I thought I was hearing things. But I wasn't. A prominent Irish insurance company has begun selling health insurance for your pet. Radio ads highlight the financial burden of unexpected vets' bills. They aim to frighten the pet-owning public in the same way that scaremongering pre-Christmas ads about the prevalence of burglaries at the festive season were devised to sell house alarms, writes Elaine Edwards.
As if we didn't have enough to worry about. As a cat lover and former owner (until I moved out of home and left the two furry darlings with my delighted parents) I care deeply about the health of the Fidos, Rovers and Tiddleses of this world. And any visit to the vet is usually a deeply traumatic experience for both pet and owner. Anyone who has ever spent an hour chasing two terrified cats around the house in an attempt to cram them (gently, of course) into a cat carrier and put them into the back seat of the family Escort for a quick check-up can vouch for that. That's before you shell out more euro for a vaccination and a few feline antibiotics in one morning than you'd pay your own doctor in a year. No doubt about it - the health of the nation's cats and dogs is big business.
Emotional blackmail
But insuring Fido against a time when he might need emergency treatment or a life-saving operation after - heaven forbid - a run-in with the wrong end of your neighbour's bull bars? There's something a little sick, or at least squirm-inducing, about it, apart from the fact that it's clearly a money-spinner built firmly on the twisted principle of emotional blackmail.
One recent Saturday night, in the absence of my husband (and, clearly, a life) I found myself glued to one of those pet programmes on TV: Animals Do the Funniest Things. You know, a kind of You've Been Framed for cats, dogs, and zoo animals. Apart from some hilarious clips of carefree cats (OK, so I'm a cat anorak) lepping around kitchens, falling into waste bins, and making unlikely friends with dogs and even bears, most of it was far from funny.
One American woman and dog-owner was so distraught at the prospect of losing her 16-year-old pet to his chronic illnesses, including crippling arthritis in his hind legs, that she instead chose to build him a little chariot, a kind of wheelie trolley, to make him more mobile.
The elderly Alsatian, she said, took like a duck to water to his new, em, attachment. And sure enough, in a soft-focus video with happy-ending music, we saw the dog being half-walked, half-wheeled by its owner down her suburban street. The poor animal, overweight and out of breath, panted along - happily enough, it seemed, until the camera panned in on his back legs and you saw how his arthritic limbs were tied together and trussed up into this little wheelie car. He was a pathetic sight. All I could think was: "Why don't you just let the animal die with some dignity, for God's sake?"
Closest friend
But the dog's owner was doing not what she thought was best for him, but what was best for her. He was, perhaps, her closest friend in many ways. And she couldn't bear to lose him - to bring him to the vet, to say her goodbyes and to have the unfortunate beast put out of his misery.
On the other hand, maybe she was right. Who's to say whether or not the dog was still enjoying whatever quality of life he had left with the help of a little mobility aid. After all, we'd hardly suggest a human with arthritis, which can often strike at a tragically young age, should be "put out of their misery". With advances in science, most of us can look forward to years of relatively pain-free existence through medication or even joint replacement if we're so stricken. And our health insurance will probably pay for it. So if you look at it that way, why should the dog be denied the same treatment?
My own two cats, who in reality were only ever in my "foster" care while I lived with my parents, are getting on a bit, at perhaps eight and 10 years of age.
Much as I love them, I don't think I'd be prepared to buy insurance. Just imagine the conversation with the insurance company when the policy renewal fee was due.
"Hello? Is that Pussycat Insurance Ltd? I'd like to renew my cat policy please."
"Certainly madam, how many do you have?"
"Two. A beautiful black, eight-year-old female, spayed. And an oddly tall 10-year-old tabby tom - he's had the job done too."
"Smoking or non-smoking?"
"Non. Well, apart from some involuntary passive smoking from my parents' lighting up in the house."
"We'll have to load their premium for that, I'm afraid. Any particular illnesses - diabetes, kidney complaints, arthritis?"
Moments of insanity
"No, they're perfectly healthy, if a little lazy. Wait, perhaps one does occasionally display moments of insanity when he leaps, for no apparent reason, on top of the television, taking lamps and pictures with him as he skites across the top."
"We can't insure against damage caused to personal property by Act of Cat, I'm afraid, madam. But we may cover the vet's bill if the cat breaks his leg in the process. Our underwriters assess each claim on its merit."
"That's OK then. How much will it cost me to renew the policy?"
"Well, with two full years' no-claims bonus, by two, that will be €750 please."
"Fine. Do you take Visa?"