Again I took a surreptitious look past the curtain. Alfred was back in his place, skinny but sitting upright. But his master didnt look any better.
I turned back into the room. Well, I wont need to come
any more, Mrs. Hatfield. Your cat is well on the way to recovery. He should soon be as good as new."
I was quite confident about this, but I wasnt so sure about Geoff.
At this point, the rush of spring lambing and post-lambing troubles overwhelmed me as it did every year, and I had little time to think about my other cases.
It must have been three weeks before I visited the sweet shop to buy some chocolates for Helen. The place was packed and as I pushed my way inside all my fears came rushing back and I looked anxiously at man and cat. Alfred, massive and dignified again, sat like a king at the far end of the counter. Geoff was leaning on the counter with both hands, gazing closely into a ladys face.
As I understand you, Mrs. Hird, you are looking for something in the nature of a softer sweetmeat.
The rich voice reverberated round the little shop. Could you perhaps mean a Turkish Delight?
Nay, Mr. Hatfield, it wasnt that.
His head fell on his chest and he studied the polished boards of the counter with fierce concentration. Then he looked up and pushed his face nearer to the ladys.
A pastille, possibly ?
Nay nay.
A truffle? A soft caramel? A peppermint cream?
No, nowt like that.
He straightened up. This was a tough one. He folded his arms across his chest and as he stared into space and took the long inhalation I remembered so well I could see that he was a big man again, his shoulders spreading wide, his face ruddy and well fleshed. Nothing having evolved from his cogitations, his jaw jutted and he turned his face upwards, seeking further inspiration from the ceiling.
Alfred, I noticed, looked upwards, too. There was a tense silence as Geoff held this pose, then a smile crept slowly over his noble features. He raised a finger.
Madam, he said, I do fancy I have it. Whitish, you said sometimes pink rather squashy. May I suggest to you marshmallow?
Mrs. Hird thumped the counter. Aye, thats it, Mr. Hatfield. I just couldnt think of t'name. Ha-ha, I thought so, boomed the proprietor, his organ tones rolling to the roof. He laughed, the ladies laughed, and I was positive that Alfred laughed, too. All was well again. Everybody in the shop was happy-Geoff, Alfred, the ladies and, not least, James Herriot.
Oscar: The Socialite Cat
One late spring evening, when Helen and I were still living in the little bed-sitter under the tiles of Skeldale House, Tristan shouted up the stairs from the passage far below. Jim! Jim! I went out and stuck my head over the bannisters.
What is it, Triss?
Sorry to bother you, Jim, but could you come down for a minute?
The upturned face had an anxious look.
I went down the long flights of steps two at a time and when I arrived slightly breathless on the ground floor Tristan beckoned me through to the consulting room at the back of the house. A teenage girl was standing by the table, her hand resting on a stained roll of blanket.
Its a cat, Tristan said.
He pulled back a fold of the blanket and I looked down at a large, deeply striped tabby. At least he would have been large if he had had any flesh on his bones, but ribs and pelvis stood out painfully through the fur and as I passed my hand over the motionless body I could feel only a thin covering of skin.
Tristan cleared his throat.
Theres something else, Jim.
I looked at him curiously. For once he didnt seem to have a joke in him. I watched as he gently lifted one of the cats hind legs. There was a large gash on his abdomen and innumerable other wounds.
I was still shocked and staring when the girl spoke.
I saw this cat sitting in the dark, down Browns yard. I thought e looked skinny, like, and a bit quiet and I bent down to give im a pat. Then I saw e was badly hurt and I went home for a blanket and brought im round to you.
That was kind of you, I said. Have you any idea who he belongs to?
The girl shook her head. No, he looks like a stray to me.
He does indeed. I dragged my eyes away from the terrible wound. Youre Marjorie Simpson, arent you?
Yes.
I know your dad well. Hes our postman.
Thats right. She gave a half smile, then her lips trembled.
Well, I reckon Id better leave im with you. Youll be going to put him out of his misery. Theres nothing anybody can do about about that?
I shrugged and shook my head. The girls eyes filled with tears. She stretched out a hand and touched the emaciated animal, then turned and walked quickly to the door.
Thanks again, Marjorie, I called after the retreating back. And
dont worrywell look after him.
In the silence that followed, Tristan and I looked down at the shattered animal. Under the surgery lamp it was all too easy to see. The injuries were very serious and the wounds were covered in dirt and mud.
What dyou think did this? Tristan said at length.
Has he been run over?