Mrs Walker's Pussy

     One of the things they don’t tell you about much in vet school is that you are going to end up having to deal with your clients mental health issues. Some times that’s easier than others. Sometimes we end up doing a version of care in the community, for free. I regard that as a privilege.

     Mrs Walker was a long standing client, with an outrageously obese cat. She would always say with a twinkle in her eye, “He’s a very hungry pussy!”. He was such a hungry boy that he ended up with diabetes. There was no chance of managing him with insulin, so we did our best to get on top of his issues with a combination of diet and oral medication. As Mrs Walker was increasingly frail, rather than giving her large bags of heavy cat food she would come in and buy one or two small packs every couple of days. A sparrow like wee woman with stick legs and a cheery nature, we were very fond of her and always took a little time to speak with her, knowing that her family had all moved away and could only visit at weekends, which they did. In the wintertime she would come in with freezing hands, and we would always try to stall her and share some tea together so we could get her warmed up again before heading out into the harsh Scottish winter.

     Over time, it became increasingly noticeable that Mrs Walker was losing her marbles. Whilst this was very sad and a source of some worry for all of us, she bore it with such good cheer that we couldn’t feel too awful about it. Her visits became more frequent, at least every day and sometimes more often. We noticed that she was asking for more and more cat food, insisting that she had none. She knew she was right because she had written it down. The staff were uncomfortable about this, so one of the team offered to go round and check on her food supplies. When they arrived in her kitchen they discovered a litter tray full of kibble, and a food dish with cat litter. We started labeling the packets. 

     It was around coffee break one morning on a freezing day and I was at the reception, chatting. Mrs Walker came up to the desk and smiled at me.

“Good Morning Mrs Walker, what can I do for you today?”
“Well now, I need a comb, and my feet”
“Your feet?”
“Yes, I have an appointment. I wrote it down, see?” I looked at the proffered note.
“I think that might be an appointment for you at the hospital with the nurse?”
“Oh. Where is this?”
“The vets. I’m the vet who looks after Oscar”
She looked crestfallen for half a second, then the impish grin started to reappear.
“Of course! Never mind, I’ll just take the hot water bottle and a comb please.”