by Nic Saint
“Yes, Tex. You just have to be strong and try to kick this awful habit,” Max chimed in, also placing a helpful paw on the man’s arm and starting to knead it gently.
“Why are they doing that?” asked Tex, staring down at his arm.
“They’re telling you to be strong, and that they’re here for you,” said Vesta with an amused smile.
“I’m not an alcoholic, all right?!” Tex cried, shaking off both paws and turning on the cats.
“But… we saw how you drank no less than five glasses of wine last night during dinner,” said Dooley.
“And how you behaved so strangely when your house was burgled by Johnny and Jerry,” added Max.
“They saw you drink five glasses of wine last night and now they think you’re an alcoholic,” Vesta quickly translated the cats’ words for human consumption.
“I know I drink too much!” said Tex, carefully enunciating his words, as if that would make them more understandable to Max and Dooley.
“They can hear you perfectly fine, Tex,” said Vesta. “You don’t have to shout.”
“I’m not shouting. I just want to explain.”
“Look, the thing is that Tex… is facing a midlife crisis,” said Vesta.
“A midlife crisis?” asked Tex.
“What else do you want to call it?”
“Oh, all right. A midlife crisis it is. Though I’m not sure I’ve already reached that age.”
“Tex, you’re forty-eight. In fact you’re probably a late bloomer as far as midlife crises go.”
“What is a midlife crisis, Max?” asked Dooley.
“It’s when a human reaches a certain age and starts to question if the road he or she took in life has been the right one,” Max explained.
“Exactly,” said Vesta. “So now Tex is wondering if he should have been a doctor after all. Cause he recently discovered that he has a different passion, and it’s made him doubt his chosen profession. Isn’t that right, Tex?”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Tex morosely as he placed his empty cup in the sink. “It all started with Sam.”
“Sam?” Dooley cried. “Oh, no, he’s having an affair with a woman named Sam!”
“He’s not having an affair!” Vesta stressed. “Oh, for Pete’s sakes. Will you listen before you jump to conclusions?”
“Sam?” said Max with a frown. “Isn’t that the pigeon we just met?”
“The one who said that Tex is a miracle worker?” Dooley asked.
“Oh, so you met Sam, did you? And what did he tell you?” asked Vesta.
“Well, he said that he’d broken his wing, and how Tex fixed it up, and saved his life, and how Tex has saved plenty of other animals’ lives since.”
“I actually walked in on him playing the banjo to Sam, to cheer him up, and so he had to come clean. But can you see the dilemma we’re facing? Our doctor here wants to transfer his medical skills from the human species to the animal kingdom, and I keep telling him that if he really wants to go through with this, he needs to think long and hard, and tell his family and his patients.”
“I told you, I’m not ready to tell them yet,” said Tex. “And before you two butt in, let me tell you that things aren’t completely clear in my own head yet, and I think they should be, before I involve other people, all right?”
“All right, all right,” said Max, holding up an appeasing paw. “Take it easy. We’re not here to tell you what to do. We’re only here out of concern for your wellbeing.”
“We thought he was an alcoholic,” Dooley repeated.
“I’m still not fully convinced that he isn’t,” said Max, and now took a tentative sniff from the cup of coffee Tex had placed in the sink. “Mh… “ he said. “No alcohol, Dooley.”
“Let me smell,” said Max’s friend, but soon came to the same conclusion.
“Look, Tex has been under a lot of pressure,” said Vesta. “Which is why he’s been drinking a little too much. But that doesn’t make him a full-blown alcoholic. Far from it.”
Tex dragged a weary hand through his white mane. “I’ve been working with patients—human patients—all of my professional life, and for some reason I just hit a point last month where I suddenly felt that enough was enough. And then Sam came along, and it felt so good to treat his broken wing and nurse him back to health. I mean, animals are so grateful for the least little thing you do for them. They don’t complain that you didn’t prescribe them the medication they read about on WebMD, or they don’t drop by at all hours of the day or night with some imaginary disease they think they might have developed. And they certainly don’t accost you at Costco when you’re standing at the checkout counter, and strip down their pants to show you the suspicious mole they discovered that morning. I mean, humans can be so… exasperating, while animals are the exact opposite. So I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I’m dropping my license and becoming a vet.”
