Catchup with Ketchup

Do you remember my parents’ cat, Ketchup? She should have been called Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. She tried to open my arteries when we took her to the vet the summer before last. Well this summer she was poorly again. I made my Dad come to the vets with us because I too scared to go on my own. Poor cat, she was so unwell she didn’t object to an examination by the vet.

Very gently, as we were leaving for the airport, I told Daughter to say goodbye to her. She is twelve-ish but so staggery and unwell that I was pretty certain we weren’t going to see her again. Having family pets die when you’re overseas is hard for children.

Then my sister told me in an email that Ketchup had a blood test after I’d left and she’d been diagnosed with an overactive thyroid. This is good because it’s treatable but it’s very bad because she needs to be given a tablet EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE.

Sometimes I’m really glad I live 6000 miles away from my family.

When I expressed admiration for anyone administering tablets to Ketch, my sister wrote: “Best practice re Ketchie and tablet is a swift pick-up followed speedily by opening her gob and chucking the tab down before her addled brain cells have time to kick in with "NO!" and "CLAWS OUT!" You can almost see that bit happening as she hits the floor again once it's all over.” My sister is very brave.

Just now I got off the phone from my folks. They said that Ketch has recovered well. So well, in fact that she’s gone back to her old slasher-cat antics. When someone tries to give her a tablet she grows sixteen legs and uses all of them to lacerate whoever is nearby. But, they said – and I could hear the grins – they’ve just discovered a secret.

Ketchup loves camembert. If they squidge the tablet into a piece of camembert she eats it all on her own on the floor not realising that the medicine is inside.

But, apparently, only camembert will do.