Retiring? Unthinkable!

     One of the things about getting to a certain age is people you do business with retire.  My attorney left private practice for a part-time assistant prosecutor's gig. I've had a dentist, OB/GYN and my kids' pediatrician retire, all of which were traumatic to a greater or lesser extent. But the real trauma came recently.

     My vet retired!

      Dr. Donald B. Shatto has a bedside manner that would be the envy of most medical doctors. I don't know how vets do it. Their patients can't tell them where it hurts or what happened. But Doc always knew. 

Naomi was an Abyssinian cat I acquired from a roommate who moved in with her boyfriend. Naomi hated the guy. She was correct in doing so.

      Doc took care of many cats for me. From Dandelion, who moved into The Star-Gazette office the night Emile Benoist freaked out and shot six people.  She ended up coming home with me. She was soon joined by Naomi, above. 

     Cats happen.  They are not planned. 

Kali was one of the Terrible Tweedle Twins. She outlived her sister by several years. 

      Doc took care of so many cats for us. Most lived a good long life. Some had their lives cut short by misadventure or disease. But he always knew when we should help it along, like with Dandi and another tortie named Dinah (after the cat on Alice's lap in Alice in Wonderland). And with Kali, above, he knew she would go in her own time. And she did. On my lap one Halloween morning. It was a sad but educational experience for my kids. 

Agatha

 

 

 

       Agatha developed diabetes and didn't drink enough, no matter how we tried. She was the softest cat ever. She was an offspring of one of many cats dumped over the fence of people we knew from church who's satellite dish was visible from Route 80. People can be scum. 

     Doc took care of rabbits for us.  At some point he said he was retiring from Guinea pigs and other rodent-types. GPs were the only rodents I allowed.  They don't smell mousy and with all those cats, that's a necessity. 

    When they were little, my kids would do group weigh ins on Doc's large dog scale.  They'd talk to his tropical fish and scan the photos on the bulletin board in the waiting room for the photos we submitted. 

Dante grew from this itty-bitty kitten to a big long-haired tuxedo. 

   

      Dante was our only long-hair. He was found with his siblings in a box in Stillwater. Stillwater well may be the dumped kitten capital of the Western World. 

Ilse was named after the Ingrid Bergman character in Casablanca.  I think she's glamourous enough. 

         Then there was the dog. "This requires some explanation," Doc said when he met Nero. It was simple, really.  I've always loved dogs. Once my ex moved out, a dog moved in. 

Some people might think 64 pounds is a little large for a lap dog. Nero disagreed.

 
      Doc took good care of Nero, too. And boarded him when we went away. Nero actually got to like it there. He loved Trish (Mrs. Doc). Then, when we took in Ivy as a geriatric adoption, Doc became her doctor, too. 

     I believe more tears are shed in a vet's office than anywhere else. Losing those pets was hard, but having a doctor whom I could trust and believe in made it (a little) easier. 

    I find it hard to believe I'll ever find another vet like Dr. Shatto. But, I wish him a wonderful retirement.