Both Max and Dooley stared at the doctor, then Dooley said, “He is an alcoholic, Max. A raging one.”
“No, I think he’s lucid right now, Dooley,” said Max. “I don’t think he’s under the influence.”
“But… he can’t give up his license. What are his patients going to do?”
“They’ll find another doctor,” said Vesta. “Plenty of talented physicians in the world to take Tex’s place. Isn’t that a fact?”
“Oh, sure,” said her son-in-law. “Some young whippersnapper will jump at the chance to take over my practice.”
“But we already have a vet,” said Dooley.
“And we don’t need a second one,” Max added.
“Yes, we hate Vena, and we like Tex,” Dooley explained. “And if Tex becomes like Vena, we’ll have to hate Tex, too, and we don’t want to hate Tex, do we, Max?”
“No, we want to keep on liking Tex, and keep on hating Vena.”
Vesta rolled her eyes. “This is all getting very, very complicated.” That’s what you get, of course, she thought, when you promise to keep a person’s secret a secret. “Look, nothing has been decided yet. So you two don’t go blabbing until Tex has decided one way or another, all right?”
“All right, Gran,” said Max and Dooley in unison.
“I mean it. Not to Harriet, not to Brutus, and not to any of your other little friends.”
Both cats looked pained at having to make such a promise, but finally nodded dutifully.
“Good. Though I still think you should tell your wife and your daughter, Tex.”
“I will—when I’m ready,” said the doctor, stubborn as ever.
Just then a loud voice called out, “Yoo-hoo! Doctor Poole? Where are you, Doctor Poole?”
Tex emitted a tired groan. “Ida,” he said. “Just what I need right now.” He was referring to Ida Baumgartner, one of his most loyal patients.
Vesta patted the man’s back as they left the kitchen. “At moments like these I think becoming a vet is not such a bad idea after all, son.”
20
I have to confess I found this all very difficult. A cat’s natural instinct is to go blab about anything they pick up over the course of a day, and now we’d specifically been told to curb our inclination to spread this hot bit of gossip far and wide—tough! So I think Dooley and I could be excused for coming away from this meeting feeling more than a little dazed and confused.
“There’s something I don’t understand, Max,” said my friend once we were back on the sidewalk and trotting along.
“There’s a lot I don’t understand, Dooley,” I admitted.
“Okay, so Tex is a doctor of humans, right? I mean, he’s a human doctor and he doctors humans?”
“I guess that’s a correct assumption, yes.”
“So, doesn’t a doctor for humans have different qualifications than an animal doctor?”
Dooley probably meant a doctor for animals, since there are probably very few animals who get to be vets. On the other hand there are probably human doctors whose patients would argue tha
t they’re actually animals, but that’s a different discussion, and one we don’t need to go into at this point.
“What I’m trying to say,” said Dooley, trying to make his meaning crystal clear, “don’t they go to different schools and get different degrees and all that?”
“I think so—why?”
“Well, I don’t think Tex can simply switch, you know. I don’t think he can simply get out of bed one day and say: from now on I’m going to be curing animals, not humans. I think first he’ll need to go back to school and get a degree in veterinarianism. Or is it vegetarianism?”
“I think the correct term is veterinary medicine,” I said. “And you’re absolutely right, Dooley. You can’t just go from being a medical doctor to being a vet. Tex will have to go back to school.”
“At his age that won’t be easy. Studying is hard, Max—or so I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, and I can’t imagine Tex sitting amongst a bunch of teenagers while they teach him how to dissect a frog—or whatever it is they do at those dreadful institutions.”
