Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [73]
By the end of the week, she’d peed of her own accord. I caught Lucy recording the fact on the cat’s clinical card.
‘Why, that’s marvellous,’ I exclaimed.
‘It’s a start,’ she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
Over the ensuing days, the reflexes in the cat’s back legs returned. She twisted round to look when I pricked the skin of her rump. She began to flick her tail – until now it had been limp, without the slightest bit of movement.
‘Great,’ I enthused. ‘She’s on the mend.’
‘But we’re not out of the woods yet,’ remarked Lucy, glancing down the ward to where Mandy was busying herself preparing medications, pretending not to listen in.
That glance said it all. Of course, how stupid not to have realised. This was a test case; Lucy was out to prove herself, desperate to see the cat to pull through, willing it to happen. But she didn’t want to let her feelings be known, hence the detached attitude, the apparent lack of interest. It was all an elaborate smoke screen.
And I’d deduced that all from one glance? Well, possibly not. Maybe I was being too clever, reading too much into it.
When the tortoiseshell cat finally managed to stagger to her feet, I saw it happen and let out a hoot of joy. ‘Yippee,’ I cried, ‘she’s made it, Luce.’
The cat, trembling, was standing, her hindquarters leaning against the cage wall for support, but nevertheless standing. I was pleased for her and Lucy.
‘So I see,’ said Lucy, scribbling the details on the cat’s card, impassive as ever.
When the cat started tottering a few steps, the inevitable question arose. Space was needed in the ward. The cat needed somewhere to convalesce. Now here was the acid test – was the boil just about to be lanced?
‘Well, how about it?’ I asked Lucy.
‘It’s up to you. It’s your cottage.’
‘Nonsense. You’re part and parcel of it.’
‘That’s just it, Paul … I don’t feel that way. There or here. Especially here.’ The ‘here’ of that particular moment was the prep room where Mandy had instructed Lucy to make up the next day’s sets of instruments for surgery and get them autoclaved. The pressure in the autoclave was fast building, and so, too, were the feelings in Lucy to judge from her face which had gone very white, two red blotches appearing on each cheek. Tears glistened on her long eyelashes. ‘I sometimes think I’m just taken for granted … a general dogsbody at the beck and call of everyone.’ With a sob, Lucy made for the door. I stepped across and barred her way.
‘Now listen, Luce … you’ve got it all wrong. There’s no way you’re just taken for granted. You’re very much needed by me and by the hospital.’ I gripped her shoulders and stared into her hazel eyes. ‘But especially by me. You have to believe that, OK?’
A tear began to roll down her cheek.
I lifted a finger and gently wiped it away. ‘And I’m not the only one that needs you,’ I whispered. ‘There’s a certain little tortoiseshell cat whose life you’ve helped to save – despite the odds stacked against her.’ And despite Mandy’s misgivings, I said to myself, ‘That cat still needs you, you know. In just the same way I still need you.’
I pulled her to me and kissed the tears away; and was just planting my lips firmly on hers when Eric bounced in.
‘Whoops, sorry,’ he said. ‘Bit hot in here.’ And he bounced out.
But the deed had been done. The boil was lanced. All the bad feelings had been drained out.
The tortoiseshell cat came home.
Lucy seemed happier now; she’d made her point, had taken a stance against Mandy and won. Yet even so, I felt our relationship wasn’t what it was. That initial spark had dimmed somewhat. I was still nuts about the girl, but I felt my feelings weren’t reciprocated quite so strongly.
‘Perhaps I’m just imagining it,’ I said addressing the tortoiseshell cat as she sat looking out of the French windows.
It was another gem of a day. Trees had now turned to burnished gold and brown; crisp leaves danced in whorls on the patio.
Despite having three cats and Nelson in the cottage, the tortoiseshell had remained distant from them. She