The Cat Detective
Many years ago before I was married, I left Vermont to answer an ad for a veterinary assistant ( they had not developed the Vet Tech program as yet) in Stamford, Connecticut. I was hired and joined the staff which included the owner, Dr. John Nickerson, another young veterinarian, Dr. Hershhorn, an assistant gentleman who was actually a licensed veterinarian in his own country yet not allowed to practice as such in the U.S., a kennel man, Ralph, and now me.
The clinic was in a historic old house. The basement had been transformed into the kennel area,and treatment area.
The street level floor contained a waiting room, lab, office and surgery. The second level was an apartment where Ralph, his wife and baby lived. The top floor was a cute little apartment where I lived, with my Sheltie dog, Tami and Persian cat, Snowman.
Dr. Nickerson lived with his wife and two sons only a few miles away.
Having employees who lived in the hospital was an wonderful idea.
I have not seen it very often. In this case Ralph and I took turns answering the phone during the night. There was no answering service. But that really has nothing to do with this story.
Ralph was first to the kennel area in the morning. On this particular day we were planning to do surgery on a more unusual patient, so Ralph checked on the little hamster whose cage was kept upstairs in the lab overnight rather than in the area with the barking dogs.
The hamster had been brought to the hospital during office hours the day before by a woman, holding the cage in one hand and with her other hand she clutched the hand of a tearful little girl. The hamster had a large growth on his chest--so large it interfered with his ambulation.
The child had been told they were bringing her pet to be "put to sleep" as her parents felt this was something that could not be
repaired. After a careful examination of the friendly little creature, Dr. Nickerson determined the growth was simply a large fatty tumor, not attached to any vital organ. He felt it could be easily removed.
Recovery should be rapid and the much loved pet could live for some time yet. Mom and daughter went home to await the call next day when surgery was over.
SO--Next Morning--Ralph went to the lab to check on the patient. I had gone to the surgery to set out the equipment which would be needed for the operation. We very seldom had operated on someone so tiny. So I selected mosquito forceps, our smallest surgical needles and the thinnest gauge of catgut etc. As I finished, Ralph came into the surgery with a look of disbelief on his face. Thinking he had found the hamster dead in his cage I gasped ," Oh No".
The Ralph said, "He isn't dead--he is gone." How could that be?
When I went to the lab to see for myself, the cage door was ajar and the hamster was truly not there.
We searched the room. With flashlights we checked in every cabinet, drawer, and on every shelf. We found no trace of the missing hamster.
How could we tell the Doctor? How would he ever explain to the owners?
Then I hit upon a last ditch effort. My cat. Snowman was a pure white Persian-one of the few who was not deaf. He had always been an indoor cat, had never hunted, but like all cats he had a
pretty strong prey drive. He attacked those catnip mice with
a fierceness that would do a lion proud. He sat at the window with tail twitching and teeth chattering while watching the birds at the feeder.
So I went up to my apartment. I put Snowman's harness on and
fastened his leash. Carrying him downstairs he became rather
wiggly for he thought the harness meant a trip outside. Instead I took him to the table where the hamster's cage sat. Snowman
sniffed it over thoroughly. Then he began sniffing outside of the cage, dropping down from the table to the floor. It was plain to see that Snowman was tracking the hamster. I followed, holding the leash loosely to allow him freedom to search where ever he wished to go. It was a crazy trail he followed. That hamster had been busy all night. Eventually Snowman ended up in the waiting area. He jumped up on the sofa, which had large stuffed cushions across the back.
Now, very excited, with stiff whiskers protruding from his cheeks and fluffy tail held high, Snowman began pawing at one of the cushions. I pulled him back into my arms. He struggled and meowed. I held him tightly against my chest. Ralph lifted the pillow. There, curled into a ball, was the hamster.
While I lugged the squirming cat back up to my apartment, Ralph replaced the hamster in his cage, this time fastening the door with a clip on the latch.
I gave Snowman a helping of catnip. He still would rather have had
fresh hamster I think. Snowman, detective cat, had saved the day.
