Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Tuesday was Ginja the Ninja's appointment with the vet, something none of us was relishing. As the appointed hour approached I was filled with anxiety and dread. He had to be captured and put in his titanium reinforced, with krypton padlocks, cage and ferried thence to the vet.
I feared hospitalisation and loss of trust and friendship, he, no doubt, had visions of unbecoming procedures that no cat should be subjected to.
His capture and subsequent confinement was surprisingly peaceful. Once in his US Seals protected cage he uttered the most piteous meows and started writing his own version of "Mien Kampf ".
At the vet's he was as quiet as a mouse, and was ushered in to see the lovely young vet who is so clever with animals - they don't bite or scratch her.
Ginja was in for his jabs and a check up - he has a runny eye, but otherwise he was fine. Or so we thought!
It all started spiffingly. The usual greetings, lifting the cat out of his cage, ruffling his fur and weighing him. He was only slightly lighter than last year - great. Out came the stethoscope to hear his lion's heart and his capacious lungs.
And the vet listened and listened and listened. The missus and I looked quizzically at each other, I nervously muttered "He has a heart, I'm sure." And still that stethoscope was stuck to his chest.
After what seemed a life time, the vet said "He's got quite a heart murmur.." We didn't hear the rest. Something about they can live for years with it not affecting them one jot. That you could have an ultra sound, but since you're only moderately wealthy and look as if you'd not take well to living on the bread line, we'll skip that.
We were still in shock when she said that his weeping eye could be due to "Chlamydia!!!!!!!" or "Herpes!!!!!!!!!" and that she wouldn't give him his booster jab because that had the herpes virus in it. If he did have herpes it would not be very helpful.
Ginja must have heard all this because he got off the table and went back voluntarily into his cage, shut the door and drew the bolts across himself.
Two chairs were brought in and we were seated and smelling salts wafted under our noses. It was now the vet's turn to be shocked ..at our reaction. She uttered soothing phrases like " he'll be o.k., would you like to take out a Pet Insurance Plan, we're doing a special deal this week".
We left in stunned silence, looking enviously at the other pet owners in the waiting room nursing their legless mutts and nut-less tabbies. I keyed in my PIN automatically, unconscious of the pounds draining out of my account.
We drove home at hearse pace, and after releasing the Ninja from his cage, had a refreshing cup of tea.
The missus went off to her studio to create a masterpiece in tambour beading, I went to the Supermarket to do the weekly shop. The fuel gauge was registering near empty so after the shop I put in a few pounds worth of fuel - about a litre. As I drove home the car started to behave strangely, stuttering, choking and generally feeling under the weather.
In my mind's eye I saw the fuel pump at the garage and "Unleaded Petrol". But I drive a diesel. I had only put petrol in the car!!
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the car staggered home and died opposite our local garage. I man handled the shopping out of the boot and walked the hundred yards home. At this point the Furies had been distracted for at the side of the house was a case of wine - delivered by my on line wine store once every three months.
Checking my receipt from the garage confirmed my error and I trundled along to my friendly garage owner to appraise him of the fateful events. He didn't seem too concerned, as he was berating a traffic warden for stapling fines to about 10 of his cars, and told me to call back tomorrow (today). I handed over the keys and made my way to the allotment, and thence into town for a game of squash.
Recently after we'd left Sherry (one of the older two cats) at the vets for some unexpected surgery, the missus and I went down to the allotment and she potting up some strawberries. So distracted was she by Sherry's hospitalisation that she potted them into ericaceous compost (if you're a gardener you'll know how serious that is). I'd out distracted her this time alright.
I've just closed all my offshore accounts, transferring the money to my checking account to fund Weezle the Diesel's rehabilitation.