James Herriot's Cat Stories Read online

stroked the counterpane and his lips moved again. I bent closer to

  hear. "Frisk ..." he was saying, "Frisk ..." Then his eyes closed

  and I saw that he was sleeping. I heard next day that Dick Fawcett

  had died, and it was possible that I was the last person to hear him

  speak. And it was strange, yet fitting, that those last words were

  about his cat. "Frisk ... Frisk ..."

  Olly and Ginny The Greatest Triumph

  Months passed without any thawing of relations between me and our

  two wild cats and I noticed with growing apprehension that Olly's

  long coat was reverting to its previous disreputable state. The

  familiar knots and tangles were reappearing and within a year it was

  as bad as ever. It became more obvious every day that I had to do

  something about it. But could I trick him again? I had to try. I

  made the same preparations, with Helen placing the nembutal-laden

  food on the wall, but this time Olly sniffed, licked, then walked

  away. We tried at his next meal time but he examined the food with

  deep suspicion and turned away from it. It was very clear that he

  sensed there was something afoot. Hovering in my usual position at

  the kitchen window I turned to Helen. "I'm going to have to try to

  catch him." "Catch him? With your net, do you mean?" "No, no. That

  was all right when he was a kitten. I'd never get near him now."

  "How, then?" I looked out at the scruffy black creature on the wall.

  "Well, maybe I can hide behind you when you feed him and grab him

  and bung him into the cage. I could take him down to the surgery

  then, give him a general anaesthetic and make a proper job of him."

  "Grab him? And then fasten him in the cage?" Helen said

  incredulously. "It sounds impossible to me." "Yes, I know, but I've

  grabbed a few cats in my time and I can move fast. If only I can

  keep hidden. We'll try tomorrow." My wife looked at me, wide-eyed. I

  could see that she had little faith. Next morning she placed some

  delicious fresh chopped raw haddock on the wall. It was the cats"

  favourite. They were not particularly partial to cooked fish but

  this was irresistible. The open cage lay hidden from sight. The cats

  stalked along the wall, Ginny sleek and shining, Olly a pathetic

  sight with his ravelled hair and ugly knotted appendages dangling

  from his neck and body. Helen made her usual fuss of the two of them,

  then, as they descended happily on the food, she returned to the

  kitchen where I was lurking. "Right, now," I said. "I want you to

  walk out very slowly again and I am going to be tucked in behind you.

  When you go up to Olly he'll be concentrating on the fish and maybe

  won't notice me." Helen made no reply as I pressed myself into her

  back, in close contact from head to toe. "Okay, off we go." I nudged

  her left leg with mine and we shuffled off through the door, moving

  as one. "This is ridiculous," Helen wailed. "It's like a music hall

  act." Nuzzling the back of her neck, I hissed into her ear, "Quiet,

  just keep going." As we advanced on the wall, double-bodied, Helen

  reached out and stroked Olly's head, but he was too busy with the

  haddock to look up. He was there, chest-high, within a couple of

  feet of me. I'd never have a better chance. Shooting my hand round

  Helen, I seized him by the scruff of his neck, held him, a flurry of

  flailing black limbs, for a couple of seconds, then pushed him into

  the cage. As I crashed the lid down, a desperate paw appeared at one

  end but I thrust it back and slotted home the steel rod. There was

  no escape now. I lifted the cage on to the wall with Olly and me at

  eye level and I flinched as I met his accusing stare through the

  bars. "Oh no, not again! I don't believe this!" it said. "Is there

  no end to your treachery?" In truth, I felt pretty bad. The poor cat,

  terrified as he was by my assault, had not tried to scratch or bite.

  It was like the other occasions--his only thought was to get away. I

  couldn't blame him for thinking the worst of me. However, I told

  myself, the end result was going to be a fine handsome animal again.

  "You won't know yourself, old chap," I said to the petrified little

  creature, crouched in his cage on the car seat by my side as we

  drove to the surgery. "I'm going to fix you up properly, this time.

  You're going to look great and feel great." Siegfried had offered to

  help me and when we got him on the table, a trembling Olly submitted

  to being handled and to the intravenous anaesthetic. As he lay

  sleeping peacefully, I started on the awful tangled fur with a

  fierce pleasure, snipping and trimming and then going over him with

  the electric clippers followed by a long combing until the last tiny

  knot was removed. I had only given him a makeshift hair-do before,

  but this was the full treatment. Siegfried laughed when I held him

  up after I had finished. "Looks ready to win any cat show," he said.

  I thought of his words next morning when the cats came to the wall

  for their breakfast. Ginny was always beautiful, but she was almost

  outshone by her brother as he strutted along, his smooth, lustrous

  fur gleaming in the sunshine. Helen was enchanted at his appearance

  and kept running her hand along his back as though she couldn't

  believe the transformation. I, of course, was in my usual position,

  peeking furtively from the kitchen window. It was going to be a long

  time before I even dared to show myself to Olly.

  It very soon became clear that my stock had fallen to new depths,

  because I had only to step out of the back door to send Olly

  scurrying away into the fields. The situation became so bad that I

  began to brood about it. "Helen," I said one morning, 'this thing

  with Olly is getting on my nerves. I wish there was something I

  could do about it." "There is, Jim," she said. "You'll really have

  to get to know him. And he'll have to get to know you." I gave her a

  glum look. "I'm afraid if you asked him, he'd tell you that he knows

  me only too well." "Oh, I know, but when you think about it, over

  all the years that we've had these cats, they've hardly seen

  anything of you, except in an emergency. I've been the one to feed

  them, talk to them, pet them, day in day out. They know me and trust

  me." "That's right, but I just haven't had the time." "Of course you

  haven't. Your life is one long rush. You're no sooner in the house

  than you're out again." I nodded thoughtfully. She was so right.

  Over the years I had been attached to those cats, enjoyed the sight

  of them trotting down the slope for their food, playing in the long

  grass in the field, being fondled by Helen, but I was a comparative

  stranger to them. I felt a pang at the realisation that all that

  time had flashed past so quickly. "Well, probably it's too late. Do

  you think there is anything I can do?" "Yes," she said. "You have to

  start feeding them. You'll just have to find the time to do it. Oh,

  I know you can't do it always, but if there's the slightest chance,

  you'll have to get out there with their food." "So you think it's

  just a case of cupboard love with them?" "Absolutely not. I'm