Page 32 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
‘Sure.’ She followed Oli into his consulting room. There was a cardboard box on the table and, when she took a look inside, her heart clenched at the sight of a tiny and beautifully marked ginger tabby kitten. Marmalade shades on its legs and tail were darker than those on its back, and the lower part of a very sweet little face and its chest were dusted with white fur, making it appear as though the kitten was wearing a bib. Its coat was damp and dirty, a tiny tummy shrunken and empty, and she wanted to weep.
‘Desperately underweight and the eyes look sore.’ She glanced at Oli and saw his own troubled expression. ‘Any discharge or raised temperature?’
‘Nasal discharge and she’s sneezing. Temperature’s elevated to thirty-nine point eight, not overly concerning.’
‘Female?’ Erin felt that made the kitten seem even more vulnerable, and he nodded. ‘Any signs of bloody diarrhoea?’ Even though she longed to stroke the kitten, she wouldn’t until she was satisfied it wasn’t feline parvovirus. Oli shook his head.
‘Dorothy noticed it around the farm with a young adult and she’d been leaving food out for them but hadn’t been able to get any closer. She thought the mother looked well enough but was also underweight.’
‘Was?’
‘She found its body on the road an hour ago, and the kitten was under the hedge nearby. She thought it was dead too but realised it wasn’t quite and brought it straight here.’
‘Oh, the poor little love, and her mum too.’ Even as sorrow settled over her, Erin’s mind was racing to the next step, what they could do in a situation like this. ‘That’s awful.’
‘Yes, absolutely. We can run bloods to make sure it’s not parvo so Dorothy can be clear about the risk of infection on the farm. I suspect it’s probably FCV.’
‘That wouldn’t be the worst thing she could have. I’d prefer cat flu to something more sinister,’ Erin murmured. ‘She’s what, about eight weeks?’
‘I should think so, her eyes are green, not blue. I haven’t weighed her yet. There are no signs of ulcers or swellings to indicate a more virulent strain of the virus.’
‘That’s good.’ The kitten sneezed and the sound was a tug on Erin’s heartstrings.
‘So here’s the thing.’ Oli cleared his throat as Erin straightened to face him. ‘There’s no microchip, she’s almost certainly feral, without a home or vaccinations, and she’s very sick. Dorothy has no idea when she last fed, and she may well have been surviving by suckling from her mother. She’s clearly very underweight and dehydrated, and lacking antibodies if her mother wasn’t vaccinated either.’
‘What did Dorothy say?’ Erin knew exactly where Oli was going with this. Dorothy adored her animals, but many years of caring for them had taught her she couldn’t save everything.
‘That she’d love to have her back but she’s pragmatic enough to know that the kitten probably won’t survive, even with careful nursing, and that takes time. If Dorothy hadn’t found her when she did, it would’ve been dead overnight anyway without shelter or food in this weather. And then there’s the cost of treatment and care, without insurance or owners to pay for it.’
All practical considerations Erin had heard so many times before and she’d be saying the same to her client if one was stood on the other side of the table with the box and its critically ill ginger bundle between them. The kitten sneezed again, and she caught a glimpse of green eyes amongst the dampness surrounding them. Was she imagining the exhaustion in that weary gaze, the fight to survive fading along with her life? The kitten’s tummy was hunched, and Erin couldn’t bear to think of her homeless and hungry.
‘It might be kinder, Erin, given she’s had a terrible start and probably won’t make it anyway, to let her…’
‘I’ll take her. And I’ll cover the cost.’ Erin was already reaching for a pair of surgical gloves, her work in the lab temporarily forgotten. She very rarely spent anything without first considering the implications, but this was literally a life-and-death situation, and it wasn’t a decision she needed time to make. ‘Let’s weigh her and get a catheter in, then we’ll take bloods and start a line to get fluids going. We can try her on some food when she’s more comfortable, but it might need to be syringed.’
‘You’re sure?’ Oli’s hand went to her arm and his voice was gentle. ‘I didn’t want to sway you, but I’d hate to give up without giving her a chance either.’ He hesitated. ‘I’d have taken her myself, but I won’t be…’
‘I know. You won’t be here much longer.’ She looked up. How was it only two more weeks until Christmas? ‘And of course I’m sure. We can always rehome her when she’s well again.’
They shared a grin and Erin’s adrenaline was racing as they swung into action. The tiny ginger girl offered no resistance bar a squeak when they clipped away dirty and damp fur on a thin front paw and carefully inserted the catheter. By the time Oli had carried her through to a kennel kept in isolation for such cases, the entire practice had heard and popped in to take a peek.
‘She needs a name,’ Jess declared. ‘We can’t be calling her the kitten or the ginger the whole time.’ She had two cats at home and was keeping a safe distance. Erin had already offered to nurse the kitten so the other staff didn’t have to make contact, and Oli said he would do his share. They couldn’t catch or transmit the virus to other patients themselves, but it could be passed on if other cats came into contact with bowls and litter trays. It was vital they wore protective clothing around the kitten and disposed of it before leaving the isolation kennel, alongside every other virus control in place in the practice.
‘Ginger?’ Oli suggested.
‘No, something sweeter, she has such a gorgeous little face.’
‘Marmalade,’ Erin offered. ‘It seems to suit her somehow.’ She’d placed a bowl of hot water nearby so the steam could help the kitten’s breathing. They’d taken blood samples, and a litter tray was set up on one side of the kennel, the space so large its tiny occupant was barely visible in her cosy nest.
‘It does.’ Oli dropped down to his haunches to join Erin beside the kennel. ‘Maybe Marnie for short, Marmalade’s a very big name for such a little girl.’
‘Marnie. I love it.’
‘Just don’t get too attached,’ he warned. ‘She’s got a long way to go.’
‘I know,’ Erin said fiercely. ‘But we’re going to do everything we can to get her there.’
‘I’ll leave you two to it, then,’ Jess said drily. ‘Brew on the way.’
