Vets Might Fly Read online

eyes.

  "I understand and I'm sorry. I can only tell you again that the only

  way prevent this trouble is to spay your cat and the charge IS one

  pound."

  "Nay, I can't afford that much!"

  I spread my hands.

  "But you are asking me to do it for half the price. That's ridiculous.

  This operation involves the removal of the uterus and ovaries under a

  general anaesthetic. You just can't do a job like that for ten

  shillings." : "Oh, you are cruel!" She turned and looked out of the

  window and h shoulders began to shake.

  "You won't even take pity on a poor widder."

  This had been going on for ten minutes and it began to dawn on me that

  was in the presence of a stronger character than myself. I glanced at

  my wet, - I should have been on my round by now and it was becoming

  increasingly' obvious that I wasn't going to win this argument.

  I sighed. Maybe she really was a poor widow.

  "All right, Mrs Beck, I'll it for ten shillings, just this once. Will

  Tuesday afternoon be all right for you' She swung round from the

  window, her face crinkling magically into a smile "That'll suit me

  grand! Eee, that's right kind of you." She tripped past me al I

  followed her along the passage.

  "Just one thing," I said as I held the front door open for her.

  "Don't give, Georgina any food from midday on Monday. She must have an

  empty stomach' when you bring her in."

  "Bringer in?" She was a picture of bewilderment.

  "But I 'aven't got no car I thought you'd be collect in' her."

  "Collecting! But Ray ton's five miles away!"

  "Yes, and bringer back afterwards, too. I 'ave no transport."

  "Collect . . . operate on her . . . take her back! All for ten

  shillings!"

  She was still smiling but a touch of steel glinted in her eyes.

  "Well, that's what you agreed to charge ten shillings."

  "But ... but..."

  "Oh now you're star tin' again." The smile faded and she put her head

  on o side.

  "And I'm only a poor . . ."

  "Okay, okay," I said hastily.

  "I'll call on Tuesday."

  And when Tuesday afternoon came round I cursed my softness. If that a

  had been brought in I could have operated on her at two o'clock and

  been on the road doing my farm calls by two thirty. I didn't mind

  working at a 1 for half an hour, but how long was this business going

  to take?

  On my way out I glanced through the open door of the sitting room.

  Tristan was supposed to be studying but was sleeping soundly in his

  favourite chair.` went in and looked down at him, marvelling at the

  utter relaxation, seen only ; l i .

  s in a dedicated sleeper. His face was as smooth and untroubled as a

  baby's, the DailY Mirror, open at the comic strips, had fallen across

  his chest and a burnt-out Woodbine hung from one dangling hand.

  I shook him gently.

  "Like to come with me, Triss? I've got to pick up a cat."

  He came round slowly, stretching and grimacing, but his fundamental

  good nature soon reasserted itself.

  "Certainly' dim," he said with a final yawn.

  "It will be a pleasure."

  Mrs Beck lived half way down the left side of Ray ton village. I

  read

  "Jasmine Cottage' on the brightly painted gate, and as we went up the

  garden path the door opened and the little woman waved gaily.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen, I'm right glad to see you both." She

  ushered us into the living-room among good, solid-loo king furniture

  which showed no sign of poverty. The open cupboard of a mahogany

  sideboard gave me a glimpse of glasses and bottles. I managed to

  identify Scotch, cherry brandy and sherry before she nudged the door

  shut with her knee.

  I pointed to a cardboard box loosely tied with string.

  "Ah, good, you've got her in there, have you?"

  "Nay, bless you, she's in "'garden. She all us has a bit of play out

  there of an afternoon."

  "In the garden, eh?" I said nervously.

  "Well, please get her in, we're in rather a hurry."

  We went through a tiled kitchen to the back door. Most of these

  cottages had a surprising amount of land behind them and Mrs Beck's

  patch was in very nice order. Flower beds bordered a smooth stretch of

  lawn and the sunshine drew glittering colours from the apples and pears

  among the branches of the trees.

  "Georgina," carolled Mrs Beck.

  "Where are you, my pet?"

  No cat appeared and she turned to me with a roguish smile.

  "I think the little imp's pl ayin' a game with us. She does that, you

  know."

  "Really?" I said without enthusiasm.

  "Well, I wish she'd show herself. I really don't have much . . ."

  At that moment a very fat tabby darted from a patch of chrysanthemums

  and flitted across the grass into a clump of rhododendrons with Tristan

  in close pursuit. The young man dived among the greenery and the cat

  emerged from the other end at top speed, did a couple of laps of the

  lawn then shot up a gnarled tree.

  Tristan, eyes gleaming in anticipation, lifted a couple of windfall

  apples from the turf.

  "I'll soon shift the bugger from there, Jim," he whispered and took

  aim.

  I grabbed his arm.

  "For heaven's sake, Triss!" I hissed.

  "You can't do that.

  Put those things down."

  "Oh . . . all right." He dropped the apples and made for the tree.

  "I'll get hold of her for you, anyway."

  "Wait a minute." I seized his coat as he passed.

  "I'll do it. You stay down here and try to catch her if she jumps."

  Tristan looked disappointed but I gave him a warning look. The way the

  cat had moved, it struck me that it only needed a bit of my colleague's

  ebullience to send the animal winging into the next county. I began to

  climb the tree.

  I like cats, I've always liked them, and since I feel that animals

  recognise this in a person I have usually been able to approach and

  handle the most difficult types. It is not too much to say that I

  prided myself on my cat technique; I didn't foresee any trouble here.

  Puffing slightly, I reached the top branch and extended a hand to the

  crouching animal.

  "Pooss-pooss," I cooed, using my irresistible cat tone.

  Georgina eyed me coldly and gave no answering sign other than a higher'

  arching of the back.

  I leaned further along the branch.

  "Pooss-pooss, pooss-pooss." My voice w like molten honey, my finger

  near her face. I would rub her cheek ever so gently and she would be

  mine. It never failed.

  "Pah!" replied Georgina warningly but I took no heed and touched the

  fur under her chin.

  "Pah-pah!" Georgina spat and followed with a lightning left hook which

  opened a bloody track across the back of my hand.

  Muttering fervently, I retreated and nursed my wounds From below M Beck

  gave a tinkling laugh.

  "Oh, isn't she a little monkey! She's that playful, bless her."

  I snorted and began to ease my way along the branch again. This time

  thought grimly, I would dispense with finesse. The