By Chantal Acosta, DVM

One of the smartest and most affectionate cats I’ve ever met in my profession was Berl, the clinic cat. He was a scrawny, orange tabby who had been abandoned years prior. So he had come to know the clinic as his home and everyone who worked there as his family. He was often found keeping the receptionist company by napping inside the box that was intended for records ready to be re-filed or keeping me company by snoozing on the cushion in my office that was meant for my dog. He was extremely affectionate and would allow us to carry him on his back like a human infant. He also loved “holding hands” while you were carrying him—he would reach out his little white paws and place them on your hands and start kneading.

When he became ill, I was usually the one who had to draw blood from him and administer his treatments. He handled this with as much dignity as he possibly could, but then he would leave me a little gift in my office afterwards to make his feelings on the subject clear (the puddle of urine next to my dog’s bed was his delicate way of letting us know that he thought we were rude human beings). We agreed.

The last year of his life, Berl’s kidneys were failing to the point where he needed an injection of fluids under his skin once a day to keep him hydrated, which we usually did at 3 p.m. We fed him treats while he was receiving the fluids to distract him. He loved the treats so much that within a couple of weeks, at exactly 3 p.m., he would trot back to the treatment area and demand his fluids by meowing very loudly. It was actually more of a screech than a meow because Berl thought we humans were way too slow to respond to his demands, and he became more impatient in his older age. I still wonder how he learned how to tell time.

Berl passed away on Christmas Eve eight years ago. We held a memorial for him at the clinic and exchanged Berl stories. Although he has been gone for so long, we all still talk about him and miss him greatly.

Chantal Acosta is a house call vet. Learn more about her practice at vetlovespet.com.

Photo credit: UnSplash

By Paul H. Urband, DVM

Every veterinarian who has been an active clinical veterinarian has many stories to tell. Unfortunately, most of us are not great storytellers like the English veterinarian James Herriot. I can relate a good story when I have an audience at a party but have never put them down on paper.

Early in my years of practice, the stories were plentiful, and now that I’m retired, they continue to amuse me whenever I think of them. At the time of this story, my veterinary office was small and located in a building not much larger than a shoebox, so I was willing to make house calls. I was called by an elderly lady who had just moved into a retirement apartment complex. She was new to the area and needed help. She didn’t know who to call but had a big problem.

Her strictly house cat, which had never been outside and probably wasn’t happy about the move, decided to explore the neighborhood when the opportunity of an open door presented itself. Her cat was unsure about the new surroundings, inside or outside the house. Once outside and free, “Missy” found a thicket and had been living there for about three days. Her owner was feeding her at the edge of the thicket and could see her but not catch her to bring her back into the apartment.

I was asked to come to make sure her cat was well. When I arrived, the elderly lady pointed to the thicket and said I would need to catch “Missy” first. I should mention that my new client was using a walker and had limited mobility. Missy wasn’t about to come out of her hiding place, and as I was totally unable to approach her, I returned to my office to get a catch pole which was used for big aggressive dogs (it’s about five feet long).

It took a while to catch Missy, as she was a very smart cat. With the help of my wife, we were able to catch Missy, who was now a very snarly, angry cat and return her to the safety of her new home. Her grateful owner offered us some refreshments and wanted to pay us for our trouble. We refused both, happy in the knowledge that Missy was now safely inside her new home.

As we said goodbye, the client stood waving at us from her open door. “Close the door!” my wife shouted as we drove away.

Photo credit: Unsplash