Felines and Figaro

I know little about human medicine: still less about the animal equivalent. So I had always assumed that vets were failed doctors, who had to make their living in muddy byres at 4 a.m., managing the cow through a difficult pregnancy while trying to avoid her hooves. The other evening, at a dinner party full of cat owners, I heard an entirely different version. Everyone had horror stories about the cost of cat medicine. The winner was a girl whose moggy’s treatment had cost over £1,000, including the price of three days in a cat hospital.

There had been an uncovenanted benefit. When Daphne came home, she displayed gratitude, or at least catitude. If that became known in feline circles, she would be in trouble. Every kitten receives the same instruction from her mother: ‘Remember: dogs have owners, we have staff. If you hand out compliments when they are only doing their duty, you’ll spoil them.’