ‘I wish you’d stop looking at me like that. I don’t enjoy this side of the job.’

  ‘Let me rear them then. I can give it a go at least, then if it doesn’t work out . . .’ I can’t bear the thought of them not having a chance of life. Their eyes have only just opened. ‘You don’t have to have anything to do with it if it’s against your principles.’

  ‘Now you think I’m a mean bastard,’ he sighs.

  ‘There’s no thinking about it. You are!’ I hesitate. ‘You gave Bart a chance. You gave him a home.’

  ‘I heard raised voices.’ Izzy’s sudden appearance makes me jump. She raises one eyebrow. ‘Your first appointment is here, and Celine says you have kittens. Oh, aren’t they sweet?’ she goes on, looking into the box.

  ‘Ross doesn’t think so. He wants to bump them.’

  ‘Oh no, we can’t do that.’ She reaches into the box, but before she can pet them, the tortie and white kitten is spitting furiously.

  ‘Have you reared wild kittens before?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yes, with some success. I’ll give you a hand with them. There’s some cat milk substitute somewhere, along with a feeding bottle. And you’d better make a sign, Do Not Touch.’

  ‘Thanks, Izzy’.

  ‘Mind they don’t bite your hand off.’ Ross shows off his war wound, but Izzy is scathing, claiming that she can’t see it, and I’m grateful that she’s on my side.

  ‘You are up to date with your tetanus jabs? And you’ve cleaned them properly?’ she says.

  ‘Thank you for showing so much concern for my health, when Shannon here seems determined to make me suffer.’

  ‘I’m not doing it for you,’ Izzy says. ‘I don’t want Maz and Emma left in the lurch if you end up incapacitated in hospital.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be in the consulting room with Ross now,’ I say, hoping that she will offer to take my place so I can play with the kittens.

  ‘It’s all right. I can manage. I’m a big vet now,’ he mutters, disappearing off to see the appointments.

  Izzy digs out a bottle and mixes up some milk substitute while I have one last attempt at reuniting the kittens with their mum, but it’s no good. I cover her cage again with a towel so she can have some peace before Jack turns up to take her back to the stables and freedom.

  How do you pick up a feral kitten? The answer is carefully. I manage to get hold of the girl by the scruff and lift her out onto a blanket on the prep
bench. She hisses, revealing a pink tongue.

  ‘Temper,’ I say softly. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to this.’ I offer her the teat on the bottle, letting a drop of milk trickle into her tiny mouth. At first she won’t take any, and I’m beginning to despair when she gives in and starts sucking, barely stopping until her belly is full and the bottle is empty. She’s a fighter, a good sign. As she lies in the blanket holding the teat in her mouth and giving it the occasional hopeful suck, I take a closer look, catching sight of some dark spots in the white patches of her fur. They’re ticks. I pick off a couple between my thumb and fingernails, making sure I don’t leave their mouthparts embedded in her skin, but she’s soon fed up with that, so I have to stop. They’ll have to come off one way or another. I make a mental note to ask Ross to recommend a suitable product to get rid of them.

  I use a piece of damp cotton wool to wash the kitten and encourage her to go to the toilet – her mum would lick her, but I’m not up for that! I pop her back in the box and repeat the whole exercise with the ginger boy, who is slightly calmer. Eventually, I put them back together. They rub faces and settle down together.

  ‘Ah, they’re so sweet. What are you going to call them?’ Izzy asks when she returns a little while later.

  ‘I thought Tilly and Kit.’ I don’t know why, but the names stick.

  I take them home and feed them every two to three hours to begin with. Ross makes me breakfast the next morning.

  ‘How are they?’ he asks over coffee and poached eggs on toast.

  ‘They’re fine.’ I yawn. ‘I’d forgotten what it was like – I’m shattered.’

  ‘You must let other people help you.’

  ‘Are you offering?’ I ask brightly.

  ‘If you’re saying I could stay up with you all night, then yes . . .’

  ‘Cheeky sod.’ I grin.

  ‘I can take them off your hands for a night at the weekend’.

  ‘That’s really kind of you, but—’

  ‘You don’t trust me?’

  ‘They’ll be used to me by then.’