Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy
Newspapers, magazines, even the news stations.
The interview requests pouring in weren't from just one or two places.
"Director, what do you think? While you were recovering, we got a ton of offers. Even if not all of them, wouldn't it be good to do at least one news interview? It'd be great for the hospital's promotion too."
"Hmm…"
Kim Mi-so had a point.
In our current situation, where the clinic was deader than a doornail since opening, getting on a major broadcast would create massive ripple effects.
But.
"No news. Let's just do the newspaper interviews. Unlike TV news, a single newspaper article can easily spread to other papers."
That was what I said, but the real reason I skipped the news interviews was something else.
News interviews are live broadcasts. And if even a little mouse squeaked in the studio during the interview?
What sounded like faint squeaks to normal people would ring clear as whispers in my ears.
If I responded… I might end up looking like a crazy vet instead of the hero who saved those animals.
My body wasn't fully verified yet—whether this absurd ability to talk to animals had side effects or not.
So, regrettably, turning down the news interviews was the smart call.
Kim Mi-so tilted her head for a moment at my words, then broke into a wide smile.
"You're right. So, can I give them your contact info right away?"
"Please do. And tell them we'd like to schedule the interviews as soon as possible."
"Got it. I'll send rejection replies to the news outlets and the rest."
Rent was due soon.
And so was Kim Mi-so's payday.
We needed that promotional boost, and fast.
A day after returning to my daily routine.
Hanmaum Animal Hospital was back to its usual quiet self.
"Hello, Ddoli's owner. What's bothering our Ddoli today?"
"Ddoli's been scooting his butt on the ground. I think it's his anal sacs, but this is my first dog, so I wasn't sure where they were…."
"If you picture the anus at 6 o'clock, the sacs are at 4 and 8. When expressing them, you have to squeeze firmly…."
After our talk yesterday, Kim Mi-so had immediately contacted all the media outlets that requested interviews.
And today—even without my own interview—a news segment aired about my full recovery.
The story of the vet saving animals was blanketing the news, but honestly, it was probably because of the suicidal man who'd tried to drown the puppy—not me.
I was shocked when I saw the news. I thought he was just some lunatic, but he was a murderer.
The middle-aged man who'd thrown the innocent puppy into the river had killed his wife, gotten blackout drunk, and come to the Han River.
After I fell in, he'd jumped right after.
But while I got away with just bruises, he'd hit the water flat and suffered massive organ rupture—instant death.
Guess there really is such a thing as divine justice.
"Hi, Bom. How's Bom doing today?"
"Bom loves her dental chews but hates toothbrushing. Any tips?"
"Even gentle dogs often hate it. But we can't skip it. Last time you bought the chicken-flavored toothpaste, right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"First, for two weeks, squeeze out a little for Bom to get used to the taste. Once she's okay with it, put some on your finger and…."
The rescued puppy had been taken in by an animal welfare group. I planned to visit soon.
Thinking about it, my ability to hear animals first kicked in right after saving that pup.
—It's not the brushing I hate! It's the cigarette smell on Mom's hands! If her hands didn't smell like smokes, I'd brush just fine!
"……."
One big change since resuming treatments:
The animals' voices were coming through vividly—almost overwhelmingly so.
"Thank you, Director. We'll start with the toothpaste training."
"And just in case, ma'am—dogs have an incredible sense of smell compared to humans. Before brushing Bom, make sure your hands are clean. Especially if anyone smokes; sensitive pups hate the smell."
"Oh, that could be it. My husband smokes sometimes, hehe."
After Bom, we handled a steady stream of cases.
Even before interviews, word had spread online about our clinic—way more patients than usual.
By the time we'd finished the last one past closing, Kim Mi-so knocked and entered my office.
"Director, the reporter's here. Should I send her in?"
"Thanks, Mi-so. It's late—head home."
"Yes, sir. I'll bring her in and go."
As I thought how extra bright her smile seemed—probably the paycheck vibes.
Knock knock.
A disheveled woman in horn-rimmed glasses entered with Kim Mi-so.
"Director, here's the reporter. Come on in."
Kim Mi-so bowed and left. The reporter smiled brightly and handed me her card.
"I'm Shin Min-ji, social affairs reporter for Good Deeds News. Thanks so much for your time."
