He accepted the whole thing placidly as was his wont. There was another factor which made the situation much worse. Geoff himself was wilting under the strain. His comfortable coating of flesh was dropping steadily away from him, the normally florid cheeks were pale and sunken and, worse still, his dramatic selling style appeared to be deserting him. One day I left my viewpoint at the window and pushed my way into the press of ladies in the shop. It was a harrowing scene. Geoff, bowed and shrunken, was taking the orders without even a smile, pouring the sweets listlessly into their bags and mumbling a word or two. Gone was the booming voice and the happy chatter of the customers, and a strange silence hung over the company. It was just like any other sweet shop. Saddest
sight of all was Alfred, still sitting bravely upright in his place.
He was unbelievably gaunt, his fur had lost its bloom and he stared straight ahead, dead-eyed, as though nothing interested him any more. He was like a feline scarecrow. I couldnt stand it any longer.
That evening I went round to see Geoff Hatfield.
I saw your cat today, I said, and hes going rapidly downhill. Are there any new symptoms?
The big man nodded dully. Yes, as a matter of fact. I was going to ring you. Hes been vomiting a bit.
I dug my nails into my palms. There it is again. Everything points to something abnormal inside him and yet I cant find a thing.
I bent down and stroked Alfred. I hate to see him like this. Look at his fur. It used to be so glossy.
Thats right, replied Geoff, hes neglecting himself. He never washes himself now. Its as though he cant be bothered. And before, he was always at itlick, lick, lick for hours on end.
I stared at him. His words had sparked something in my mind. Lick, lick, lick. I paused in thought. Yes when I think about it, no cat I ever knew washed himself as much as Alfred.
The spark suddenly became a flame and I jerked upright in my chair.
Mr. Hatfield, I said, I want to do an exploratory operation!
What do you mean?
I think hes got a hair-ball inside him and I want to operate to see if Im right.
Open him up, you mean?
Thats right.
He put a hand over his eyes and his chin sank onto his chest. He stayed like that for a long time, then he looked at me with haunted eyes.
Oh, I dont know. Ive never thought of anything like that.
Weve got to do something or this cat is going to die.
He bent and stroked Alfreds head again and again, then without looking up he spoke in a husky voice.
All right, when?
Tomorrow morning.
Next day, in the operating room, as Siegfried and I bent over the sleeping cat, my mind was racing. We had been doing much more small-animal surgery lately, but I had always known what to expect. This time I felt as though I was venturing into the unknown. I made an incision and in the stomach I found a large, matted hair-ball, the cause of all the trouble. Something which wouldnt show up on an X-ray plate. Siegfried grinned.
Well, now we know!
Yes, I said as the great waves of relief swept over me. Now we know.
I found more, smaller hair-balls, all of which had to be removed and then the incision stitched. I didnt like this. It meant a bigger trauma and shock to my patient, but finally all was done and only a neat row of skin sutures was visible. When I returned Alfred to his home, his master could hardly bear to look at him. At length he took a timid glance at the cat, still sleeping under the anaesthetic.
Will he live? he whispered.
He has a good chance, I replied. He has had some major surgery and it might take him some time to get over it, but hes young and strong. He should be all right.
I could see Geoff wasnt convinced, and that was how it was over the next few days. I kept visiting the little room behind the shop to give the cat penicillin injections and it was obvious that Geoff had made up his mind that Alfred was going to die.
Mrs. Hatfield was more optimistic, but she was worried about her husband. Eee, hes given up hope, she said. And its all because Alfred just lies in his bed all day. Ive tried to tell im that itll be a bit o time before the cat starts running around, but he wont listen.
She looked at me with anxious eyes. And, you know, its getting him down, Mr. Herriot. Hes a different man. Sometimes I wonder if hell ever be the same again.
I went over and peeped past the curtain into the shop. Geoff was there, doing his job like an automaton. Haggard, unsmiling, silently handing out the sweets.
When he did speak it was in a listless monotone and I realised with a sense of shock that his voice had lost all its old timbre. Mrs. Hatfield was right. He was a different man. And, I thought, if he stayed different, what would happen to his clientele? So far they had remained faithful, but I had a feeling they would soon start to drift away. It was a week before the picture began to change for the better. I entered the sitting room, but Alfred wasnt there. Mrs. Hatfield jumped up from her chair. Hes a lot better, Mr. Herriot, she said eagerly. Eating well and seemed to want to go into tshop. Hes in there with Geoff now.