Cat Show Queen Read online

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1 Vets get to do interesting things

  CHAPTER 2 Vets can have difficult parents too

  CHAPTER 3 Vets need to work with fussy pets

  CHAPTER 4 Vets need to be able to handle difficult owners

  CHAPTER 5 Vets need to stay cool under pressure

  CHAPTER 6 Sometimes vets need help

  CHAPTER 7 Vets love show days

  CHAPTER 8 Being a vet can be surprising

  For Amanda and Jill.

  Two of my oldest and

  dearest friends.

  R J x

  Chelsea and I come into the kitchen after taking Curly, our Cocker Spaniel, for a walk. Chelsea is my best friend and neighbour.

  Mum is at the table opening the mail. ‘Here’s something you might be interested in, girls,’ she says.

  We both look at the flyer she’s left on the table.

  ‘A cat show? Here?’ says Chelsea excitedly. We both start to jump up and down.

  ‘They’ve asked me to be the check-in vet,’ says Mum, ‘and they also want to know if some of the cats can stay in our surgery before the show because the Pet Motel has closed down and most other motels don’t allow animals.’

  ‘Are you going to say yes, Mrs Fletcher?’

  I can see Chelsea is holding her breath waiting for an answer. Chelsea is nearly a world-famous animal trainer and groomer – it would be a great experience for her to watch the professionals in action. Not to mention all of the vet experience I could get.

  ‘Why not?’ says Mum smiling. She knows how much we’d love to be part of this. Vets know what gets other vets excited. ‘But you need to understand that some of these cats are worth a lot of money, girls. Their owners might be pretty fussy about things.’

  ‘Of course, Mum,’ I say, beaming. ‘This will be the best place their cats have ever stayed!’

  I whip out my Vet Diary and sit down at the table. ‘So what do we need to do to get ready? Can I help you at the check-in table? What is the check-in table?’

  ‘Slow down with all the questions!’ says Mum, laughing. ‘The check-in table is where the cat is vet-checked to see if it’s healthy enough to enter the show.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘So what can we do to get the surgery ready?’

  I make a list as Mum goes through all the things we’ll need to do before the cats arrive.

  ‘Can anyone enter a cat show?’ asks Chelsea, looking closely at the flyer. She has turned over to the back where it lists the categories. ‘It says here there’s a class for household pets.’

  I lean in to read where Chelsea is pointing. She’s right – there is a class open to cats from unknown or unregistered parents.

  We both look at each other and grin as we say, ‘Princess!’

  ‘Oh, hang on, girls!’ says Mum. ‘There’s much more to showing a cat than you’d think. I don’t know if Princess would be ready for something like this.’

  ‘Mum,’ I explain, trying to be patient. ‘Chelsea is nearly a world-famous animal trainer and groomer, and, as you know, I’m nearly a vet. Between us, I think we can get a kitten ready for a little cat show.’

  ‘Come on, Chelsea,’ I say. ‘Let’s go and tell your mum all about it. She’s going to be so excited. I bet there’s heaps of stuff on YouTube about preparing your cat for a show.’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot to say,’ says Mum as we’re heading out the door. ‘There’s going to be some stiff competition at this particular show, because there are people coming from a cat food company who’d like to find a cat for a television ad they’re filming. I think most people will be hoping their cat is chosen.’

  ‘Can this get any better?’ says Chelsea as we run across the grass to her house.

  ‘But she’ll love it, Mum!’ says Chelsea, pleading.

  Chelsea’s mum is holding Princess in her arms and giving her a pat. ‘I’m not so sure, Chels,’ she says. ‘I think a cat show would be too noisy and maybe a bit terrifying for her. She hisses at herself in the mirror, remember? How would Princess cope with all the other cats?’

  Chelsea doesn’t say anything, but I can see she’s upset. Having a cat in a show would be a dream come true for a nearly world-famous groomer.

  I break the silence. ‘Why don’t we watch a couple of clips on YouTube to see what we’d have to do first?’

