Part 16 (1/2)

”This is Idabelle, our Inside Cat. She's losing weight, and she cries a lot. Will you take a look at her? I can pay,” I added hastily. ”But if it's more than forty-two cents, I'll have to go on the installment plan.”

”Don't you worry about that. The trouble is, I sent Samuel off for his lunch. We'll have to wait until he gets back.”

”I don't see why,” I said. ”I can help. She's only little.”

He hesitated. ”What would your parents say?”

”It's fine, really it is. I look after our animals all the time,” I said stoutly, stretching the truth but only a tad.

”All right, but don't blame me if you get scratched.”

”She'd never do that,” I said. But looking at the normally calm and affectionate cat crouched miserably in her cage, a gleam of desperation burning in her eye, I felt a pang of doubt.

”What are her symptoms? Runny eyes? Runny nose? Vomiting? Diarrhea?”

”None of those, but she's losing weight, and she cries a lot.”

”Right,” he said. ”Put her on the table and we'll take a look.”

Now that the time of reckoning had come, Idabelle decided she didn't want to be dislodged from the hutch; she clung to it like a limpet, her claws firmly hooked in the wire. Unhooking all four limbs and keeping them unhooked simultaneously proved to be a major operation in itself.

I placed her on the edge of the table and held her by the scruff. Dr. Pritzker started up at the head. He looked in both ears, which she didn't like, and I feared for his good hand. But she did me proud and did not hiss or bite or scratch. Then he pulled down each of her lower lids.

”What are you looking for?” I said. ”You have to tell me what you're doing.”

”Right. First you check in the ears for sores or any black material, which is a sign of ear mites. Then you check the eyelids to see if they are pale or not. See, she has a pink color to the conjunctiva, which is this membrane here. If it were pale, that would indicate internal bleeding or anemia. And the pupils are of equal size, so that's good.”

”What if they were different? What would that mean?”

”It's a sign of being struck on the head, of damage to the brain. Also, the third eyelid, the nict.i.tating membrane, is retracted. If it were visible now when she's fully awake, it would usually be a sign of ill health. You typically only see it in a sleepy cat. Now for the mouth. Pull her head back for me and hold it so.”

I did as he told me while he pulled up Idabelle's lip on each side. She liked that even less.

”See here,” he said, ”the gums are pink and healthy. No abscess, no broken teeth. So far there's no reason she shouldn't be eating. Now we'll check the glands in the neck.”

He ran his good hand under the cat's jaw. ”Nothing there. If her glands were big, it would be a sign of infection.” Then he felt her belly and p.r.o.nounced it free of tumors. He ran his hand up and down each limb and the tail and p.r.o.nounced her free of fractures.

”Hold up the tail,” he said, and peered closely at her backside. ”No diarrhea. No visible parasites. Now open that drawer and get me the stethoscope. It's the instrument with the black tubing.”

”I know what it is,” I said, slightly offended. ”Dr. Walker comes to the house and listens to our lungs with it when we have a cough. But that's only if the cod-liver oil doesn't work.” I shuddered at the thought of Mother's favorite nostrum.

I pulled the instrument from the drawer and handed it to him. It smelled of rubber.

He struggled to put it in his ears, and I reached up to help him. He smiled his thanks, then pressed the scope to Idabelle's chest and listened intently. After a moment, he tried to pull the earpieces out, and I helped him again. He handed me the instrument, saying, ”Her heart and lungs sound completely normal. There's nothing there. You can put that back in the drawer.”

I took the stethoscope from him and hesitated. I had often laid my ear against Idabelle's warm fur and heard the rapid faint pitter-patter of her heart, far-off and practically inaudible. Here was my chance for a real listen with a real instrument.

”Can I please try it?” I said. ”Please?”

He apparently found this amusing but said, ”All right. Put the bell right here.” He pointed to a spot behind the left foreleg. It seemed a funny place to listen to a heart, but then he was the expert, right?

I put the earpieces in and pressed the bell to her fur, not expecting much. To my surprise, a thunderous tympany filled my ears, almost too loud to bear, and so rapid that it seemed like a rolling kettledrum. Idabelle's valiant little heart beat like mad, and I listened for a good long time before I could make some sense of it. What sounded like a continuous thrumming was actually two distinct sounds (that I later learned were the ”lub” and the ”dub,” the sounds made by the closing of various valves in the heart). I could also hear a loud, whistling wind and realized that it had to be air moving through her lungs.

”Gosh, that's amazing,” I said.

He smiled and said, ”Do you know what's wrong with this cat?”

”What?” I said with trepidation.

”Absolutely nothing. She's fine. And now we'll do the final test.” He went into the back room and returned with a small flat tin of sardines, saying, ”You'll have to open this. I can't manage it.”

I opened the tin with the key, and the reek of oily fish filled the room, all too reminiscent of cod-liver oil.

”Try her with that,” he said.

I placed it in front of Idabelle. She sniffed it once and then grabbed a sardine and bolted it as fast as she could, then attacked the others, tearing through them at great speed. She finished up by licking the can dry and looking around for more. Her belly bulged comically.

Dr. Pritzker said, ”See? She's hungry, that's all.”

”Really?” I was incredulous. ”That's it?”

”Nothing wrong with her. How often do you feed her?”

I had to think about this. ”I don't really know. We keep her inside for the mice, but I don't know if Viola gives her other food or not.”

”It looks like your mouse population has decreased for some reason. You don't have traps set out in the house, do you?”

”I don't think so.”

”No poison?”

”No, sir.”

”And she's not competing with any other cats?”

”No, the other cats are all Outside Cats.”

”Well, you'll have to supplement her food until the mice come back. Give her some sardines every day but not so much that she stops hunting.”

I thanked him profusely and stuffed her back into her cage, anxious to get home and give Viola the good news. Idabelle immediately started howling again, at even greater volume. Although it nearly killed me to say it, I said it anyway, speaking up over the heart-rending noise. ”Will you please send me your bill, Dr. Pritzker?”

He looked amused and gestured at the ma.s.s of papers on his desk. ”I might, if I can ever catch up on my accounting. Or, I tell you what-you can run a few errands for me, deliver a message or two. Sometimes I'm stuck sending Samuel, which is a great inconvenience. Deal?”

”Deal! Oh, and do you ever look after dogs? I didn't see any dog books on your shelf.”

”I have doctored a few cattle dogs and hunting dogs in my time. The principles of care are essentially the same. Do you have a sick dog?”