It’s 8 am.
Poor Marmalade–our big eyed ginger cat–doesn’t know it but he’s going on a journey this morning–to the dentist!.
He’s not the only one in for a shock.
Meredith goes into the garage for the cat carrier and hears a mewing.
Must be Blacky–she thinks–one of the outdoor cats, who’s been known to sleep in the garage in winter.
Instead, a little black and white bundle, adorable as only a kitten can be, scampers up to her–mewing and purring a nervous racket.
‘What on earth!? Where did YOU come from!?’
Meanwhile in the kitchen, on the other side of the house, our two other indoor cats are getting more and more agitated, waiting to be fed.
“What time do you call this–it’s nearly 8.30?!”
(They’re having to wait until Marmalade–who can’t eat before the anaesthetic–is out of the house.)
Handsome, arthritic Lucien (an abandoned kitten himself a dozen years ago) can’t stand intruders; he spots the callow newcomer and starts rehearsing his Bill Sykes routine–lowering his head menacingly, laying back his ears and arching himself for attack.
Pippa–our Head Cat (“and you better believe it!“)–is pacing up and down the kitchen, tut-tutting in cat fashion–twitching her tail.
She’s always grumpy in the morning before she eats, often giving son Marmalade an unwarrented nip and swipe.
All this and barely 8.30!
On the advice of our usual vet, Meredith has booked Marmalade into the dentist for 9 am–that’s the feline dentist–in another town about 25 minutes away.
Poor guy–Marmalade, I mean–has been off colour for months (we thought he was mourning the loss of his sister, Butterscotch–but it turns out he has bad teeth!).
We take bowls of cat food out of the kitchen to distract Pippa and Lucian while Meredith leaves with an unhappy Marmalade–who’s not responding to our assurances that he’s going to feel much better for all this soon.
Meanwhile back in the kitchen–I have a new friend.
Gradually–after eating from every bowl in the room–the adorable mewing and purring bundle calms down and decides that, as an old friend of ours once put it, it had fallen in the butter dish and that I am the bee’s knees–or the cat’s elbow!
We both settle for a quiet time waiting for the return of the two “Ms”.
It turns out that many of Marmalade’s teeth were damaged and the kindly vet had to extract not a few.
Once back home, Mar is still a bit dozy from the morphine, but it hasn’t dulled his appetite! He enjoys a late breakfast before retiring to a comfortable cushion to recuperate.
Meanwhile the kitten tries to make friends.
It feels like an early Christmas present–and unless someone calls to claim him, not just for Christmas.
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Robin Ellis 