HEART BEAT: In my last article I mentioned that the cat laughed at the suggestion that your tax money would be spent wisely. Well, maybe he laughed too much because he died, and my last task before returning to Dublin was to bury him.
He was a small, white cat and was indeed called Pangur but more usually was known as cat or that bloody cat. He would not drink milk, only water, and he was quite selective otherwise in his diet. Tins of cat food, depicting satisfied fat felines enjoying a diet of duck, sardine or rabbit interested him but little. He was a straight meat and fish man, and not too pushed about the vegetables.
I used to wonder about the kind of folk in cat food factories who put their heads together to devise these beguiling recipes. I suppose they are modern versions of Matthew Muggins the cats' meat man in the Dr Dolittle stories. I banish the thought that the menus seem very similar to those on jars of baby food.
This animal was given to a member of the family 18 years ago but, subsequently, became a parental charge. Does this sound familiar to anybody? It co-existed, usually uneasily, with what seems in retrospect to have been a regiment of dogs, and survived them all.
In its early years it was the victim of a hit and run accident and we brought it to the vet to end its suffering. "I think I can save it," says he. No contest here and I found myself in a minority of one in the family. He did save it and, after a period in cat intensive care and having acquired an artificial hip, it was almost as good as new.
I say almost, because being white and having a limp was a serious drawback in the hunting field. Even despite his almost total failure in this regard, his enthusiasm remained undiminished. This is rather similar to my experience with golf. I felt the charges incurred in saving the animal were similar to those incurred in open heart surgery, though not as steep as those in dentistry.
In later life, the magpies becoming impatient with his slow feeding would boldly seek to drive him away. This required a vigilante patrol to ensure his meals were undisturbed. Let nobody else ask me what I do in retirement. I could write a book about you Pangur, but this brief obituary will have to do. I only hope that in cat heaven, there will be plenty of blind mice.
And so, back to Dublin and all of the things I mean to write about my medical journey and reflections on the health of our nation, not just the physical well being of the people. "A lot to do, a lot more to be done." Now, where did I hear that before?
On my journey back to Dublin, I did not see a speed check or a Garda other than in a patrol car. I was struck by the varying calibre of roads that possessed the same speed limit - dangerous back roads and main highways alike. This is all madness, anomalies abound and most penalty points occur in soft target city and town areas, where the carnage is rarely seen.
On all reasonable stretches of the road, I set the cruise control at the prevailing speed limit. I had the illusion that I was standing still. Cars and trucks sailed past in an unending stream. Many bore licence plates from the North and the UK and abroad. I did not realise at the time that Cork had a special exemption. This is anecdotal, but I believe that anybody travelling a long distance in this country would have a similar experience.
I do not blame the Garda. They and we were promised an extra 2,000 officers. We were also promised a dedicated traffic corps. Where are they? We are told that legal difficulties may preclude the latter group. Is this yet another example of too much law and too little safety? This applies in more environments than just our roads. Can we ask ourselves how it is that our learner drivers have to wait a year for a driving test or a repeat? Can we ask why the failure rate in this test is so high? These are conditions that apply nowhere else in the EU.
Let us fix all these problems, and enforce the laws we have. Then we can consider random breath testing, and all it implies for civil liberties. In all aspects of Government, fix the essentials. The frills come later.
I and Pangur Ban my cat
'Tis a like task we are at.
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night
Dr Maurice Neligan is a cardiac surgeon