Waiting for the call

Yesterday evening
The phone rings. Husband gets up to answer it.

I can tell from his reaction that it's not a cold caller or a family member. We've been expecting a call from the vet to give us the results of the biopsy on the lump on George's leg so I guess this is the call.

Husband's face gets serious. It's a one-sided conversation with his side being, 'Okay ... yes ... no ... I see.' He sits down.

My eyes fill with tears. I bend over and cuddle George who is lying next to the sofa. In my head he is dead and buried.

At last the conversation ends and finally Husband says, 'Well, it's only a fatty lump on his leg, nothing to worry about, and he can wait for a while before he has his tooth out.'

I scowl at him. He looks puzzled. 'I thought you'd be glad,' he says.
'I'd have been gladder if I hadn't already envisaged the worst. You could have smiled or signalled to me or something.'

But at least George doesn't need an operation yet. If his broken tooth causes him trouble, or it gets infected, it will need to come out but, apparently, they will have to dig out a bit of bone too so it's quite major and not to be undergone lightly.

So George lives to fight - or meander - through another day.