Where Has Mummy Gone?: Part 3 of 3: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ It was only ten minutes to the vet and I was able to park right outside. Adrian carried her in. I went to the reception desk to check in as Adrian sat on a chair with Toscha in the carrier on his lap. There was one other lady in the waiting room, elderly, with a small dog on her lap. Usually Toscha would have hissed at a dog, but now she remained unnaturally quiet.

      ‘The vet won’t be long,’ the receptionist said. ‘She’s with another emergency, but you’ll go in next.’

      ‘Thank you so much,’ I said, and sat next to Adrian.

      ‘Are you the ones with the very sick cat?’ the woman asked.

      ‘Yes.’ I guessed the receptionist had told her and that we would see the vet ahead of her.

      ‘I hope your cat is OK. Albert is just here for his check-up.’

      I raised a smile and nodded and assumed Albert was her dog. I think she would have liked to chat, but I was too worried about Toscha to make conversation. I also had one eye on the clock. If I was going to be late collecting Melody from school I’d have to phone and let them know. Five minutes ticked by with Toscha remaining unnaturally quiet and still, and then a veterinary assistant came out and showed us through to a consultation room.

      The vet was waiting there and we carefully lifted Toscha out of the carrier and put her on the examination table. Adrian and I were silent as the vet looked in Toscha’s eyes, ears and throat, then listened to her chest and took her temperature.

      ‘When did she fall ill?’ the vet asked.

      ‘This morning,’ I said. ‘It was very sudden. She seemed fine first thing, although I noticed she didn’t eat all her breakfast. Then when my son came home at midday he found her in her basket like this.’

      ‘I’m sure it’s the new strain of feline influenza that’s appeared. It comes on very quickly, even in cats that have been vaccinated. I’ll give her a shot of antibiotics now and a course of oral antibiotics for you to continue at home. I want to see her again on Monday, but if she worsens over the weekend then phone our emergency out-of-hours number.’ I nodded. ‘Keep her calm and try to get her to drink. Don’t worry too much about food. She won’t feel much like eating while she’s feeling poorly. She’s an old cat, so let’s hope for the best.’ I heard her warning, as did Adrian.

      ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ he asked.

      ‘The next forty-eight hours are crucial,’ she said. ‘Do you have any other cats?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Keep her in and away from other cats, as the virus is very contagious. I’ll get the medicine.’

      She left and Adrian and I stroked Toscha, who was on her front, legs tucked under her and head down. I could see how worried Adrian was. He doesn’t easily show his feelings, but he was close to tears.

      ‘She’s strong,’ I said, touching his arm. ‘I’m sure she’ll pull through.’

      ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I know she’s old, but I’m not ready to say goodbye to her yet.’ His voice broke.

      The vet returned and prepared the antibiotic injection. I steeled myself for the needle going in, but Toscha was so poorly she didn’t murmur. Adrian and I stroked her as the vet talked us through how and when to give the oral antibiotics, then we gently lifted Toscha back into the carrier. I thanked the vet and we returned to reception to pay and make the follow-up appointment for Monday. Another couple with a pet carrier had joined the woman with her lapdog, Albert. As we left she said goodbye and hoped our cat was better soon. I thanked her.

      Toscha was quiet on the drive home. Usually by now – on her annual trip to the vet – she would have had enough of being in the carrier and would meow constantly, calling us all sorts of names. Her silence deepened our concern, and Adrian and I were quiet too.

      Once home, we settled Toscha in her basket again and I left Adrian trying to tempt her to drink some water, as I had to collect Melody from school. I arrived in the playground a few minutes late and Miss May was waiting with Melody. I walked swiftly over.

      ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to take our cat to the vet,’ I explained. ‘She’s got cat flu.’

      ‘Oh dear, I hope she’s all right,’ Miss May said, concerned. ‘Melody’s told me all about her. Toscha, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right. She’s on antibiotics.’

      ‘She’ll be better soon then,’ she said positively.

      I didn’t go into more detail and sound the warnings the vet had done – that the disease could be fatal in older cats. I thanked Miss May for looking after Melody, wished her a nice weekend and said goodbye.

      ‘What’s the matter with Toscha?’ Melody asked, worried, as we walked away. Despite her early animosity towards Toscha, she was now very good with her and often stroked and talked to her just as we did.

      ‘She’s got cat flu,’ I said. ‘We have to look after her and keep her quiet so she can rest.’

      ‘My mum knew a man who died from flu,’ Melody said.

      ‘Yes, it can happen.’

      ‘I hope Toscha doesn’t die.’

      ‘So do I, love.’ I put off telling her about Mr Wilson.

      At home I found Lucy and Paula sitting beside Toscha’s bed, stroking her, clearly very concerned. Adrian had told them how ill she was, and was now in his room trying to study. I explained to them what the vet had said – that the next forty-eight hours were crucial and she needed water but not to worry if she didn’t want to eat. Melody joined them for a while and then I suggested they left Toscha to rest.

      That evening we had fish for dinner and normally Toscha would have been purring around our legs, hoping for a titbit, but now she stayed in her bed with her eyes closed and with no interest in food.

      ‘I expect the antibiotics have made her tired,’ I suggested, but it was clear to all of us that she was very ill.

      I cancelled the visit to my parents that weekend. They understood I needed to be at home to take Toscha to the vet if her condition worsened. I was the first one downstairs on Saturday morning and I opened the door to the kitchen-diner with some trepidation, scared of what I might find. But as I approached Toscha’s bed her head moved and she opened her eyes a little, although she made no attempt to stand. Normally she would have already been out of bed by now, meowing for her breakfast. I saw that the food and water in her bowl were untouched. I stroked her, made myself a coffee, and then gave her the first dose of the liquid antibiotic using the pipette provided. She couldn’t be bothered to resist and swallowed the medication I squirted into her mouth. I then had the idea of using the pipette to give her some water. I filled a tumbler, drew water into the pipette and slowly released it into her mouth. She swallowed and I refilled the pipette twice more, then her eyes closed and she went back to sleep. The next forty-eight hours were crucial, the vet had said.

      As the rest of the family came down their first question was, ‘How is Toscha?’ They went to her bed and stroked her, and then I suggested they left her to sleep. Toscha stayed in her bed all day Saturday and had nothing СКАЧАТЬ