by Emma
The following morning I took Emma, protesting as ever,
to the surgery, and after Mr Davidson had given her the
anaesthetic, I stayed with her until she was asleep. One of the
drivers from the garage, who were immensely kind and understanding
about this whole business, took me in to work and I
waited the two hours. My thoughts were in turmoil: terrible
anxiety for Emma, mixed with anticipation of the problems
that would be involved in getting about without her to lead
me. The lump on her chest was just where the harness went,
and she would certainly not be able to wear it for a little while
at least. Those two hours were quite extraordinary. Not only
was I worried because Emma was at the vet's under an
anaesthetic, but I instinctively kept feeling her bed under the
switchboard, listening for her, expecting to feel her touch my
knee with her nose. It was like having left part of myself
somewhere else. It was a very upsetting, empty feeling. I
couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to Emma.
At last, twelve o'clock came and again my chauffeur from
work took me down to the vet's, parked, and waited for me to
fetch Emma. I felt my way up the steps to the door with the
help of the riil, rang the bell, and was shown into the waiting
room. Then Mr Davidson brought Emma in. She had not
I26 EMMA AND I FMMA'S OPERATION I27
long recovered consciousness, and I could hear by her walk
she was shaky on her feet. But her welcome! The way she
wagged her tail was nearly making her fall over; I heard her
slip and slide about as she saw me. Even in that state she made
an immense fuss of me, bless her.
When I'd thanked Mr Davidson, I clipped her lead round
her collar ring instead of putting her harness on, and we made
our way out. I went very slowly, as much for my own sake as
Emma's, but when the door was opened for us, Emma turned
round and took hold ofthe lead about half-way up, and walked
round in front of me. I was not very sure why, but then
realized that we were at the top of the steps and she was
telling me that because she was not wearing her harness, she
could not help me in her normal way: so, instead, she was
taking the lead in her mouth to guide me.
We got home, and Emma slept peacefully in front of the
fire for most of the day while the anaesthetic wore ofF. But I
was dreadfully worried, wondering what news would come
about the lump. The waiting seemed endless. I had a nightmare
that I was in the middle of Nottingham, alone, with no
Emma and no Don, and there were people all around me, and
noise and confusion. I could not move I was so terrified. Two
days later, there was good news in the post: the results from
the laboratory were negative. It had only been a fatty lump,
and there was nothing malignant. My relief was boundless.
Emma had only a small wound, with about four stitches in
it. But so that she would not scratch it, I decided to put part
of a pair of tights over it. Emma must have looked very odd.
I cut the legs off the tights, and made a hole in the gusset
which was to go over her head, so that the body part went over
her ribs and no dirt would get to the wound. It meant a new
pair of tights for her every day, and when we came to fitting
them, Emma was always delighted. I think she was quite
proud of her new look.
During this period when Emma could not work, I felt quite
helpless. I suppose I might have been able to get to the shops
without Emma, but I really did not have the courage even to
try to set foot outside the door without her. She had been
with me for so long the idea was inconceivable.
Fortunately she was back in harness fairly soon, because the
wound healed quickly. As we strode off down the street
together it seemed incredible to be free again. And knowing
what it was like without that freedom made the feeling even
greater.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CATS
S 0 0 N A F T E R I moved into the new bungalow in Beechdale
it struck me that, once again, I would be able to have a cat.
There had not been a cat in our lives since Tiss, but now I
would be able to fulfil an ambition: I should be able to have
a Siamese cat. Ever since I had taken Emma to the vet one
day, and we had sat next to someone with a litter of Siamese,
I had wanted one. I had been given one of the kittens to hold,
and I was struck by its delicate frame and elegance and length,
quite apart from the uncannily human sound made by the
litter.
So one evening I asked Don if he would look in the paper
to see if there were any Siamese advertised. He kept looking
until one night, after a spate ofjack Russells for sale, he came
across what we wanted. 'Red point Siamese,' he said, 'what
are they ?'
'I've no idea. but they sound very attractive, don't they?
What's the telephone number?'
I rang the breeder there and then and she described the cats
to me as having golden-red ears, paws, tail and face, with
sapphire blue eyes and an almost white body coat. They
sounded gorgeous. So we made an appointment to go and
inspect them. Emma came along, of course, for apart from
having to take me there, she would also have to approve or
not, as the case might be. We chose a male kitten, four months
old, and named him Ohpas, which is the Siamese for sun
i
THE CATS
I29
light. We hadn't had him long before it was apparent he had
fleas and other disorders and the vet's bills mounted alarmingly
before eventually he was in good health. But this we
did not know on the afternoon we brought him home.
