Sir Thomas of Argyle, Bane of Mice (7)

From THE OFFICIAL TRAVELOGUE OF SIR THOMAS CAT, ESQUIRE

Translated from the Meowish.
Copyright May 1983


This story is dedicated to my husband's Aunt Eleanor Campbell Taylor and Uncle Rumsey Taylor, Sr., of Princeton, Kentucky, USA, in whose home the enchantment of Inveraray is alive and well on this side of the Atlantic. May the rest of us who come along after be able to carry on and never lose that enchantment forever.

[Part 7]

Thinking back to last seeing Thomas when the Duchess was getting into the car to be driven to Dunoon, the Duke estimated that Thomas could have lain there for almost twenty-four hours already, and it was obvious that fever and infection had set in. Thomas had quickly grown too weak to make it back to the castle, and even too weak to summon Chief Maynard on patrol. A shudder went through the Duke when he remembered a legend that a cat who felt he was about to die would sometimes go away from his home to spare his beloved owners pain. A feverish cat would sometimes become fearful and quit drinking water just when he needed it most. The Duke pressed some snow into Thomas's mouth. Then throwing his coat and vest aside, the Duke took off his own cardigan sweater, wrapping Thomas gently in the wool of it. Slipping on his vest again, the Duke found the catnip in the pocket and slipped it under Thomas's collar in case the scent might interest him enough to revive him a bit. Then the Duke pulled on his coat and literally ran back to the castle with Thomas in his arms.

As the Duke drew closer the castle, he suddenly remembered again that the Duchess was not there to care for Thomas--oh, why was she always gone when he needed her most--and so he ran on to the stone barn where the veterinarian in charge of the Argyle sheep was just making his rounds. Dr. Woolsey, who was the leading sheep consultant in the North Sea Area, was just walking through the barn door for the day's work--checking the sheep's muzzles and ears for the parasitic insects which tended to seek out the warm animals as the weather grew colder.

"Ho, what have you there, Colin," asked Dr. Woolsey, "a wee, black lamb born in the night?"

"It's Thomas!" said the Duke, and the look of anguish on the Duke's face told Dr. Woolsey all he needed to know. Dr. Woolsey took Thomas into his arms and disappeared into the room where he'd set up an examining table for the lambs.