I untied the last knot and looked inside at the motionless body. Frisk. The glossy black, playful little creature I knew so well, always purring and affectionate and Dicks companion and friend.
When did he die, Dick? I asked gently.
He passed a hand over his haggard face and through the straggling grey hairs.
Well, I just found im stretched out by my bed this morning. But I dont rightly know if hes dead yet, Mr. Herriot.
I looked again inside the box. There was no sign of breathing. I lifted the limp form on to the table and touched the cornea of the unseeing eye. No reflex. I reached for my stethoscope and placed it over the chest.
The hearts still going, Dick, but its a very faint beat.
Might stop any time, you mean?
I hesitated. Well, thats the way it sounds, Im afraid.
As I spoke, the little cats rib cage lifted slightly, then subsided.
Hes still breathing, I said, but only just.
I examined the cat thoroughly and found nothing unusual. The conjunctiva of the eye was a good colour. In fact, there was no abnormality.
I passed a hand over the sleek little body.
This is a puzzler, Dick. Hes always been so livelylived up to his name, in fact, yet here he is, flat out, and I cant find any reason for it.
Could he have ad a stroke or summat?
I suppose its just possible, but I wouldnt expect him to be totally unconscious. Im wondering if he might have had a blow on the head.
I dont think so. He was as right as rain when I went to bed, and he was never out during tnight.
The old man shrugged his shoulders. Any road, its a poor look-out for im?
Afraid so, Dick. Hes only just alive. But Ill give him a stimulant injection and then you must take him home and keep him warm. If hes still around tomorrow morning, bring him in and Ill see how hes going on.
I was trying to strike an optimistic note, but I was pretty sure that I would never see Frisk again and I knew the old man felt the same.
His hands shook as he tied up the box and he didnt speak until we reached the front door.
He turned briefly to me and nodded. Thank ye, Mr. Herriot.
I watched him as he walked with shuffling steps down the street.
He was going back to an empty little house with his dying pet. He had lost his wife many years agoI had never known a Mrs. Fawcettand he lived alone on his old age pension. It wasnt much of a life. He was a quiet, kindly man who didnt go out much and seemed to have few friends, but he had Frisk. The little cat had walked in on him six years ago and had transformed his life, bringing a boisterous, happy presence into the silent house, making the old man laugh with his tricks and playfulness, following him around, rubbing against his legs. Dick wasnt lonely any more, and I had watched a warm bond of friendship growing stronger over the years. In fact, it was something morethe old man seemed to depend on Frisk. And now this.
Well, I thought, as I walked back down the passage, it was the sort of thing that happened in veterinary practice. Pets didnt live long enough. But I felt worse this time because I had no idea what ailed my patient. I was in a total fog.
On the following morning I was surprised to see Dick Fawcett sitting in the waiting room, the cardboard box on his knee.
I stared at him. Whats happened?
He didnt answer and his face was inscrutable as we went through to the consulting room and he undid the knots. When he opened the box I prepared for the worst, but to my astonishment the little cat leaped out onto the table and rubbed his face against my hand, purring like a motor cycle.
The old man laughed, his thin face transfigured. Well, what dye think of that?
I dont know what to think, Dick.
I examined the little animal carefully. He was completely normal.
All I know is that Im delighted. Its like a miracle.
No, it isnt, he said. It was that injection you gave im. Its worked wonders. Im right grateful.
Well, it was kind of him, but it wasnt as simple as that. There was something here I didnt understand, but never mind. Thank heaven it had ended happily.
The incident had receded into a comfortable memory when, three days later, Dick Fawcett reappeared at the surgery with his box. Inside was Frisk, motionless, unconscious, just as before.
Totally bewildered, I repeated the examination and then the injection and on the following day the cat was normal.
From then on, I was in the situation which every veterinary surgeon knows so wellbeing involved in a baffling case and waiting with a feeling of impending doom for something tragic to happen.
Nothing did happen for nearly a week, then Mrs. Duggan, Dicks neighbour, telephoned.
Im ringing on behalf of Mr. Fawcett. His cats ill.
In what way?
Oh, just lying stretched out, unconscious, like.
I suppressed a scream.
When did this happen?
Just found im this morning. And Mr. Fawcett cant bring him to youhes poorly himself. Hes in bed.
Im sorry to hear that. Ill come round straight away.
And it was just the same as before. An almost lifeless little creature lying prone on Dicks bed.