augury doggerel

Saturday, August 03, 2002


Vets are not squeamish. The first time I took the cat to a vet here, the waiting room was empty. I thought the place might be closed, so I opened a door and saw three people standing around a metal table, to which was tied a white tomcat. They were chatting as one cut off the cat's balls. "Oh. Sorry." A little later, one of them came out and talked to me about my cat, then went back in. Through the door, I saw the other two already eating their sandwiches at the same metal table.

This morning we stuffed our cat into an old parachute bag and took her to a different vet, one just five minutes walk away but the first time we'd tried it. The vet, it turned out, was an attractive young woman. She arrived just after us, a minute late for opening, swinging an alluring bag of potatoes in one hand. Just a couple of minutes later, the woman and I were holding the cat while the vet went to work. She squeezed the pus from our hissing puss's swollen ear and shot it full of something painful. Because I'm a bit squeamish about these things, I looked away. I looked, in fact, down the vet's shirt. Then I remembered the white tomcat.


Post a Comment

<< Home