AFTER having plagued the life out of the local vets about what the kittens should be eating, doing and not doing, eldest daughter announces it’s time to take Rory and Harvey for their free kitten check-up.

The appointment is made and I’m warned not to be late home from work as this is an important event for the future well-being of double trouble.

So off we trudge to the vets ... Rory and Harvey seem pretty underwhelmed about being bundled into the pet carrier again but they perk up when we enter the surgery and there are two huge dalmations lying on the waiting room floor. From the safety of the carrier they survey the scene with interest and Harvey pushes a little paw through the front grid.

One dalmation looks completely unmoved, the other views our little ones intently.

The owner assures us that they are more scared of cats than the kittens will be of them but we are still relieved when, appointment over, the dogs headed for home.

“I hope they behave themselves,” I muse out loud and daughter springs to their defence: “This is all new to them ... and they’ll be having an injection too.” Suitably chastised I look on as the receptionist fusses over them. She confirms what we already knew that they are a good-looking pair.

We enter the treatment room ... and so far so good, they look angellically at the vet as she gives them the once over. They’re fine and healthy specimens she concludes and very well-behaved boys. She reaches for the needles.

I wonder if they’re going to disgrace themselves ... but no, they take the treatment without a murmur ...

Feeling somewhat relieved and rather proud we chatted to the vet as we prepared to leave. But her next words were to shock us to the core...