Murmur

Transporting the cat to the vet was easier than I expected, she happily walked straight into her travel cage, turned around and then waited for me to lock her in. There was a moment when I put the cat's cage down on the floor and I saw in one picture the cat cage, my wallet, the good break on my black trousers and the square toes of my red shoes. I felt sure and capable and like a memory of my mother.

The vet was short, intense, all elbows, angles and deft hands. The cat has a heart murmur in addition to fleas. I wanted to grab the stethoscope and listen for myself but it would be wrong to doubt so publicly.

The vet is not very concerned about the cat, she says it could be the stress of being at the vet's in the first place that caused the cat's little heart to race and rattle out the wrong noises. I could not remember how old the cat is, I did not change her microchip information when I moved to the city, I can not convince the cat to eat chicken necks no matter how hard I try. The vet pulled her chin up to look at me and asked which brand of cat biscuits do I buy? The silver one I said, not remembering the name. She asked why I did not change the cat's microchip information, I forgot, I said because I could tell her the real reason. The real reason was my own heart and its murmurs, the vomiting, the ice hard metallic cage that shot out of the ground and pushed me into a new space.

I felt ashamed of my lack of responsible cat ownership. I do try and do the right things but she will not eat the chicken necks no matter what. Once I had a four day stand off with the cat. Twice a day I presented her with chicken necks, twice a day she rejected them, this went on for four days and I had taken to following the cat around to see if she was going to die of starvation.

The vet said that the amazing all in one back of the neck worm, flea everything treatment does not do tapeworms, she looked very stern then shoved a tapeworm tablet down the cat's throat. The cat raised a paw in protest but said nothing, I looked down at my red shoes.

I have asked Creamboy to bring his stethoscope with him tomorrow so that I can have a go at listening to the cat's heart. I need to listen, she is just a cat but she is my cat and I am fond of her.

I keep remembering the horse. The horse died of a broken heart or he would have if I had not signed the paper to let the vet do his terrible kindly deed. I stood holding the end of the rope while the vet injected him.

The horse would have let anything happen to him if I'd been there at the end of a rope. I'd had him more years than seemed possible, I used to lie on his back with a lazy hand over my eyes while he grazed in the valley or sit underneath him if caught in a sudden shower of rain. The horse kindly obliged me with all my mad Dale from Snowy River fantasies and bravely galloped down any hillside I pointed him at. He drank orange juice out of poppers by piercing the package with his teeth then holding his head up vertically while the juice ran down his throat and I jumped about trying to get my juice back. He did not object when I tied ribbons in his tail and galloped around yelling about green knights in my bad Middle English. He was huge and strong, he'd jump anything at top speed and the only thing he was ever frightened of was a camel unlike the pony who was petrified of wheely bins and nearly chucked me under a truck on the way to pony club.

But on the last day the horse staggered and lurched, his legs curled under him and he fell, first onto his chest then settling onto his haunches while his eyes rolled white in his huge head. If anything is the opposite of hallelujah its the sight of a dying horse collapsing inwards with spidered legs. The vet took the rope out of my hands then he knelt and unbuckled the headstall and eased it out from under the horse's head, he coiled the rope slowly hand over practiced hand and laid it at at my feet, I don't remember him driving away.