Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [71]
‘Ah, Mr Mitchell. How fortuitous of you to have arrived at this precise moment in time considering the gravity of the situation we have on our hands,’ said James in a torrent of words as I approached. ‘There’s been a most unfortunate accident. Most unfortunate. A dear little cat’s been run over. Mrs Spencer here saw it happen.’ He pointed to Joan who was kneeling by the cat, stroking its head.
‘I was just on my way back to the post office,’ she said as I crouched down beside her. ‘I think it’s the little tortoiseshell that’s been hanging round here this last week or so.’
She was right. It was the cat that only yesterday had been curled up, blissfully purring on my lap and who now laid sprawled on the side of the road, blood seeping from under her.
‘Reckon she’s a goner,’ declared one of the bystanders.
Reverend James leaped forward, his cassock flapping vigorously as another car shot past in a whistle of wind. ‘I think the cat’s condition should be ascertained by someone who has the professional ability to carry out the necessary …’ Further words were drowned by the roar of a juggernaut that came thundering over the brow of the hill. But the gist of what he had been saying was clear and I was allowed to examine the tortoiseshell cat without further comment.
There was blood coming from her mouth, her pupils were dilated, the eyes glazed and the breathing irregular. But at least she was still alive. She seemed a fighter. This was going to be a severe test for her.
The driver of the car that had hit her – a smart young man in suit and tie – offered to take the cat to the hospital. I thanked him but said I’d take her back myself and phoned Prospect House to warn them I was coming in with an RTA. But the line was busy.
When I arrived, I was greeted by an agitated Beryl. ‘Oh, Paul, thank goodness you’re back,’ she said in a hoarse whisper, hand cupped characteristically over the side of her mouth. ‘Crystal’s had to make an emergency visit to Lady Derwent. She’s asked if you’d cover her appointments until she gets back. Two have arrived early. They’re in the waiting room now.’
It was my turn to become agitated. I had the tortoiseshell cat in the back of the car. She really had to take priority. I charged down the corridor hollering for Lucy. It was Mandy who appeared first from the prep room, Lucy close behind her.
‘What’s the problem,’ said Mandy, bustling forward.
‘An RTA … a cat.’ I looked over her shoulder at Lucy. ‘It’s that little tortoiseshell. She’s on a blanket in the back of my car.’
‘I’ll get her,’ said Lucy, pushing past both of us with alacrity.
By the time we’d got the cat in the prep room and a drip set up for her, two more of Crystal’s clients had arrived. I could hear Beryl apologising for the delay in being seen. The cat remained flat out, unconscious. The bleeding from the mouth was due to a broken tooth, nothing too serious. I quickly palpated her limbs – no breaks detected. But there was a grating noise from the pelvic area as I lifted her hindquarters. ‘I’m going to have to get that X-rayed after I’ve seen Crystal’s appointments,’ I said before dashing out.
When I returned half-an-hour later, I found it had just been done.
‘Seeing how busy you are, I thought it would save time,’ said Mandy chirpily. ‘I’ve taken a ventro-dorsal view of the pelvis and a lateral of the spine. Lucy’s developing them now.’
For a moment, I was dumbstruck. Surely Mandy had overstepped the mark here? After all, I hadn’t given instructions as to what X-rays to take. Not that they would have been any different. Perhaps then I should be admiring her for taking the initiative?
Mandy went on, ‘Crystal often lets me X-ray her