"Thank you. Must be busy, but you came in person."
Shin Min-ji pushed up her slipping glasses, sat, and whipped out notepad and pen in a flash.
Quick on her feet—or chronically rushed.
"No trouble at all. Thanks for the exclusive with Good Deeds News. Let's start from when you headed to Mapo Bridge, in chronological order."
"I was heading to Hapjeong after work for a meetup with friends. But traffic jammed up weirdly as we hit Mapo Bridge, so…."
Did I know the killer?
What was I thinking then?
Why risk my life for the pup?
Shin Min-ji jotted notes between questions.
"…You're incredible. Even for another person in danger, most wouldn't step up. Pet owners nationwide must be inspired—a vet risking it all for a dog. Me included."
She closed her notepad with a grin.
"Do you have a pet too, Reporter Shin?"
"Yep, Kkeolluk. Just turned two."
She pulled out her smartphone. The video showed her petting a white-and-gray American Shorthair with black stripes.
"Recent video?"
"Yesterday's. Kkeolluk's so sweet and gentle. I'll bring him next time."
Unlike her beaming smile, I peered intently and said,
"Actually, bring him now if you can."
"Pardon?"
"Kkeolluk's open-mouth breathing."
"Is that bad?"
"Cats rarely pant like dogs. If he's panting after play, it could mean respiratory distress."
Dogs pant to cool off; cats groom for temperature control—no panting normally.
Shin Min-ji's face darkened fast. Panting in cats is serious.
"Could be post-exercise cooling or exhaustion."
Or grooming, bathing, moving, vet visits—stress can cause temporary panting outside safe zones.
"But Kkeolluk's just sitting there, panting through his mouth. Doesn't look stress-related."
"Is panting… a problem? This is my first cat…."
Not my favorite line as a vet.
Animals aren't toys—they're lives. If you're not ready to care like for a child, don't bother.
"Panting could mean asthma, pneumonia, bronchial narrowing. But I urged you to bring him because it might be hypertrophic cardiomyopathy."
"The cat heart disease?"
I nodded.
"Yes. Heart muscle thickens, narrowing the chamber."
Her face paled; I continued.
"Just a possibility—don't panic. Get checked at your local clinic…."
"I'll bring him now, Director! Please! If Kkeolluk's sick, I want you to check! What time do you close?"
We'd closed ages ago. But her teary eyes made refusal tough.
My wallet agreed.
"If you're free, bring him. I'll check right away."
"Thank you! Be right back!"
She bolted—notebook forgotten.
Thirty minutes later, she returned, hair a mess, lugging a heavy pet carrier backpack.
"Huff, Director, huff, here, huff, Kkeolluk, huff…."
"Purifier in the waiting room. I'll examine him—get some water."
She panted thanks and left. I addressed Kkeolluk.
"Kkeolluk, not here to hurt—just checking. Anywhere sore?"
—Doesn't feel sore. Got snacks?
"Can't during exam."
His green eyes stared from the carrier.
—You… understand me?
"Yeah. I can hear animals."
I cleared my throat, still absurd.
But Kkeolluk just stared, unfazed.
—Cool. Got churu? Craving it.
"Exam first. Won't take long. Coming out."
—Okay.
Cats injure vets most. But talking lowered his guard—instantly surreal.
Even pros struggle with strange cats.
I took him out for HCM tests.
Symptoms: coughing, appetite loss, lethargy. Kkeolluk begged treats immediately—nope.
Still, X-rays, ultrasound, NT-proBNP bloodwork, full respiratory checks.
Results in, I went to Shin Min-ji in the waiting room.
She spotted me first.
"Director, is Kkeolluk… okay? I looked up hypertrophic cardiomyopathy while waiting—common genetic in American Shorthairs. Our Kkeolluk…."
"Not HCM. Good news."
"Really? Phew… so relieved. Lifetime meds scared me…."
She sighed, then looked up sharply.
"Then why the panting? Something else?"
I nodded gravely.
"Yes. Could be worse than HCM."
Her face went sheet-white, hand to mouth.
"What…?"
His condition was dire.
The diagnosis:
"Obesity. Start a diet now."
Kkeolluk was a chonky boi.