I’m being unnecessarily hard on vets, of course, and if I have caused offense, I apologize. Look, it’s not that I actually hate Vena, our resident vet. It’s just that I don’t like it that every time we visit her she finds some excuse to prick me with a needle. It’s not much fun for me, but judging from the look on her face it seems to be a lot of fun for her, which is where our notion that vets are actually closet sadists comes from. Though that look could be also a look of concentration, of course, or maybe even satisfaction that she’s helped another pet—or maybe Vena’s is simply one of those faces that naturally smile when in repose. At any rate, Tex was on the verge of a very big change in lifestyle: from being the town’s respected doctor, he might go to being a middle-aged college student, while drawing the town’s ire for leaving his patients high and dry.
“I wonder what Gran is going to do,” said Dooley musingly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s Tex’s receptionist right now. So is she still going to be his receptionist when he becomes a vet?”
“Gran’s future employment is not what worries me, Dooley,” I said. “It’s that Tex won’t have any income for the foreseeable future, and they still have a lot of bills to pay for the work on the house.”
Recently Marge and Tex’s house had been inadvertently destroyed by an inadequate builder. And even though the insurance had paid out, there was still a lot of stuff they’d had to pay themselves. Like new furniture and a new kitchen and even a new bathroom. And then there was Odelia and Chase’s honeymoon they had chipped in for, along with the rest of the family.
“We better hurry,” I said. We had a meeting with the Pink Lady’s insurance people scheduled, after all, one for which we didn’t want to be late. Even though the very last thing I was interested in at that moment was to meet with an insurance person. It just goes to show how powerfully the news of Tex’s midlife crisis and subsequent career change had impressed us.
We arrived at the house, where the auspicious meeting was to take place, and entered through the pet flap as usual. Harriet and Brutus were already there, and so were Odelia and Chase, seated at the dining room table, patiently awaiting the arrival of the insurance folks. In the middle of the table stood the small jewel box, and in it, I presumed, was the Pink Lady, awaiting further developments and possible inspection.
“What took you so long?” asked Harriet with a touch of irritation.
“Oh, we had some business to attend to in town,” I said.
“What business?” asked Brutus with a frown.
“Oh, this and that,” I said vaguely, since I couldn’t think of an excuse right then.
“We discovered a secret,” Dooley announced with a proud smile.
“Dooley!” I said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them. That’s because it’s a secret,” he explained to Harriet and Brutus, who were staring at my friend with open-mouthed anticipation.
“A secret?” said Harriet. “Well, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Dooley happily, “but it’s a big secret. A very big secret. And once you hear what it is, you’re going to be so surprised. So, so surprised.”
“Dooley…” I groaned.
“But I can’t tell you what it is right now,” he continued, “because we made a promise to a certain person that we wouldn’t tell anyone, so we’re not telling anyone.”
“Oh, don’t give us that crap,” said Brutus. “Tell!”
“I’m sorry but I really can’t,” said Dooley, and closed his lips ostentatiously, then mimicked locking them and throwing away the key.
“Don’t be like that, Dooley,” said Harriet, moving closer to my friend and giving him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “I’m your oldest and dearest friend. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
But Dooley shook his head.
I didn’t feel like coming to his aid, for he’d maneuvered himself into this untenable position all by himself.
“Oh, Dooley,” Harriet said with a little sigh. “Sweet, sweet Dooley…” She gave him a nudge with her head. “Do you know I’ve always thought you’re the sweetest , nicest cat I know?”
At this point Dooley looked as if the top of his head was just about to come off, but he was still staying strong.
“Oh, but Dooley, you’re hurt!” suddenly Harriet cried out, and pointed to a speck of dust on my friend’s shoulder.
“That’s just a speck of…” I began, but Harriet was already planting a delicate kiss on the spot.
“There, that should make it all better,” she purred.
