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occasion I trailed upwards like an old man, slightly breathless, throat tight, eyes prickling. I cursed myself for a sentimental fool but as I reached our door I found a flash of consolation. Helen had taken it remarkably well. She had nursed that cat and grown deeply attached to him, and I’d have thought an unforeseen calamity like this would have upset her terribly. But no, she had behaved calmly and rationally. You never knew with women, but I was thankful. It was up to me to do as well. I adjusted my features into the semblance of a cheerful smile and marched into the room. Helen had pulled a chair close to the table and was slumped face down against the wood. One arm cradled her head while the other was stretched in front of her as her body shook with an utterly abandoned weeping. I had never seen her like this and I was appalled. I tried to say something comforting but nothing stemmed the flow of racking sobs.
    Feeling helpless and inadequate I could only sit close to her and stroke the back of her head. Maybe I could have said something if I hadn’t felt just about as bad myself.
     
    You get over these things in time. After all, we told ourselves, it wasn’t as though Oscar had died or got lost again—he had gone to a good family who would look after him. In fact he had really gone home. And of course, we still had our much-loved Sam, although he didn’t help in the early stages by sniffing disconsolately where Oscar’s bed used to lie, then collapsing on the rug with a long, lugubrious sigh. There was one other thing, too. I had a little notion forming in my mind, an idea which I would spring on Helen when the time was right. It was about a month after that shattering night and we were coming out of the cinema at Brawton at the end of our half day. I looked at my watch. “Only eight o”clock,” I said.
    “How about going to see Oscar?” Helen looked at me in surprise. “You mean—drive on to Wederly?” “Yes, it’s only about five miles.” A smile crept slowly across her face. “That would be lovely. But do you think they would mind?” “The Gibbonses? No, I’m sure they wouldn’t. Let’s go.” Wederly was a big village and the ploughman’s cottage was at the far end a few yards beyond the Methodist chapel.
    I pushed open the garden gate and we walked down the path. A busylooking little woman answered my knock. She was drying her hands on a striped towel. “Mrs. Gibbons?” I said. “Aye, that’s me.” “I’m James Herriot—and this is my wife.” Her eyes widened uncomprehendingly. Clearly the name meant nothing to her. “We had your cat for a while,” I added. Suddenly she grinned and waved her towel at us. “Oh, aye, ah remember now. Sep told me about you. Come in, come in!” The big kitchen-living room was a tableau of life with six children and thirty shillings a week. Battered furniture, rows of much-mended washing on a pulley, black cooking range and a general air of chaos. Sep got up from his place by the fire, put down his newspaper, took off a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and shook hands. He waved Helen to a sagging armchair. “Well, it’s right nice to see you. Ah’ve often spoke of ye to t’missus.” His wife hung up her towel. “Yes, and I’m glad to meet ye both. I’ll get some tea in a minnit.” She laughed and dragged a bucket of muddy water into a corner. “I’ve been washing football jerseys. Them lads just handed them to me tonight—as if I haven’t enough to do.” As she ran the water into the kettle I peeped surreptitiously around me and I noticed Helen doing the same. But we searched in vain. There was no sign of a cat. Surely he couldn’t have run away again? With a growing feeling of dismay I realised that my little scheme could backfire devastatingly. It wasn’t until the tea had been made and poured that I dared to raise the subject. “How—was I asked diffidently, “how is—er—Tiger?” “Oh, he’s grand,” the little woman