The vet stops by often. At least once a week his battered , old Volvo moans around the corner. He is the only person in the radius with such a car, in an environment where everyone else drives its kids with a heavy Landrover through the narrow streets to park exactly in front of the school-gate. This makes the vet suspicious. I drive a blue bike, which would make me even more suspicious but furthermore I do not eat pork and drink no beer, and the village where I live still searches for a category where I may fit in. The vet is tall, strong and bald. When he enters through the door, kicking of his Wellies, Queen Cat arrives fast as lightening and jumps on his lap and soon starts to purr loudly that especially I can hear it. Of course I am jealous. The vet has short-cutted nails, feminine hands and smells after the stall, an indefinite wet and sharp eau d’cologne. He always turns something around in his hands, a bunch of keys, a tissue, sometimes the vet forgets that his hands are empty and he hides his fingers behind his back. The vet never speaks of animals, seldom says horse, or cow, pig, or hen but never refers otherwise to them as of his beasts. The vet has grey eyes, most of the time only half wide opened, he does not speak much but maybe he prefers the beasts for conversation. The vet can eat a loaf of bread with cheese and still look hungry, he cuts an apple in four exact slices, but only does so with his very own knife. The vet and I don’t talk much, even if the grocer’s wife always asks me, if the vet told me some news, no, I say and she looks disappointed because she has hope for one of her daughters. To have a vet in the family would do some good, she says but the vet does not seem convinced. Most of the time the vet and I look out of the window, but when he leaves, putting on his Wellies again, I never look back after him, never see the white Citröen leaving, going right or left, but am just thinking of a photo showing my mother many years ago, leaning beside a tall, good-looking men, next to a white Citröen where she seems to be lucky and full of joy, beautiful and exciting, someone I should never meet, someone who went away many years before she became my mother.