Vet in a Spin Read online

  Miss Simpson watched with interest as the cat stalked inside and made

  for the stairs.

  "Ah, good, I'm so glad he's come home safely. I knew he was your cat

  and I've been intrigued by his behaviour all evening

  "Where . . . may I ask?"

  "Oh, at the Women's Institute. He came in shortly after we started and

  stayed till the end."

  - - - - ~ "Really? What exactly was your programme, Miss Simpson?"

  "Well, there was a bit of committee stuff, then a short talk with

  lantern slides by Mr Walters from the water company and we finished

  with a cake-ma king competition."

  "Yes . . . yes . . . and what did Oscar do?"

  She laughed

  "Mixed with the company, apparently enjoyed the slides and showed great

  interest in the cakes."

  "I see. And you didn't bring him home?"

  "No, he made his own way here. As you know, I have to pass your house

  and I merely rang your bell to make sure you knew he had arrived."

  "I'm obliged to you, Miss Simpson. We were a little worried."

  I mounted the stairs in record time. Helen was sit ting with the cat

  on her knee and she looked up as I burst in.

  "I know about Oscar now," I said.

  "Know what?"

  "Why he goes on these nightly outings. He's not running away he's

  visiting."

  "Visiting ?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Don't you see? He likes get ting around, he loves people, especially

  in groups, and he's interested in what they do. He's a natural

  mixer."

  Helen looked down at the attractive mound of fur curled on her lap.

  "Of course . . . that's it . . . he's a socialite!"

  "Exactly, a high stepper!"

  "A cat-about-town!"

  It all afforded us some innocent laughter and Oscar sat up and looked

  at us with evident pleasure, adding his own throbbing purr to the

  merriment. But for Helen and me there was a lot of relief behind it;

  ever since our cat had started his excursions there had been the

  gnawing fear that we would lose him, and now we felt secure.

  From that night our delight in him increased. There was endless joy in

  watching this facet of his character unfolding. He did the social

  round meticulously, taking in most of the activities of the town. He

  became a familiar figure at whist drives, jumble sales, school concerts

  and scout bazaars. Most of the time he was made welcome, but was twice

  ejected from meet ings of the Rural Distria Council who did not seem to

  relish the idea of a cat sit ting in on their deliberations.

  At first I was apprehensive about his ma king his wet through the

  streets but I watched him once or twice and saw that he looked both

  ways before tripping daintily across. Clearly he had excellent traffic

  sense and this made me feel that his original injury had not been

  caused by a car.

  Taking it all in all, Helen and I felt that it was a kind stroke of

  fortune which had brought Oscar to us. He was a warm and cherished

  part of our home life.

  He added to our happiness.

  When the blow fell it was totally unexpected.

  I was finishing the evening surgery. I looked round the door and saw

  only a man and two little boys.

  "Next, please," I said.

  The man stood up. He had no animal with him. He was middle-aged, with

  the rough weathered face of a farm worker. He twirled a cloth cap

  nervously in his hands.

  "Mr Herriot?" he said.

  "Yes, what can I do for you?"

  le swallowed and looked me straight in the eyes.

  "Ah think you've got rna What ?"

  "Ah lost ma cat a bit since." He cleared his throat.

  "We used to live at Miss don but ah got a job as ploughman to Mr Horne

  of Wederly. It was after we moved to Wederly that t'cat went mis sin'.

  Ah reckon he was try into find 'is way back to his old home."

  "Wederly? That's on the other side of Braw ton - over thirty miles

  away."

  "Aye, ah knew, but cats is funny things."

  "But what makes you think I've got him?"

  He twisted the cap around a bit more.

  "There's a cousin o' mine lives in Darrow by and ah heard tell from 'im

  about this cat that goes around to meet in's.

  I 'ad to come. We've been hun tin' everywhere."

  "Tell me," I said.

  "This cat you lost. What did he look like?"

  "Grey and black and sort o' gingery. Right bonny 'e was. And 'e was

  all us goin' out to gather in's."

  A cold hand clutched at my heart.

  "You'd better come upstairs. Bring the boys with you."

  Helen was put ting some coal on the fire of the bed-sitter.

  "Helen," I said.

  "This is Mr er - I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

  "Gibbons, Sep Gibbons. They called me Septimus because ah was the

  seventh in family and it looks like ah'm goin' t'same way 'cause we've

  got six already.

  These are our two youngest." The two boys, obvious twins of about

  eight, looked up at us solemnly.

  I wished my heart would stop hammering.

  "Mr Gibbons thinks Oscar is his.

  He lost his cat some time ago."

  My wife put down her little shovel.

  "Oh . . . oh . . . I sec." She stood very still for a moment then

  smiled faintly.

  "Do sit down. Oscar's in the kitchen, I'll bring him through."

  She went out and reappeared with the cat in her arms. She hadn't got

  through the door before the little boys gave tongue.

  "Tiger!" they cried.

  "Oh, Tiger, Tiger!"

  The man's face seemed lit from within. He walked quickly across the

  floor and ran his big work-roughened hand along the fur.

  "Hullo, awd lad," he said, and turned to me with a radiant smile.

  "It's 'im, Mr Herriot, It's 'im aw right, and don't 'e look well!"

  "You call him Tiger, eh?" I said.

  "Aye," he replied happily.

  "It's them gingery stripes. The kids called 'im that.

  They were broken hearted when we lost 'im."

  As the two little boys rolled on the floor our Oscar rolled with them,

  pawing playfully, purring with delight.

  Sep Gibbons sat down again.

  "That's the way 'e all us went on withe family.

  They used to play with 'im for hours. By gaw we did miss 'im. He were

  a right favourite.

  I looked at the broken nails on the edge of the cap, at the decent,

  honest uncomplicated Yorkshire face so like the many I had grown to

  like and respect.

  Farm men like him got thirty shillings a week in those days and it was

  reflected in the threadbare jacket, the cracked, shiny boots and the

  obvious hand-me downs of the boys.

  But all three were scrubbed and tidy, the man's face like a red beacon,

  the children's knees gleaming and their hair carefully slicked across

  their foreheads.

  They looked like nice people to me. I didn't know what to say.

  Helen said it for me.

  "Well, Mr Gibbons." Her tone had an unnatural brightness.

  "You'd better take him."

  The man hesitated.

  "Now then, are ye sure, Missis Herriot?"

  "Yes . . . yes, I'm sure. He