|Pippin was most obliging in lending Brick his basket to go to the vets...|
...I suspect fowl play.
Brick had sounded like an old squeezebox the day before and I suspected a respiratory infection. Typically, it was nowhere near as bad this morning but with the vets closed for a few days over Christmas, I wasn't going to risk it.
We were going to drop by the open surgery in the morning but one hour before we were due to set off, Brick decided it was egg laying time. Two hours later, when she finally emerged, it was too late to go and so a proper, official appointment had to be made. Our appointment was for 2.50pm.
At 2.30pm Brick decided it was time for a dust bath. At 2.35pm I was chasing her round the garden. At 2.40pm we were all in the car.
As always, Brick's name caused confusion. On the phone to the vet, there was a pause and I was asked to repeat, and spell said name. At the vets the veterinary nurse just eyed me over a pair of glasses.
Once in, the usual checks took place; the temperature-taking was less fraught than it has been in the past. I guess once you've laid a few eggs, a thermometer is a walk in the park.
Any way, two injections and thirty pounds lighter, we're on our way home and somewhat amused by the lady in the waiting room who asked if my cat was ok because it didn't sound very well at all...