I’ll write this very quietly to avoid alarm in the basket behind me. We went to the V-E-T . . .schuush . . . ! Had been putting it off but daughter came home at the weekend and was unimpressed by the procrastination. Smacked wrist pour moi. Ruff, aging Persian fluffball, has been seriously under-achieving with his scratchpost activities and it was time for Alfred’s doggy disease inhibiting vaccine.
Seizing time by the throat while daughter went to raid a bank decided to take action. Imagine me, if you will, on fast forward rushing around locating cat basket, then slumbering cat (that bit wasn’t too difficult) then shoving floppy cat through opening into waiting receptacle. Indignant howling ensued. Alf hoped we were off for a walk. Sorry, matey, not this time. As I grabbed my keys, I had to smile at my keyring, given to me by a friend. It shows a dog sitting in the back of a car looking out of the window and thinking “park not vets, part not vets, part not vets . . .” Sorry, boy, it’s vets not park today! But at least the two remaining pals are going together. It used to be the two dogs one day, felines the next. Now each has lost their friend, they’ve teamed up so it’s all good.
Upon arrival at the V-word, I leapt out with Alf, leaving husband to carry cat basket containing laid back but very vocal Ruff. He’s so gorgeous, like a huge white teddy with shades of red on his ears – a red colour point by breed. Everyone loves the old boy, who’s now 15. The vet once said he’d never seen a cat with feet like our lad as they’re huge and distinctly rabbit-esque. Alf decides it’s only right to leave a pee mail on the upright to the disabled handrail on the way in. It probably said “Handsome hunk was here”, for that’s how humans at the park describe him.
Anyway, back to the matter in hand. The duty vet is Laura whom I met when Susie (Alf’s mum) was seriously ill. She’s a quiet, caring and gentle personality and was laughing her head off as we entered; didn’t think I looked that bad, actually. She said all they’d seen of our arrival was a nose on hooter alert pushing through the gap in the door and were wondering what was attached thereto. The hooter detected those unpleasant vet odours and Alf did a 360 and was about to leg it – no so fast young man. Luckily there were no other clients waiting so it was straight into the consulting room. Husband lifted Alf on to the table for a quick MOT before the main event. Laura admired excellent musculature (son, if present, would have been envious) just as he launches himself off the table. Dog retrieved and placed on table – take two. Laura does a great “Look into my eyes, look into my eyes and ignore the needle . . .” type thing and the injection into the scruff went unnoticed. By now Alf’s looking adoringly at Laura who’s staring deeply into his eyes and stroking his ears. He’s smitten and I hope Laura’s there next time, rather than James who doesn’t stroke ears and accurately calls Alf “One of our wossier clients”.
The next candidate was nicely settled in the cat transporter when the lid was unceremoniously removed and puffball lifted out. Not phased in the slightest, Ruff stretched out on the table and had a manicure. The graunching noise as his nails were cut was toe curling to me, but the old boy seemed to enjoy it. He’s knocking on a bit for his breed and Laura’s impressed by his robust good health. By the time she’d finished cuddling him her navy blue vet top’s starting to look decidedly mohairish.
We’re home before the bank raider returns and the frentic activity was worth it just to see the simultaneous surprise and disbelief on daughter’s face at the news that the vet’s been visited, as I recline with a cup of tea. She checked the old boy’s nails to make sure, surprised that I could move so fast . . .