Charlie the Kitten Who Saved a Life

‘No!’ I lied. I wasn’t ready to cause a scene, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. Instead, I told him about Nana – how Mum didn’t often get the time to see her, so I felt like I ought to give her some company.

‘My parents will be so disappointed, Sam. Mum’s been stocking up the freezer with apple tarts because she knows you like them so much.’ He shook his head, paused, and then said grudgingly, ‘But she’ll probably think it’s really nice that you want to spend time with your nan.’

It struck me as odd that he seemed more focused on his mother’s disappointment than on his own. But perhaps that was just my imagination.

But before I could dwell on this any longer I was brought back to the present by a loud banging noise. The door at the front of the reception had flown open, smacking into the wall violently. I looked up, half-expecting it to be Claire having forgotten her purse or something, but it was a thick-set, worried-looking man struggling under the weight of a large Alsatian lying in his arms, its head and paws dangling lifelessly.

‘Can you help me?’ the man cried out. ‘Please – he’s been hit by a van!’

I immediately sprang into action before I’d even had a chance to think about what was happening. Emergencies like this happened from time to time and I was well trained to know just what to do. I jumped to my feet and showed the man through to one of the treatment rooms, at the same time calling out for someone to come and help.

Sonia, one of the nurses, appeared at once and helped the man to lay the poor dog on the table, reassuring him that Mr Fulcher, the vet, would be with them in a minute.

‘He got out,’ the man said, wiping his eyes. ‘There was a fence panel broken. It must have happened in the storm the other night. I didn’t notice. Oh my God. Is it too late?’

I stared at the dog as Sonia checked for vital signs. His injuries were terrible. I could barely look – just the sight of the wound sent my head funny. I had no idea whether he could be saved or not.

‘There’s a pulse,’ she said gently. ‘But it’s very weak. We’ll do our best, sir. Here’s Mr Fulcher now.’ She turned to greet him and caught my eye. A look of concern crossed over her face. ‘Are you OK, Sam?’

‘Yes. I, er, think so.’ My head had started to feel peculiar. Everything in the room was going out of focus.

‘Go and sit down,’ she said. ‘You don’t look well.’

But instead, I bolted out to the staffroom, past Claire, who had just returned, and straight into the toilet cubicle, where I was horribly sick.

‘What …?’ Claire was behind me in a second, holding me and scraping back my hair. ‘You poor thing, you look awful. Are you not well? You’d better go home.’

‘No. I … I think I’ll be all right now. I just came over kind of woozy. There’s a dog just come in, he’s awfully hurt …’ I straightened up and tried to compose myself.

‘I’m really sorry, Claire. Could you cover the desk for a moment? I just need a minute.’

‘Of course. Typical, I’d only popped out for a minute. I still think you need to go home, though.’

And I had to, of course, even though I was starting to feel better. It was the clinic’s policy, in case I had something infectious. I knew I didn’t, that I’d just reacted badly to the sight of that poor dog’s injuries. But what I couldn’t understand was why. I’d witnessed scores of horrible sights during my time here, and although the emotional impact had sometimes been hard to deal with, I wasn’t squeamish and I’d never been taken ill like this before.

As I sat on the Tube on my way back to my dismal flat, I thought about what had just happened. Was it just the shock? The emergency had come in pretty suddenly, after all. But I still didn’t really get why it should have affected me so violently. Maybe I was overtired, working long days and worrying myself silly about Adam. Perhaps I really did need my holiday.

Now I thought about it, there had been a couple of times recently when I’d felt a bit dizzy and nauseous for no apparent reason. Perhaps I was anaemic or something? I remembered one of my flatmates had fainted halfway through making herself an omelette one evening, and had eventually found out that she needed iron tablets due to her heavy periods. Whereas my periods were—

Well, actually, come to think of it, I hadn’t had—

I sat up straight. It couldn’t be that, surely? My pulse suddenly racing, I fumbled in my bag for my diary and had a quick check of my dates. I was over a week late. How had I not noticed? I must have been so caught up with my worries about Adam and what I was doing for the Easter break. A wave of panic overcame me, but within minutes I’d talked myself round. No, there was probably another explanation. Like stress. Yes, that’d be it. I was probably late because of the stress of all the recent arguments.