  Mrs O’Sullivan shrugs her shoulders. ‘I guess that can’t hurt, but I’m not saying yes at this stage, Chelsea.’

  Chelsea and I go and sit with our diaries and watch clip after clip on YouTube. Mum was right. These people take cat shows very seriously.

  We both look over our notes when the last clip is finished.

  Chelsea’s made some notes on grooming techniques and I’ve written a list of all the things we’ll need to do to get Princess ready:

  ‘We’ll know how Princess is likely to go if we test her out with a few of these things,’ I say.

  ‘That’s a good idea, Juliet,’ says Chelsea. ‘I’d never want to upset her or scare her.’

  ‘We already know Princess likes her pet carrier from when she comes for sleepovers,’ I say.

  ‘And she’s fine with loud music from watching us practise our dance routines, so we’re already almost halfway there!’ says Chelsea.

  We high-five and tick them off the list.

  ‘Looks like it’s time to test her out sitting in the car then,’ I say.

  We sit the pet carrier between us on the back seat. Princess is sitting calmly on a pink towel inside.

  ‘I thought she’d be more nervous,’ I say. ‘Her mother was a stray cat, after all.’

  ‘It just goes to show what love and good training can do,’ says Chelsea proudly.

  While we’re sitting there, Dad walks around the side of the house. He’s got old clothes on and his knees are all wet. ‘Out you get, girls,’ he says. ‘I need to go to the hardware store to get a part for the water pump.’

  ‘Can we come too?’ I ask. ‘Princess needs to practise taking short car trips.’

  Dad hesitates. He’s not really into animals, which is kind of funny given he married a vet.

  ‘Is it staying in the cage?’

  Chelsea gasps at Dad calling Princess ‘it’. I might have to speak to him about that later.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘We’re getting ready for a cat show and it says on the internet that we need to take Princess for –’

  ‘Okay, fine!’ Dad cuts me off, shaking his head. ‘Let’s get going though. I have to be quick because the water from our tanks is draining out through a crack in the pump.’

  I roll my eyes and pat Chelsea on the hand.

  Dad backs the car out and we head up the street.

  At first, Princess seems quite content, then a low growling starts. Softly at first, but gradually building up to a deep yowl. Princess is on her feet doing circles in the cage. She’s dribbling and hissing at the same time. The hair on her tail is standing straight out, making it twice as wide as it normally is.

  ‘Shh,’ says Chelsea, trying to soothe her. ‘It’s all right, Princess.’

  But Princess won’t be soothed.

  ‘Everything okay back there?’ says Dad.

  ‘It’s fine, Dad,’ I say. ‘Princess is just taking a minute to get used to the car.’

  Princess starts pushing at the door of the cage, trying to get out. Suddenly her paw gets stuck and she screeches in pain as she tries to pull it free.

  ‘What’s going on, girls?’ Dad’s trying to drive and turn around to look at us at the same time. ‘I knew this was a bad idea,’ he mutters.

  ‘Her foot’s stuck in the cage door,’ I say. ‘Dad, she’s going to hurt it –’

  I unfasten the door to releas
e the kitten’s paw. Princess leaps from the cage with the strength of a tiger, just as we pull into the car park of the hardware store. Bits of fur and dribble are spraying everywhere. She is screeching like crazy and leaping from one seat to another. Finally she stops and jumps onto the back of Dad’s seat, locking her claws into the sheepskin cover . . . and Dad’s neck.

  ‘Ow! Get it off !’ Dad screams, pulling at Princess. A small crowd of people stop and look into the car.

  Chelsea is trying to pull the cat off, but it’s not working.

  I have to think quickly.

  ‘Hang on!’ I say as I throw the towel from the carrier over the terrified kitten and hold onto her firmly.

  ‘It’s okay, Princess,’ I say. ‘We just need her to relax and her claws will let go, Dad.’

  ‘It’s okay, Princess?’ says Dad in a high squeaky voice. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Just sit still, Dad,’ I say. ‘I’m nearly a vet. I know what I’m doing.’

  The kitten begins to relax and eventually it lets go.

