A Visit to the Vet

 

Woody had a cough which turned into a gurgle so we took him to the vet. He means too much to Hannah, Sara and Ben for me to neglect his well-being. On the way there I found myself catastrophising. What if he has a tumour? Hundreds of pounds worth of tests needed and then he might have to be euthanised anyway and our last kitten cost us £1300 before she was even six months old. How can I  tell Ben, Sara and Hannah the sad news that we cannot afford to spend thousands of pounds curing Woody's cancer. 

At the vet's the waiting room was full of adorable dogs in their mid-teens that were obviously not long for this world. I was torn between feeling sympathy for their loving owners and a mild resentment that their dogs got four more years than Ziggy did.

Woody was a brave soldier. Vet said he had a viral infection, but we'd got him in on time, an antibiotic should sort him out. Relief all round. He got a thermometer up his bum, half a worm tablet, small bottle of the magic juice and a bill for seventy quid. And, as I said to Bert one time,

I wonder what people without animals spend their money on?

I also thought, Woody had litter mates and they probably all had that viral infection (cat flu). Could it be that he, who probably hitched a lift under a car, got dropped off in the middle of Portglenone, avoided being run over, was rescued by Ben and Sara, ended up with Hannah and Nellybert and he turns out to be the lucky one?

 

I really hope so.