When we arrived, I let him out of his little carrier, and he
was so nervous of anything that moved that he went behind
the armchair and would not budge. Nothing I could do
would bring him out. Some hours later I was sitting down
to dinner and j ust cutting into a j uicy steak when I felt something
climbing onto my knee: Ohpas, obviously. So to encourage
him (mistakenly as I later realized) I cut a very small
piece of meat and gave it to him. Almost immediately there
was a rather more authoritative tap on my other knee. It was
Emma. It had always been a rule that Emma never had titbits
from the table. But what could I do? In fairness I had
to cut her some, too. And in next to no time both my knees
were under attack from alternate sides. Between them, Ohpas
and Emma had most of the steak I had so been looking for
ward to. I did enjoy the grilled tomatoes, though. They were
not interested in them.
The most marvellous thing about Ohpas was that he worshipped
Emma. He used to sit on the settee and it became his
job to wash her face and ears. Like Tiss, Ohpas seemed to
know that Emma was something special among dogs, and this
feeling was evident with every cat we had afterwards: it was
a strange communi
cation of knowledge between animals that
the relationship between them and the human beings was
clearly defined, and Emma's r6Ie and importance were
unmistakable to the cats.
The absent-minded professor side to Ohpas's character was
most evident when he fed. Siamese like to take their food to
where they want to eat it, not necessarily eat from the bowl
where it is provided. Ohpas was no exception, and he used to
prefer to take his piece of meat into the living room, and sit in
front of the fire eating it in comfort. His routine never varied.
Don, once again, was able to describe to me exactly what
happened. Ohpas would take the meat from the bowl, put it
E
I30 EMMA AND I
down on the hearthrug, and then fastidiously wash himself
before settling to enjoy it. Unfortunately, Emma occasionally
use to spy out what was happening, and since where food is
concerned Emma can resist anything but temptation, the
meat would be gone in a flash, and the air would be filled
with a strange sort of pert, questioning mewing: 'I know
I had a piece of meat, but where has it gone?' I would then
be touched on the knee, and there would be more interrogative
mewing: 'Doyou know what's happened to my food?'
The simple solution, of course, was to provide another piece
of meat. But, just as often, Emma would be watching and
waiting, nose on the carpet, like an alligator in the shallows,
and the same thing would happen all over again.
When I bought a second Siamese, to keep Ohpas company,
she too took instantly to Emma. She was a most intelligent
and regal animal called Ming. Emma, in turn, recognizing
a likeable and kindred intelligence, almost immediately set
to work moulding her into a partner in crime. Emma's
besetting greed had only one major obstacle in the house.
She was unable to reach up to and across the draining
board. Ming was accordingly trained to come to the rescue.
I have no idea how it was done. But plainly Emma taught her
to get on to the draining board (with Siamese silence and
stealth) and throw any scraps, or even more tasty prizes,
down for Emma to eat. Don used to watch this extraordinary
performance (when they were unaware they were being
observed) and he told me that Ming was mainly concerned
in getting the food to Emma, and reserved hardly a morsel
for herself.
I used to feed them all separately, and Emma had the good
grace never actually to steal from the bowls as the cats fed.
But Ming always left a little, and when she walked away from
her bowl, it was the signal for Emma to come in like a canine
vandal falling on the fleshpots of Rome, and plundering not
only what was left by Ming, but any remains that Ohpas
had unwittingly overlooked.
Having one male, Ohpas, and one female, Ming, in the
THE CATS
i
'3I
household produced an inevitable result: a litter of Siamese
kittens. It came as no surprise. The evening Ming started
producing her kittens, Don was not with me, and I had a
horrible feeling that if anything did go wrong, I would have
no idea what to do. But it all went off quite undramatically.
First I heard a very small squeak, announcing that a kitten
had arrived, and no sooner, it seemed, had I heard this little
noise, than I felt Ming come along and put something on
my foot. I put my hand down very cautiously, and I felt a
moist, tiny ball of fur.