  Dad throws the car door open and stumbles out. He looks at us in the back with our pink bundle and opens his mouth to say something, but he is completely lost for words.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ is all I can think to say.

  Chelsea and I are a bit disappointed that Princess won’t be entering the show, but we cheer up as the cat show entrants arrive at the surgery with their fancy pet carriers and grooming kits – we might actually learn more if we don’t have a cat of our own to look after.

  Mum shows them where their cats will be staying. They all seem very excited about the show because they are all talking at a million miles an hour and showing each other their cats.

  I grab my Vet Diary and walk around to ask what breed of cat each person has. Vets need to be able to recognise a type of cat when they see one.

  ‘Have you seen the things they have in their kits?’ says Chelsea excitedly. ‘I can’t believe they bring their own grooming tables. And look at the number of brushes and combs! Mrs Forrester, the lady in the corner with the Russian blue, told me they groom their cats every single day. I’ve got so much to learn here, Juliet!’

  Chelsea and I split up and work our way around the room. Mum is allocating cages to the cats, which turns out to be tricky because some cats don’t like being next to one another.

  I overhear a few conversations that make me think it might not just be the cats that should be kept apart either . . .

  ‘I notice Edith isn’t here yet,’ says a man, brushing a Burmese cat.

  ‘Mm,’ says the lady with the Abyssinian, as she neatens her cat’s fur by combing it. She leans in and mutters, ‘I’m not too sure these cages are going to be up to her standards!’

  They both chuckle to themselves.

  I’m a bit annoyed. I walk over to Mum who is holding a clipboard and ticking off names.

  ‘Is there someone called Edith coming?’ I ask.

  Mum looks down the list. ‘Ah yes, she has rung me several times this week to ask about our “facilities”.’

  I nod in the direction of the people I just overheard. ‘They think this person Edith might not be too happy with your surgery.’

  ‘Is that right?’ says Mum, smiling. ‘I guess we’ll have to wait and see.’

  Moments later a man appears at the door. He nervously clears his throat and everyone stops and looks towards him.

  ‘Um . . . Edith, my wife, has asked me to inform you all that Cleopatra has arrived. Who, may I ask, is in charge here?’

  Mum steps forward. ‘That would be me,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘Rachel Fletcher. I’m the vet.’

  The man shakes Mum’s hand and introduces himself as Gerard Plume. I’m sure I hear him mumble, ‘Sorry about all this,’ under his breath.

  He leans in close to Mum and I can see he’s a bit nervous. In fact, I’d say he actually looks scared. ‘There’s quite a bit of equipment that Edith insists on bringing with Cleopatra. Where might her station be set up? Edith doesn’t like to enter until everything is ready.’

  Chelsea is now standing beside me and I can see that she’s very keen to meet this Cleopatra, and see her ‘equipment’.

  ‘Over in that corner next to the lady with the ragdoll cat,’ says Mum, pointing. ‘There’s plenty of room there.’

  The man hesitates and looks around. ‘So there’s just one room then?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ says Mum. ‘I did mention that to Edith a couple of times when she called.’

  The man nods and turns to go back outside.

  ‘Can we help you carry something?’ I say.

  ‘Well, that would be lovely,’ he says.

  We all walk out to their van. The first thing I notice is that the white van actually has a large picture of a Persian cat’s face painted on the side of it. Underneath, it has ‘Purrfect Persians’ painted in swirly writing.

  Chelsea gasps when she sees it. ‘Wow!’

  There is a woman in the front seat of the van with high, fluffy, white hair. I can’t help but notice that her face and hair look similar to the painting of the cat. She is sitting up very straight in the car and doesn’t look at us when we walk past. Chelsea waves at her, but she doesn’t seem to see her.

  We walk to the back of the van and Chelsea and I both stop and stare. There is a LOT of stuff in here for one cat.

  It takes us nearly twenty minutes to help Mr Plume carry it all inside and set up, ready for Edith and Cleopatra.

  Edith has obviously watched the same YouTube clip we did, because the padded cover for her grooming table and the fabric for around the cage are all printed in matching lilac flowers.