The hamster had his tumor removed and went home the following day to the delight of the little girl who loved him.
Neither Ralph nor I ever told Dr. Nickerson what had happened.
The clinic was in a historic old house. The basement had been transformed into the kennel area,and treatment area.
The street level floor contained a waiting room, lab, office and surgery. The second level was an apartment where Ralph, his wife and baby lived. The top floor was a cute little apartment where I lived, with my Sheltie dog, Tami and Persian cat, Snowman.
Dr. Nickerson lived with his wife and two sons only a few miles away.
Having employees who lived in the hospital was an wonderful idea.
I have not seen it very often. In this case Ralph and I took turns answering the phone during the night. There was no answering service. But that really has nothing to do with this story.
Ralph was first to the kennel area in the morning. On this particular day we were planning to do surgery on a more unusual patient, so Ralph checked on the little hamster whose cage was kept upstairs in the lab overnight rather than in the area with the barking dogs.
The hamster had been brought to the hospital during office hours the day before by a woman, holding the cage in one hand and with her other hand she clutched the hand of a tearful little girl. The hamster had a large growth on his chest--so large it interfered with his ambulation.
The child had been told they were bringing her pet to be "put to sleep" as her parents felt this was something that could not be
repaired. After a careful examination of the friendly little creature, Dr. Nickerson determined the growth was simply a large fatty tumor, not attached to any vital organ. He felt it could be easily removed.
Recovery should be rapid and the much loved pet could live for some time yet. Mom and daughter went home to await the call next day when surgery was over.
SO--Next Morning--Ralph went to the lab to check on the patient. I had gone to the surgery to set out the equipment which would be needed for the operation. We very seldom had operated on someone so tiny. So I selected mosquito forceps, our smallest surgical needles and the thinnest gauge of catgut etc. As I finished, Ralph came into the surgery with a look of disbelief on his face. Thinking he had found the hamster dead in his cage I gasped ," Oh No".
The Ralph said, "He isn't dead--he is gone." How could that be?
When I went to the lab to see for myself, the cage door was ajar and the hamster was truly not there.
We searched the room. With flashlights we checked in every cabinet, drawer, and on every shelf. We found no trace of the missing hamster.
How could we tell the Doctor? How would he ever explain to the owners?
Then I hit upon a last ditch effort. My cat. Snowman was a pure white Persian-one of the few who was not deaf. He had always been an indoor cat, had never hunted, but like all cats he had a
pretty strong prey drive. He attacked those catnip mice with
a fierceness that would do a lion proud. He sat at the window with tail twitching and teeth chattering while watching the birds at the feeder.
So I went up to my apartment. I put Snowman's harness on and
fastened his leash. Carrying him downstairs he became rather
wiggly for he thought the harness meant a trip outside. Instead I took him to the table where the hamster's cage sat. Snowman
sniffed it over thoroughly. Then he began sniffing outside of the cage, dropping down from the table to the floor. It was plain to see that Snowman was tracking the hamster. I followed, holding the leash loosely to allow him freedom to search where ever he wished to go. It was a crazy trail he followed. That hamster had been busy all night. Eventually Snowman ended up in the waiting area. He jumped up on the sofa, which had large stuffed cushions across the back.
Now, very excited, with stiff whiskers protruding from his cheeks and fluffy tail held high, Snowman began pawing at one of the cushions. I pulled him back into my arms. He struggled and meowed. I held him tightly against my chest. Ralph lifted the pillow. There, curled into a ball, was the hamster.
While I lugged the squirming cat back up to my apartment, Ralph replaced the hamster in his cage, this time fastening the door with a clip on the latch.
I gave Snowman a helping of catnip. He still would rather have had
fresh hamster I think. Snowman, detective cat, had saved the day.
The hamster had his tumor removed and went home the following day to the delight of the little girl who loved him.
Neither Ralph nor I ever told Dr. Nickerson what had happened.
Wonderful memory! I bet you have another book in you. i once lived over my store.
ReplyDeleteVery convenient and I think very good for the animals to have extra care.