‘Get the cat basket, Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m taking Solomon in right now. He’s really sick.’
‘We can’t afford vet’s fees, Ellen.’
‘I don’t care. I’m taking him.’
‘And who’s going to pay for it?’
Ellen didn’t answer. She put me down and dragged the cat basket out of its cupboard. Within minutes she and Joe were arguing while I lay there with a headache.
‘I am not letting Solomon die because of your selfishness,’ Ellen said angrily. ‘What’s the matter with you, Joe?’
She put me into the cat basket. I felt so ill that I didn’t much care whether I lived or died. It would be OK to die. I could go home to the spirit world, to the lovely valley with the cushiony grass. An easy option. But Ellen would be left here with all the problems. I hadn’t done my work. So I lay there, struggling to stay alive, my paw hot and throbbing.
Ellen was fighting to hang on to the car keys, which Joe was trying to prise out of her hands, and John was clinging to Ellen’s sleeve.
‘Please let me come, Mummy. I don’t want to stay with Daddy.’ He started to scream. ‘Mummy,please.’
‘Shut up.’ Joe pushed John and he fell backwards out of the caravan. John got up slowly, rubbing his elbow and howling.
‘Oh, sorry son. I didn’t mean you to fall.’ Joe was suddenly quiet again, shamefaced. But the shadow of his temper was still there. I watched it sadly through half-closed eyes, feeling powerless and very sick. I opened my mouth and managed a really loud meow, more like a cry, and even though he was hurt, little John came and pressed his hot face against the bars of the cat basket.
‘Poor Solomon,’ he cried. ‘I love you, Solomon. I’m coming with you and I won’t let that vet hurt you.’
Even in my comatose state I looked into John’s eyes and saw the beautiful caring soul that was in there. The whole child was shining in an aura of golden light. I managed to reach out a good paw and pat him gently through the bars, feeling encouraged. I’d found another friend who loved me.
Ellen and Joe were looking at each other silently. One small loving gesture from John had turned into a golden moment of healing that wrapped itself around the troubled family.
‘I’ll drive,’ said Joe quietly. ‘I’ll be really careful, I promise.’
I was too ill to feel frightened. I just lay in the cat basket, my chin on the amber velvet cushion, and I felt more at peace. Little John had done my work for me. Now he sat beside me in his car seat, talking to me, telling me how he was going to grow up and be a vet and heal animals.
All three of them came into the surgery with me, and I was grateful for their presence as I lay limply on the cold steel table.
This vet was a pretty dark-eyed woman called Abby. She examined me gently and spoke softly to me.
‘He’s very ill,’ she explained. ‘He needs an immediate shot of antibiotics which I’ll give him now.’
John went on stroking my head with his small hand while Abby gave me some injections.
‘You are a good lad,’ she said to John. ‘I could do with a helper like you.’
‘And I’ve got a bad elbow,’ John said. ‘I fell out of the caravan. But I stopped crying for Solomon’s sake ’cause he’s got a sore paw.’
Ellen and Joe stood close, just looking at each other and holding hands. Ellen was very pale and still had tears on her cheeks.
‘This stuff is a painkiller,’ explained Abby, giving me a second injection. ‘You’re being such a good cat, Solomon. I wish they were all like you.’
Then she did something to my paw, cutting the abscess, and I could feel the hot pain draining away. I felt suddenly sleepy and soft.
‘He’s purring. Mummy, he’s purring,’ said John.
‘He knows he’s being made better,’ I heard Ellen say as I drifted off, and Abby’s words were even more distant.
‘Keep him warm and quiet. Give him one of these tablets every six hours and make sure he swallows it. He’s a young strong cat and he should get better.’
I woke up in the caravan on Ellen’s lap. She was stroking me softly as if I was made of gossamer, and her hands were warm and full of stardust. It was so lovely, I pretended to be asleep again, floating and drifting, and in my dream I heard music. I remembered my past life as Ellen’s cat, how we had danced on the lawn, and thetimes when I had sat on top of the piano while she played music that tingled in my bones. What had happened to make Ellen change so much? I asked my angel.
‘Life has happened,’ she said.
‘So why have I been ill?’ I asked.
‘It’s a gift,’ said my angel.
‘A gift?’
‘Sometimes illness is a gift. It gives you a time to heal in body and soul. It’s like a spiritual holiday. And it calms and strengthens the people who have to look after you, it reminds them how to be kind. It’s a blessing in disguise.’
I understood. I would rest and get better now, and let Ellen pamper me. But even as I lay there pretending to sleep, I kept one eye on Joe. He was sprawled in a corner, drinking can after can of beer and chucking the empty ones on the caravan floor.
The next minute Nick was standing at the open caravan door, looking very serious.