  Mr Plume clicks open Cleopatra’s grooming kit and Chelsea lets out a small whimper. I’ve never seen so many grooming tools. There are combs and brushes and little bottles of oil and scissors and clippers of every size and shape. Bottles of powder and perfume line the inside of the perfect, lilac case. When it’s all set up, it takes up four times as much room as everyone else’s has.

  ‘Right, it looks like we’re ready,’ says Mr Plume, sounding braver than he looks.

  We head back out to the van. I don’t know about Chelsea, but I am very keen to see a cat that is worth this much fuss!

  Mrs Plume waits for her husband to open the door before she steps out. She too, is wearing lilac, but it’s in a slightly larger flower print.

  ‘Well, it’s about time, Gerard,’ she snaps. ‘Cleopatra and I were beginning to get rather overheated.’

  ‘Sorry, dear,’ says Mr Plume.

  ‘We’ll all be sorry if her hair matts because of it,’ she says, glaring down at Chelsea and me.

  Mr Plume reaches into the car to get the lilac pet carrier containing Cleopatra. We can’t see inside because there is a matching floral cover over it. All we can hear is a low growling sound.

  ‘There, there, baby. Mummy is here. Did nasty Daddy make you wait forever in the car?’

  I look up at Mr Plume but he doesn’t react at all. I get the feeling he’s used to it.

  We all walk towards the surgery and Mum opens the door for us.

  A hush comes over the whole room as we enter. Edith Plume stands quite stiffly and looks around. Her eyes settle on her equipment set up in the corner.

  ‘This simply won’t do,’ she says, and turns to Mum. ‘Cleopatra cannot possibly stay here, shoved in with these other cats.’

  I can see that Mum doesn’t know what to say. There is absolute silence.

  ‘Well,’ says Mum brightly after a few moments. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I can help you carry your things back to your car.’

  ‘Cleopatra will take that room,’ Edith says, pointing at Mum’s office in the corner.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but that’s my office,’ says Mum.

  ‘How much?’ Edith looks around the surgery. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty that a thousand dollars could do to bring this place up to standard.’

  Mr Plume lets out a small whimper.
r />   I can see Mum is really cross. ‘Actually, Edith – no – I’m afraid it’s not available.’

  I look around the room and see a few of the other cat owners trying to hide sniggers.

  Then I have an idea. ‘Mum, can I talk to you quickly?’ I say.

  Mum and Chelsea and I walk into her office. I’ve never seen her so angry.

  ‘I know she’s really rude, Mum, but we could donate that money to the Lost Dogs’ Home.’

  Mum taps her fingers on her lips and thinks for a minute. ‘I guess we’ve only got to put up with her for one night. They’ll all be at the show tomorrow. The Lost Dogs’ Home could really do with the extra help.’

  We walk back out to the main surgery. ‘ The cat can stay in my office,’ Mum says, ‘and the money will be donated to the Lost Dogs’ Home.’

  Edith Plume starts to say something about not liking dogs, but Mum holds up her hand. ‘Not now please, Edith,’ she snaps. ‘I have work to do.’

  The look on Mrs Plume’s face makes me think that not too many people tell her to be quiet.

  Mum, Chelsea and I go into the office and start to pile some things up in the corner.

  Mr Plume comes in with Cleopatra’s equipment and sets it up silently while Mrs Plume stands with the pet carrier and watches.

  The other cat show entrants appear quite pleased to be able to spread out again and the whole surgery seems a lot more cheery once it’s done.

  At last, it’s time for Cleopatra to come out of her carrier. Mum excuses herself and walks out the door. I don’t think she’s very interested in making more fuss over this cat.

  The door is opened and the cat steps out. Cleopatra is a beautiful, huge, white Persian with the most amazing blue eyes. She has a small lilac bib tied around her neck, but Chelsea and I are not game to ask why.

  Cleopatra sniffs the air with her snub nose and looks around. Her mouth curves down and adds to her snooty look. I can’t help but look at her owner again. They have the same type of mouth as well as hair.