I was surprised, because I had always understood that cats
were very possessive about their offspring. Therefore, in case
Ming really was not quite sure what she was doing, I picked
up the new arrival in a paper handkerchief so as not to get
my scent on it, and returned it to Ming. But shortly afterwards
there was another minute noise, and Ming brought her
second kitten out to me ... then a third ... and the entire
routine was performed five times.
So, there I was with a litter of five! After three weeks I had
the business of weaning them, and this was slightly more
difficult for me. The principle is to take some patent milk,
the kind used for babies, make it up, put a little finger in and
let the kittens take it from the finger. My trouble was that it
was hard to find their mouths, and sometimes they had milk
applied to the ear! But we managed.
It wasn't long before I decided I should like to show the
Siamese, which may sound the ultimate in lunacy. Still, I
decided I would try it. Friends came to the rescue, and in
spite of not being able to see, I learned how to groom the cats
and how to know by touch whether they were perfectly clean.
Ohpas, being white, tended to collect dirty marks, but here
Don would help and point out offending spots which I would
then clean. His cars I would do with cotton wool, and, once
again, Don would inspect them. The details of my travels
with the cats would require a book in themselves, but suffice
it to say that the hall is now full of rosettes and commendations
from shows all over the country.
I
I32
In the event, showing Ohpas became less of a problem than
that ofthe rising generation: Ming's five kittens. As they began
to grow up, I really wondered what I had unloosed. Siamese
are not only possessed of berserk inclinations, they are
delinquent to an extreme degree. They zoomed up and down
curtains and round and round the living room at sixty miles
an hour, over tables, chairs, and mantelpiece but never the
floor; they were rather like a miniature but lethal chapter of
Hell's Angels roaring round.
I constantly had to make excuses for them. Don came to see
me one evening and said in surprise, 'I didn't know you were
going to start stripping the wallpaper.' Because I really
thought he might not approve, I had to say that, in fact, I had
suddenly thought the bathroom needed redecorating; needless
to say, it had been Ming's dreadful brood that had been
responsible.
The trouble with all these games, which I could not see,
but which I knew were going on, was that I had no idea where
each of them had got to at any given moment, and it worried
me sometimes. Every so often I had to have, so to speak, a
roll-call. I had learnt to recognize by touch every one of the
kittens, which was pleasing, because apparently they were
difficult to tell apart visually. But I was able to distinguish
between them either by their slightly differing weights, or by
the shape of their heads, or by the length of their bodies and
their tails.
At about this time a new anxiety about Emma was beginning
to emerge. Once a year she had to be passed fit to do
her work by the Guide-Dog Association. She was due for a
check in January 1975, and because she was over ten years
old I was a little concerned. I began to fear that she might be
retired simply on the grounds of her age
. Such a lot of my
friends who had guide-dogs of about that age were being
advised to retire them and go for new dogs. I could not bear
the thought. I would often talk about it to Don, and he would
say, 'Oh, there's no need to worry. Even if she had to retire I
can take her with me to the surgery every day. She'll be all
EMMA AND I
THE CATS
right. She'll be quite happy.' Well, possibly she mightI3
thought, but it was a terrible, desolating prospect to have , t
face.
I knew that I should not really be losing Emma, but th
idea of any other dog doing her job, of being in harness witl
me, seemed so disloyal. It was unthinkable. I remembered al
those years ago, my first evening at the training centre and
how Dotty had wept, and, faced with the same situation
myself, I really understood how heartbroken she had felt a
having to go for a replacement for her first dog.
I could not bear to have the partnership broken. Emma was
such a part of me. But the letter from the Guide-Dog
Association said that the trainer would arrive on Thursday
at two o'clock, and I was dreading what he might say, even
though rationally I knew that Emma worked as well as any
younger dog, was sprightly, on her toes, and as full of energy
as she had ever been.
The trainer not only checks that the dog is fit, but also
makes sure that the guide-dog owner is helping to make it a
team effort, and that no slipshod habits have crept in since
his previous visit. So I wondered, too, how I would make out,
though the thought was unimportant beside my concern for
Emma.
He arrived on the dot of two, and Emma was on her best
behaviour as I put her harness on and braced up to the task,
and I hoped so much that he would not see anything that I
had not been able to detect in her work. 'I'll go through town,'
I said, 'if it's all right with you; it's our usual route to the bus
station.'
The trainer was a pleasant man called Mr Soames, and he
said that was fine. We had not picked the best of days. There
was a great wind that beat against us when we set off and
shortly there was a flurry of snow in our faces. But we carried