The hours passed and I returned to the vets.
‘Is he ready?’
‘Which…?’
‘Monty, the Maltese.’
The young woman with kind eyes on reception nodded and smiled gently. I went into the back.
The walls were lined with cages. I saw a stunned-looking guinea pig and wondered if it belonged to the girl. Monty was lying on his side on the table.
‘Can I take him?’
And then Monty, hearing my voice, beat his tail weakly, and looked around at me.
Ten minutes later I was carrying him home.
You didn’t really let people think I was, you know, a goner, did you?
‘Maybe. I can’t help what people think.’
You’re a bad man. You should take responsibility for your acts.
‘I don’t think you know how traumatic this was for me. Have you any idea how much that operation cost?’
It’s only money. You should be more philosophical.
‘I’m not being entirely serious. The vet told me that it was a major operation. And, especially at your age—’
Hey!
‘I’m just telling you what she told me. At your age there’s always a chance you just wouldn’t wake up. That’s why we had to think so hard about it. But she said it went well. You’ll be scampering and capering in no time. But first you rest up. Let the scars heal. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.’
I can hardly wait.
And then we were home, and a mighty fuss was made over Monty.