Brutus was eyeing this spectacle with unreserved astonishment. It’s probably not a nice experience to have to watch the love of your life pant little kisses on other cats, but then Harriet would argue that this all served the greater good.
“Oh, but Dooley, you have a cut!” she said, this time pointing to the cat’s neck. And once more she planted a little kiss just so.
Dooley, who was sitting on a crate of dynamite, ready to explode, suddenly burst out, “Tex is tired of being a doctor and he wants to become a vet! There, I said it.” He turned to me. “Does that make me a bad person, Max?”
“No, it doesn’t, Dooley,” I said with a little eyeroll. Harriet had put him on the spot, and I imagined if she’d handled me the same way she’d just handled Dooley, I might have spilled the beans, too. She has her ways, Harriet does.
Harriet was glowing with pride, but Brutus said, “Tex wants to be a vet? Are you sure?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Dooley. “He and Gran told us the whole story. How he’s fed up with his patients showing him weird-looking moles at Costco, and how pets are a much more grateful clientele, and how he dreams of becoming a vet, and never having to see another human patient in his life. Oh, and the reason he drinks so much is because he can’t decide whether to go through with his midwife crisis or not.”
“Midwife crisis?” asked Brutus. “What are you talking about?”
“He means a midlife crisis,” I said. “Tex hasn’t been feeling well lately. And so he’s been drinking more, even though he says he’s not an alcoholic, and he’s been thinking about making a big and sweeping life change, only he’s afraid that if he does, the consequences will be devastating. So he hasn’t told anyone, except Gran, and now he’s trying to decide what to do.”
“Tex a vet,” said Harriet.
“I hate vets,” Brutus grunted. “Sadists, every last one of them. Always with their needles and their poking and their prodding.”
“Not Tex,” said Dooley. “Tex will be a very nice vet, the kind of vet who doesn’t poke you or prod you or stick you with a needle.”
“Oh, he’ll stab you with needles and all the rest of it,” said Brutus. “Just you wait and see. Now he’s acting all nice and friendly, to put you off guard, but once he’s got you strapped to his table, he’ll go to town on you. You don’t have to teach me v
ets. I’ve seen them all and they’re all the same.”
“Not Tex,” Dooley insisted. “Right, Max?”
“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in action yet, so it’s too soon to tell.”
“He would never hurt anyone,” Dooley insisted stubbornly. “Sam said he saved his life, and he’s saved the lives of plenty of Sam’s friends, and Sam says Tex is a miracle worker. He’s like Dr. Dolittle, and Dr. Dolittle would never hurt an animal.”
“What are you babbling about?” asked Harriet, her sultry demeanor now fully a thing of the past. “Who is Sam?”
“Sam is a pigeon we met in Tex’s city garden,” I explained. “He suffered a broken wing and Tex nursed him back to health, so now he’s extremely grateful and told all his friends, and they’ve all dropped by at various intervals to be treated by Tex.”
“So who’s paying for all of these treatments?” asked Harriet, that mercantile streak that runs through her veins once again manifesting itself.
“No one, I guess.”
“He’s doing all of that stuff for free,” said Dooley.
“Well, he shouldn’t,” said Harriet. “If he’s going to be a vet, he needs to learn how to ask for money.”
“I’m sure that if he becomes a vet—which is still a big if,” I said, “he’ll ask for money just fine. And if he doesn’t, Gran will. Look,” I continued, “you can’t tell anyone about this, you hear?”
“Of course not, Max,” said Harriet sweetly. “We won’t tell a living soul, isn’t that so, smoochie poo?”
“Sure,” said Brutus with a grin. “Not a living soul.”
Oh, dear. I had a feeling Dooley had just let the cat out of the bag.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and Odelia went to answer it, after darting a quick glance at her husband. Chase sat up a little straighter, and when a tall man walked in, holding a brown leather briefcase in his hand and eagerly glancing around, presumably looking for the Pink Lady, we all jumped up on the couch, to have a first-row seat to the show.