I am one of the most over insured people on the planet, believing that if something can go wrong, it will. So after I got Saffron settled in my home office, I called the 800 number for Veterinary Pet Insurance. VPI had previously insured my cats with policies I canceled after Saffie ran away and Oliver died.

“Something unbelievable has happened,” I told the service representative.

“Wow,” she said, when I explained the situation, “That is unbelievable.”

She cheerfully signed him up again, with a long list of exclusions for preexisting conditions. I added the preventive care rider, figuring at least his vaccines and annual checkups would be covered.

Then I called my vet to make an appointment for both cats. Monday morning I brought out the two cat carriers, sprinkled them liberally with Greenies, and left them open for the cats to explore while I was at work.

That evening, I loaded both boys into their separate carriers and lugged them to the car. Perhaps the shared trauma of a vet visit might bring them closer.

It was mayhem at the vet’s when we checked in. Barking dogs. Snarling cats. Runaway rabbits. Saffron and Odie peered from the bars of their respective carriers with eyes reflecting their different life stages and personalities.

Odie was wide-eyed, taking in everything, seemingly eager to join in the fun. Saffron, older and more jaded, narrowed his pupils to pinpoints, his steely gaze warning off fellow creatures, be they feline, canine, or human. When a yippy dog peed on the floor two feet from my boys, Saffron gave a dismissive sniff. Odie, for the briefest of moments, appeared to break into a grin.

At last, the tech called us into an exam room. Festooned with tattoos on both arms and wooden discs the size of quarters in his ears, he lifted Saffron gingerly from the carrier. I set Odie’s carrier down on a nearby bench and turned my attention to the prodigal son. The tech set him on the scale. He weighed in just over seven pounds – less than the average newborn baby. After taking Saffron’s temperature, the tech said Dr. Bynum would be in shortly.

I stroked his head as he sat patiently on the cold metal table. I could feel each knob of his spine through his coat.

When Dr. Bynum came in, I told her our amazing tale.

“Unbelievable,” she said. “I’ve heard of cats coming back after a year. But six years? Unheard of. You could do an ad for the pet retrieval service.”

“I could,” I agreed, quickly switching gears. “Can you give him a bath?”

She shook her head. She was already listening to his heart with her stethoscope and palpating his various organs through his filthy coat.

“In his condition, a bath could kill him,” she said. “But we can clean his ears and give him a nail trim.”

The last thing I wanted to do was kill him. He had no life insurance, and, heck, I just got him back. I agreed to the grooming services instead.

She stroked Saffron’s head, still examining him, and crooned, “What a handsome boy.”

I love Dr. Bynum. She called Oliver handsome the night she put him down. The memory of my beloved Oliver sitting up ramrod straight and unafraid – so frail he could no longer stand – almost made me shed a tear.

Dr. Bynum put her stethoscope in her pocket. “He’s a lucky boy,” she said. “He came home in the nick of time.”

She explained that Saffron’s heart rate was elevated and that he had hyperthyroidism which, if left untreated, would cause his heart to fail. It explained why he was gobbling food and drinking vast quantities of water – and pooping and peeing in equal quantities. I could barely keep up with the litter box despite twice daily cleanings.

She recommended putting him on oral medication and returning in two weeks for another series of blood tests. Ka-ching, ka-ching. He would need to take the medication for the rest of his life, she said.

She sent Saffie off with the tech for his nail trim and ear cleaning and turned her attention to Odie. This was his first vet visit and he was none too pleased with having a thermometer jammed into his butt. But she stroked his head and told him he was a handsome boy too. He fell for her charms and settled down for his exam.

At last, the tech returned with Saffron and I loaded both cats back into their carriers. When I went to the counter to pay the bill, the cashier looked at me sympathetically.

The bill was more than my last Macy’s statement. I could have purchased a fetching little black dress and a nice pair of shoes for what I was spending on my cats.

I handed over my credit card with an imperceptible sigh. Oh well. Possibly with Dr. Bynum’s help I could nurse Saffron back to health. Odie was the picture of a healthy roly-poly orange tabby and wouldn’t need to come back for another year.

I trundled off to the car with my boys. Once home, they hissed at each other and then went to their separate quarters. So much for my theory of traumatic bonding. We had survived our first vet visit but the great standoff continued.