Read Online World without Cats by Bonham Richards - Free Book Online Page A

has happened since the first cat became ill.”
    “It started a couple of weeks ago,” Dorothy began. “Three of the cats were just lying around. I could see they were sick. A few days later they were dead. I wasn’t upset much at first. I’ve had cats get sick and die before. Why, just last July a calico named Quilt and an old tom that had no name died on the same day, within four hours of each other.” Her voice wavered. “But now, four more cats are dead and about half of the others are ill. One of dead ones is precious Lucy, the seal-point Siamese.” Dorothy burst into tears.
    Vera took Dorothy’s hand. “Did you notice anything else?” she asked. “Anything at all in those cats before they died? Their appetite? Did they eat? Were they frothing at the mouth?”
    “Well, yes. For the last week or so, quite a few of them haven’t been eating much. Lucy and Aristotle weren’t eating at all before they died. Even Martin there hasn’t been eating.” She pointed to a large tom sprawled on the carpet. “He usually eats the food left over by the others. And they haven’t been as active as usual. Some of them have diarrhea, some have been vomiting, and I saw blood coming from the noses of two of them.” Dorothy stopped speaking; the tears resumed.
    Dorothy regained some composure and said, “Oh, and they seem to be very thirsty. At first, I didn’t think too much of it because the cats often get sick with one thing or another. Maybe fleas are responsible.”
    Vera observed that some of the cats were showing their haws—the membranes under their eyelids that, in healthy animals, are generally hidden. She also noticed streaks of blood in their eyes. She took the rectal temperature of several of the sick pets. “They all have high fevers,” she remarked. “No question that it’s some kind of infection.” The vet stroked the back of the animal she’d been examining. But the cat made an evasive movement and yowled loudly. Hmmm. sensitive to touch. She scratched her head. “Are there more fleas than usual right now?”
    “No,” Dorothy replied. “It’s still early for fleas. They don’t get real bad until summer.” Dorothy had stopped crying. “I thought it might be distemper, but you gave most of them shots for that.”
    Vera nodded thoughtfully. “I think you should consider putting your cats on one of the long-lasting flea inhibitors.” For years, she had urged Dottie to use an anti-flea regimen, but the woman refused to use any medications on her cats unless it was absolutely necessary.
    Dorothy continued, “Most of the cats died at night. I found their dear little bodies when I got up in the morning. But one, a cat named Clyde that Pete Wingate brought over, was eating up a storm yesterday around ten in the morning … he purred so loud when I scratched him under the chin … then I found his furry body about two thirty in the afternoon.”
    Vera listened for possible clues to the illness. Her attention, however, was caught by the strange antics of a jet-black cat over by the grandfather clock. The cat, one Vera knew as Sabrina, was having trouble walking. She was making the same awkward movements that a kitten does when it first ventures to use its limbs. But Sabrina was fully grown. Vera rushed over and tenderly folded the animal in her arms. The cat protested weakly. Blood was dripping from her nose and mouth. Soon she was convulsing, her body jerking spasmodically. Within minutes Sabrina was dead. Dorothy and Vera exchanged horrified glances.
    Vera shook her head. “You might swab down the floor around the food and water dishes with bleach,” she suggested. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with, but bleach is a pretty good disinfectant.”
    Vera put the lifeless bodies of Sabrina and two other cats in a large plastic bag, and then gave Dorothy a hug. “I’ll do my best to find out what this is.”
    The drive back to the clinic allowed her time to digest the afternoon’s