Poor Cuthbert has a Crisis

Last week, Cuthbert came into the house and threw up in the hall; this happens sometimes when he eats mice and other garden takeaways. This time it all went horribly wrong and something got stuck. He sat on the bed and coughed and spluttered all day until Alex took him to the v.e.t. (He hates going there - he bit her once).

The v.e.t. thought he would be OK - as he had thrown up more in the travelling box on the way there - and sent him home. Poor Cuthbert continued to cough and retch pathetically all day and all night. He spent most of the time under the bed, and came out to lie on Alex and purr gently in the middle of the night. (Caroline managed to be away that week).

The next morning, Cuthbert could not eat or drink, so Alex rang the v.e.t. again, and they invited Cuthbert to come back in the afternoon. He was feeling a bit horrid by now, so went - and they kept him in hospital!

Cuthbert says:

'add my Operation to the blog. Tell the story of How I Went Under The Knife, and how the vet Sifted Through My Intestines to find the Foreign Body that was making me Very Ill. How I Nearly Died but have now made a Full Recovery.'

In the interests of balanced journalism, the v.e.t.'s comment was, 'he sicked grass up his nose and we had to get it out'.

Poor Cuthbert - anyway, he is OK now. And Emily barely noticed anything different going on.