SERIES Tales From Prospect House

their lives, Carol. They get as stubborn as mules and dig in to feel they are in control of something.”

I took a deep breath. “There’s a lot going on, Nathan,” I began.

He was silent. “You’ve been great, but it’s all happening whether you like it or not, right?”

He peered at me from under the fringe.

“You don’t know, in the end, how it’s going to turn out,” I went on.

“It might go wrong,” he said. “I might get stuff wrong.”

He looked anguished. It took my breath away.

Of course he had anxieties sloshing around his head, just like the generations of struggling children I’d cared for. We were all so modern, and careful to consult and prepare him. We’d read the manual on stepfamilies.

Like any child undergoing change, Nathan felt the future was hurtling towards him. He was overwhelmed.

“You just want to make your own decision about clothes today, I expect,” I said.

He looked up, and I saw his skinny shoulders relax.

“Just one thing,” he said. “Just the tie.”

I wanted to cry – he was all the beautiful, hopeful, muddled, worried children I’d known. But I’d have some crying to do in an hour’s time, so I pushed back the tears.

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbled.

“That’s all we can ask,” I said. “It’s your decision.”

I hadn’t known Nathan before that morning, really. But by the time we got to the ceremony, I felt we had an understanding.

He held my hand, and he was wearing a tie – a funny old one of Jack’s with deer all over it. He’d taken so long picking it out that I had nearly forgotten to throw on my suit!

“It’s a better tie than the green one, I reckon,” Jack whispered to Nathan as we followed the bride and groom out. “Good call.” Nathan smiled.

I felt we had the makings of a grandson, and it felt brilliant.

THE chatter of voices emanated from the waiting room. It stopped as I strode in and ground to a halt self-consciously. Eight faces peered up at me from the circle that surrounded Mrs Jennings, a teacher from the school the other side of the Green.

A boy with pebble glasses turned to a girl who was holding a wicker cat basket, both hands firmly clenched over the handle.

“Go on, Emma,” he said, pushing her forward. “Let the vet see Felix.”

“Stop it, Gavin,” the girl replied, pushing him back with her elbow in a very unladylike fashion.

Mrs Jennings intervened. “Behave yourselves, you two.”

“Let’s go through to the consulting room,” I said.

I ushered them through, Emma elbowing her way to the front with the basket. She swung it on to the consulting table and anxious faces clustered round as I slid the cane fastener out and lifted the lid.

Inside, hunched up on a towel, was a black and white cat.

Gavin stood on tiptoe and peered into the box, his pebble spectacles sliding down his nose.

“His name’s Felix. He’s the school cat,” he explained.

“He’s poorly,” Emma added.

“That’s why we’ve brought him in,” Gavin said. “To see if you can make him better.”

He gave me a hard stare. “You can make him better, can’t you?” he added. “Otherwise he’ll snuff it.”

“Don’t say that, Gavin,” Emma snapped, tears in her eyes while Gavin pushed his spectacles back up his nose.

“Now,” Mrs Jennings said. “Let Mr Mitchell take a look.”

“I know what’s wrong,” Gavin said proudly. “Felix can’t pee.”

Mrs Jennings explained that the children had noticed Felix crouched in his litter tray, straining.

“Can you do anything for him?” Emma sobbed, sniffing back a tear.

“Should do, he’s a vet,” Gavin said gruffly, giving the cat basket a poke as I lifted Felix out and lowered him on to the consulting table.

The cat sat there, hunched up, looking thoroughly miserable.

I eased my hands over his flanks, noticing the distension of his abdomen. It was no surprise when I cautiously palpated it to discover an over-extended bladder.

“I think Felix has got a blockage,” I said.

“A blockage?” Gavin asked, his eyes widening behind his spectacles. “That sounds sore.”

“It probably is, poor thing,” I said, taken back by Gavin’s perceptiveness. I turned to Mrs Jennings. “I’ll have to admit Felix as a matter of urgency and get his bladder unblocked.”

Once the children had trooped out, I took Felix to the prep room. Mandy bustled in, her starched green uniform crackling.

“Urinary obstruction,” I explained.

With her customary efficiency, she drew up an anaesthetic for me to sedate Felix, and as he slipped into unconsciousness, she sorted out a cat catheter ready for me to flush Felix’s urethra.

“Fingers crossed,” I muttered as I slid the tip of the catheter in.

I gradually eased the tube further and further up.

“Come on, Felix. Give way,” I muttered.

“It seems your prayers have been answered,” Mandy said, peering over the cat’s back as he lay stretched out between us.

Yellow cloudy urine, flecked with blood, had begun seeping out of the end of the catheter.

Holding the tube in place, I cupped my hand round Felix’s abdomen and felt his bladder contracting rapidly, accompanied by a stream of urine now pouring out of the catheter.

“What a relief,” I said. “Especially for Felix,” Mandy agreed, grinning.

I had to make sure there were no stones in his bladder which might cause another blockage. An X-ray revealed there were none. The obstruction had just been due to a build-up of sediment.

Nevertheless, Felix was kept in the hospital for three days with the urinary catheter kept in place to ensure any urethral swelling had subsided and that he was able to urinate freely.

Felix was collected by a delighted delegation three days later. Instructions were given to Mrs Jennings on dietary changes for Felix and the use of vitamin C to keep his urine acidic to help prevent any stone formation.

“You unblocked him, then?” Gavin observed, pushing his spectacles up his nose as he peered into the cat’s basket. “My dad once got kidney stones. He had a tube in him for weeks!”

More next week.

School cat Felix has a personal problem . . .