James Herriot's Cat Stories Read online

nothing, don't worry. She'll have the kittens, that's all, and I'll

  find homes for them. Everything will be fine." I was putting on my

  breeziest act, but it didn't seem to help. "But Mr. Herriot, I don't

  know anything about these things. I'm now terribly worried. She

  could die giving birth--she's so tiny!" "No, no, not at all. Cats

  very rarely have any trouble that way. I tell you what, when she

  starts having the kittens--probably around a month from now--get

  Eddy to give me a ring. I'll slip out here and see that all is well.

  How's that?" "Oh, you are kind. I feel so silly about this. The

  trouble is ... she means so much to me." "I know, and stop worrying.

  Everything will be absolutely okay." We had a cup of tea together

  and by the time I left he had calmed down.

  I did hear from him at last one stormy evening. "Mr. Herriot, I am

  telephoning from the farm. Emily has not yet produced those kittens,

  but she is ... very large and has lain trembling all day and won't

  eat anything. I hate to trouble you on this horrible night but I

  know nothing about these things and she does look ... most unhappy."

  I didn't like the sound of that, but I tried to sound casual. "I

  think I'll just pop out and have a look at her, Mr. Ireson."

  "Really--are you sure?" "Absolutely. No bother. I'll see you soon."

  It was a strange, almost unreal scene as I stumbled through the

  darkness and parted the sacks forty minutes later. The wind and rain

  buffeted the tarpaulin walls and by the flickering light of the

  tilly lamp I saw Eugene in his chair stroking Emily, who lay in the

  basket by his side. The little cat had swollen enormously--so much

  as to be almost unrecognisable and as I kneeled and passed my hand

  over her distended abdomen I could feel the skin stretched tight.

  She was absolutely bursting full of kittens, but seemed lifeless and

  exhausted. She was straining, too, and licking at her vulva. I

  looked up at the old man. "Have you some hot water, Mr. Ireson?"

  "Yes, yes, the kettle has just boiled." I soaped my little finger.

  It would only just go into the tiny vagina. Inside I found the

  cervix wide open and a mass beyond, only just palpable. Heaven only

  knew how many kittens were jammed in there, but one thing was

  certain. There was no way they could ever come out. There was no

  room for manoeuvre. There was nothing I could do. Emily turned her

  face to me and gave a faint miaow of distress and it came to me

  piercingly that this cat could die. "Mr. Ireson," I said, "I'll have

  to take her away immediately." "Take her away?" he said in a

  bewildered whisper. "Yes. She needs a caesarean operation. The

  kittens can't come out in the normal way." Upright in his chair, he

  nodded, shocked and only half comprehending. I grabbed the basket,

  Emily and all, and rushed out into the darkness. Then, as I thought

  of the old man looking blankly after me, I realised that my bedside

  manner had slipped badly. I pushed my head back through the sacks.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Ireson," I said, "everything's going to be fine."

  Don't worry! Brave words. As I parked Emily on the back seat and

  drove away, I knew I was damn worried, and I cursed the mocking fate

  which had decreed that after all of my airy remarks about cats

  effortlessly giving birth I might be headed for a tragedy. How long

  had Emily been lying like that? Ruptured uterus? Septicaemia? The

  grim possibilities raced through my mind. And why did it have to

  happen to that solitary old man of all people? I stopped at the

  village kiosk and rang Siegfried. "I've just left old Eugene Ireson.

  Will you come in and give me a hand? Cat caesar and it's urgent.

  Sorry to bother you on your night off." "Perfectly all right, James,

  I'm not doing a thing. See you soon, eh?" When I got to the surgery

  Siegfried had the steriliser bubbling and everything laid out. "This

  is your party, James," he murmured. "I'll do the anaesthetic." I had

  shaved the site of the operation and poised my scalpel over the

  grossly swollen abdomen when he whistled softly. "My God," he said,

  "it's like opening an abscess!" That was exactly what it was like. I

  felt that if I made an incision the mass of kittens would explode

  out in my face and, indeed, as I proceeded with the lightest touch

  through skin and muscle, the laden uterus bulged out alarmingly.

  "Hell!" I breathed. "How many are in here?" "A fairish number!" said

  my partner. "And she's such a tiny cat." Gingerly, I opened the

  peritoneum which, to my relief, looked clean and healthy; then, as I

  went on, I waited for the jumble of little heads and feet to appear.

  But with increasing wonderment I watched my incision travel along a

  massive coal-black back and, when I finally hooked my finger round

  the neck, drew forth a kitten and laid it on the table, I found that

  the uterus was otherwise empty. "There's only one!" I gasped. "Would

  you believe it?" Siegfried laughed. "Yes, but what a whopper! And

  alive, too." He lifted the kitten and took a closer look. "A

  whacking great tom--he's nearly as big as his mother!" As I stitched

  up and gave the sleeping Emily a shot of penicillin, I felt the

  tension flow away from me in happy waves. The little cat was in good

  shape. My fears had been groundless. It would be best to leave the

  kitten with her for a few weeks, then I'd be able to find a home for

  him. "Thanks a lot for coming in, Siegfried," I said. "It looked

  like a very dodgy situation at first." I could hardly wait to get

  back to the old man, who, I knew, would still be in a state of shock

  at my taking away his beloved cat. In fact, when I passed through

  the sacking doorway, it looked as though he hadn't moved an inch

  since I last saw him. He wasn't reading, wasn't doing anything

  except staring ahead from his chair. When I put the basket down by

  his side, he turned slowly and looked down wonderingly at Emily, who

  was coming round from the anaesthetic and beginning to raise her

  head, and at the black newcomer, who was already finding his private

  array of teats interesting. "She's going to be fine, Mr. Ireson," I

  said, and the old man nodded slowly. "How wonderful. How simply

  wonderful," he murmured.

  When I went to take out the stitches ten days later, I found a

  carnival atmosphere in the igloo. Old Eugene was beside himself with

  delight, while Emily, stretched in the back with her enormous

  offspring sucking busily, looked up at me with an expression of

  pride which bordered on the smug. "I think we ought to have a

  celebratory cup of tea and one of my favourite buns," the old man

  said. As the kettle boiled, he drew a finger along the kitten's body.

  "He's a handsome fellow, isn't he." "He certainly is. He'll grow up

  into a beautiful cat." Eugene smiled. "Yes. I'm sure he will, and it

  will be so nice to have him with Emily." I paused as he handed me a

  bun. "But just a minute, Mr. Ireson. You really can't do with two

  cats here." "Why not?" "Well, you take Emily into the village on a

  lead most days. You'd have difficulty on the road with two cats, and

  an