“So, doesn’t a doctor for humans have different qualifications than an animal doctor?”
Dooley probably meant a doctor for animals, since there are probably very few animals who get to be vets. On the other hand there are probably human doctors whose patients would argue that they’re actually animals, but that’s a different discussion, and one we don’t need to go into at this point.
“What I’m trying to say,” said Dooley, trying to make his meaning crystal clear, “don’t they go to different schools and get different degrees and all that?”
“I think so—why?”
“Well, I don’t think Tex can simply switch, you know. I don’t think he can simply get out of bed one day and say: from now on I’m going to be curing animals, not humans. I think first he’ll need to go back to school and get a degree in veterinarianism. Or is it vegetarianism?”
“I think the correct term is veterinary medicine,” I said. “And you’re absolutely right, Dooley. You can’t just go from being a medical doctor to being a vet. Tex will have to go back to school.”
“At his age that won’t be easy. Studying is hard, Max—or so I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, and I can’t imagine Tex sitting amongst a bunch of teenagers while they teach him how to dissect a frog—or whatever it is they do at those dreadful institutions.”
I’m being unnecessarily hard on vets, of course, and if I have caused offense, I apologize. Look, it’s not that I actually hate Vena, our resident vet. It’s just that I don’t like it that every time we visit her she finds some excuse to prick me with a needle. It’s not much fun for me, butjudging from the look on her face it seems to be a lot of fun for her, which is where our notion that vets are actually closet sadists comes from. Though that look could be also a look of concentration, of course, or maybe even satisfaction that she’s helped another pet—or maybe Vena’s is simply one of those faces that naturally smile when in repose. At any rate, Tex was on the verge of a very big change in lifestyle: from being the town’s respected doctor, he might go to being a middle-aged college student, while drawing the town’s ire for leaving his patients high and dry.
“I wonder what Gran is going to do,” said Dooley musingly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s Tex’s receptionist right now. So is she still going to be his receptionist when he becomes a vet?”
“Gran’s future employment is not what worries me, Dooley,” I said. “It’s that Tex won’t have any income for the foreseeable future, and they still have a lot of bills to pay for the work on the house.”
Recently Marge and Tex’s house had been inadvertently destroyed by an inadequate builder. And even though the insurance had paid out, there was still a lot of stuff they’d had to pay themselves. Like new furniture and a new kitchen and even a new bathroom. And then there was Odelia and Chase’s honeymoon they had chipped in for, along with the rest of the family.
“We better hurry,” I said. We had a meeting with the Pink Lady’s insurance people scheduled, after all, one for which we didn’t want to be late. Even though the very last thing I was interested in at that moment was to meet with an insurance person. It just goes to show how powerfully the news of Tex’s midlife crisis and subsequent career change had impressed us.
We arrived at the house, where the auspicious meeting was to take place, and entered through the pet flap as usual. Harriet and Brutus were already there, and so were Odelia and Chase, seated at the dining room table, patiently awaiting the arrival of the insurance folks. In the middle of the table stood the small jewel box, and in it, I presumed, was the Pink Lady, awaiting further developments and possible inspection.
“What took you so long?” asked Harriet with a touch of irritation.
“Oh, we had some business to attend to in town,” I said.
“What business?” asked Brutus with a frown.
“Oh, this and that,” I said vaguely, since I couldn’t think of an excuse right then.
“We discovered a secret,” Dooley announced with a proud smile.
“Dooley!” I said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them. That’s because it’s a secret,” he explained to Harriet and Brutus, who were staring at my friend with open-mouthed anticipation.
“A secret?” said Harriet. “Well, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Dooley happily, “but it’s a big secret. A very big secret. And once you hear what it is, you’re going to be so surprised. So, so surprised.”
“Dooley…” I groaned.
“But I can’t tell you what it is right now,” he continued, “because we made a promise to a certain person that we wouldn’t tell anyone, so we’re not telling anyone.”
“Oh, don’t give us that crap,” said Brutus. “Tell!”
“I’m sorry but I really can’t,” said Dooley, and closed his lips ostentatiously, then mimicked locking them and throwing away the key.
“Don’t be like that, Dooley,” said Harriet, moving closer to my friend and giving him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “I’m your oldest and dearest friend. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
But Dooley shook his head.
I didn’t feel like coming to his aid, for he’d maneuvered himself into this untenable position all by himself.
“Oh, Dooley,” Harriet said with a little sigh. “Sweet, sweet Dooley…” She gave him a nudge with her head. “Do you know I’ve always thought you’re the sweetest , nicest cat I know?”
At this point Dooley looked as if the top of his head was just about to come off, but he was still staying strong.
“Oh, but Dooley, you’re hurt!” suddenly Harriet cried out, and pointed to a speck of dust on my friend’s shoulder.
“That’s just a speck of…” I began, but Harriet was already planting a delicate kiss on the spot.
“There, that should make it all better,” she purred.
Brutus was eyeing this spectacle with unreserved astonishment. It’s probably not a nice experience to have to watch the love of your life pant little kisses on other cats, but then Harriet would argue that this all served the greater good.
“Oh, but Dooley, you have a cut!” she said, this time pointing to the cat’s neck. And once more she planted a little kiss just so.
Dooley, who was sitting on a crate of dynamite, ready to explode, suddenly burst out,“Tex is tired of being a doctor and he wants to become a vet! There, I said it.” He turned to me. “Does that make me a bad person, Max?”
“No, it doesn’t, Dooley,” I said with a little eyeroll. Harriet had put him on the spot, and I imagined if she’d handled me the same way she’d just handled Dooley, I might have spilled the beans, too. She has her ways, Harriet does.
Harriet was glowing with pride, but Brutus said,“Tex wants to be a vet? Are you sure?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Dooley. “He and Gran told us the whole story. How he’s fed up with his patients showing him weird-looking moles at Costco, and how pets are a much more grateful clientele, and how he dreams of becoming a vet, and never having to see another human patient in his life. Oh, and the reason he drinks so much is because he can’t decide whether to go through with his midwife crisis or not.”
“Midwife crisis?” asked Brutus. “What are you talking about?”
“He means a midlife crisis,” I said. “Tex hasn’t been feeling well lately. And so he’s been drinking more, even though he says he’s not an alcoholic, and he’s been thinking about making a big and sweeping life change, only he’s afraid that if he does, the consequences will be devastating. So he hasn’t told anyone, except Gran, and now he’s trying to decide what to do.”
“Tex a vet,” said Harriet.
“I hate vets,” Brutus grunted. “Sadists, every last one of them. Always with their needles and their poking and their prodding.”
“Not Tex,” said Dooley. “Tex will be a very nice vet, the kind of vet who doesn’t poke you or prod you or stick you with a needle.”