Part 27 (1/2)
”And always with his cat?”
”Aye.” Eddy laughed again. ”Allus with his cat.”
We went into the buildings to start the tuberculin test, but as I clipped and measured and injected over and over again I couldn't rid my mind of the memory of that odd twosome.
When I drew up at the farm gate three days later to read the tuberculin test, Mr. Ireson was sitting on a wicker chair in the suns.h.i.+ne, reading, with his cat on his lap.
When I got out of the car, he raised his hat as before. ”Good afternoon. A very pleasant day.”
”Yes, it certainly is.” As I spoke, Emily hopped down and stalked over the gra.s.s to greet me, and as I tickled her under the chin she arched and purred round my legs.
”What a lovely little thing!” I said.
The old man's manner moved from courtesy to something more. ”You like cats?”
”Yes, I do. I've always liked them.” As I continued my stroking, then gave her tail a playful tug, the pretty tabby face looked up at me and the purring rose to a crescendo.
”Well, Emily seems to have taken to you remarkably. I've never seen her so demonstrative.”
I laughed. ”She knows how I feel. Cats always know-they are very wise animals.”
Mr. Ireson beamed his agreement. ”I saw you the other day, didn't I? You have some business with Mr. Carless?”
”Yes, I'm his vet.”
”Aah...I see. So you are a veterinary surgeon and you approve of my Emily.”
”I couldn't do anything else. She's beautiful.”
The old man seemed to swell with gratification. ”How very kind of you.” He hesitated. ”I wonder, Mr...er...”
”Herriot.”
”Ah, yes, I wonder, Mr. Herriot, if, when you have concluded your business with Mr. Carless, you would care to join me in a cup of tea.”
”I'd love to. I'll be finished in less than an hour.”
”Splendid, splendid. I look forward to seeing you then.”
Eddy had a clear test. No reactors, not even a doubtful. I entered the particulars in my testing book and hurried back down the farm road.
Mr. Ireson was waiting by the gate. ”It is a little chilly now,” he said. ”I think we'd better go inside.” He led me over to the igloo, drew back the sacks and ushered me through with old-world grace.
”Do sit down,” he murmured, waving me to what looked like a one-time automobile seat in tattered leather while he sank down on the wicker chair I had seen outside.
As he arranged two mugs, then reached for the kettle from a Primus stove and began to pour, I took in the contents of the interior. There was a camp-bed, a bulging rucksack, a row of books, a tilly lamp, a low cupboard and a basket in which Emily was ensconced.
”Milk and sugar, Mr. Herriot?” The old man inclined his head gracefully. ”Ah, no sugar. I have some buns here, do have one. There is an excellent little bakery down in the village and I am a regular customer.”
I bit into the bun, sipped the tea and stole a look at the row of books. Every one was poetry. Blake, Swinburne, Longfellow, Whitman, all worn and frayed with reading.
”You like poetry?” I said.
He smiled. ”Ah, yes. I do read other things-the van comes up here from the public library every week-but I always come back to my old friends, particularly this one.” He held up the dog-eared volume he had been reading earlier. The Poems of Robert W. Service.
”You like that one, eh?”
”Yes. I think Service is my favourite. Not cla.s.sical stuff perhaps, but his verses strike something very deep in me.” He gazed at the book, then his eyes looked beyond me into somewhere only he knew. I wondered then if Alaska and the wild Yukon territory might have been the scene of his wanderings, and for a moment I hoped he might be going to tell me something about his past, but it seemed he didn't want to talk about that. He wanted to talk about his cat.
”It is the most extraordinary thing, Mr. Herriot. I have lived on my own all my life but I have never felt lonely, but I know now that I would be desperately lonely without Emily. Does that sound foolish to you?”
”Not at all. Possibly it's because you haven't had a pet before. Have you?”
”No, I haven't. Never seemed to have stayed still long enough. I am fond of animals and there have been times when I felt I would like to own a dog, but never a cat. I have heard so often that cats do not dispense affection, that they are self-sufficient and never become really fond of anybody. Do you agree with that?”
”Of course not. It's absolute nonsense. Cats have a character of their own, but I've treated hundreds of friendly, affectionate cats who are faithful friends to their owners.”
”I'm so glad to hear you say that, because I flatter myself that this little creature is really attached to me.” He looked down at Emily, who had jumped onto his lap, and gently patted her head.
”That's easy to see,” I said, and the old man smiled his pleasure.
”You know, Mr. Herriot,” he went on, ”when I first settled here”-he waved a hand round his dwelling as if it were a drawing room in a multi-acred mansion-”I had no reason to think that I wouldn't continue to live the solitary life that I was accustomed to, but one day this little animal walked in from nowhere as though she had been invited and my whole existence changed.”
I laughed. ”She adopted you. Cats do that. And it was a lucky day for you.”
”Yes...yes...how very true. You seem to understand these things so well, Mr. Herriot. Now do let me top up your cup.”
It was the first of many visits to Mr. Ireson in his strange dwelling. I never went to the Carless farm without looking in through the sacks, and if Eugene was in residence we had a cup of tea and a chat. We talked about many things- books, the political situation, natural history of which he had a deep knowledge, but the conversation always got round to cats. He wanted to know everything about their care and feeding, habits and diseases. While I was agog to hear about his world travels, which he referred to only in the vaguest terms, he would listen with the wide-eyed interest of a child to my veterinary experiences.
It was during one of these sessions that I raised the question of Emily in particular.
”I notice she is either in here or on the lead with you, but does she ever go wandering outside by herself ?”
”Well, yes...now that you mention it. Just lately she has done so. She only goes up to the farm-I make sure she does not stray along the road where she may be knocked down.”
”I didn't mean that, Mr. Ireson. What I was thinking about was that there are several male cats up there at the farm. She could easily become pregnant.”
He sat up suddenly in his chair. ”Good heavens, yes! I never thought of that-how foolish of me. I'd better try to keep her inside.”
”Very difficult,” I said. ”It would be much better to have her spayed.”
”Eh?”
”To let me do a hysterectomy. Remove the uterus and ovaries. Then she'd be safe-you couldn't do with a lot of kittens in here, could you?”
”No...no...of course not. But an operation ...” He stared at me with frightened eyes. ”There would be an element of danger...”
”No, no,” I said as briskly as I could. ”It's quite a simple procedure. We do lots of them.”
His normal urbanity had fallen away from him. From the beginning he had struck me as a man who had seen so many things in life that nothing would disturb his serenity, but he seemed to shrink within himself. He slowly stroked the little cat, seated, as usual, on his lap, then he reached down to a black leather volume with faded gold lettering, the Works of Shakespeare, that he had been reading when I arrived. He placed a marker in the book and closed it before putting it carefully on the shelf.