The next major development in my life comes two days later, and is covered in fur.
Matt knocks on my door in the morning, just after I’ve got back from taking Saul to nursery. He’s shuffling, looking sheepish, and not quite making full eye contact, as is his tendency when dealing with humans.
‘Hi,’ I say, trying not to look annoyed. I think this is possibly the first time anybody has ever knocked on my front door, and it feels strangely intrusive. ‘Is everything okay? Is Laura all right?’
I gesture for him to come into the hallway, as yet again it’s pelting with rain. November is turning out to be nothing but rain.
His face creases into a huge smile as he steps inside, even the mention of Laura’s name transforming him into something completely different.
‘Yeah, she’s great – sorry, didn’t mean to worry you. I was … well, I was wondering if you could help me out with something. Laura was all for turning up with him in tow, but … I wanted to ask first. It’s a big responsibility. And you might be allergic.’
I am completely befuddled by this whole exchange, and it obviously shows on my face. Matt shakes his head, and apologises again.
‘Let me start over,’ he says, grinning at his own ineptitude. ‘Did Laura mention the rogue cat at all – the one that’s been hanging around the Rockery?’
The Rockery is the holiday cottage complex where both Laura and Matt live, in separate houses – although for how long, who knows? Zoe and Martha lived there for a while too, before they moved into the house next to the pharmacy with Cal. It’s owned by Cherie, who seems to have a habit of turning her holiday lets into permanent homes for the Budbury strays – now including a cat, from the sounds of it.
‘She did, briefly – she said he’d had a showdown with Midegbo and won. Sounds like quite a cat.’
‘He is – pretty much the biggest I’ve ever seen. A ginger tom, probably about three or four, but looks like he’s been in the wars. He was starting to make a bit of a nuisance of himself at the Rockery, finding his way into the cottages, chasing the dogs, probably worrying the sheep, planning world domination … usual cat stuff. The kids all tried to catch him, but he was too clever for them.’
‘Cats usually are,’ I reply, smiling at the image of the teenagers chasing a ginger phantom all over the gardens.
‘Yes. They are. Anyway, I did manage to catch him …’
‘Being a professional animal whisperer and all?’
‘Being someone with a lot of experience of cornering unwilling felines. I brought him into the surgery, and gave him a good look over. He’s a bit of a softy once you get close up – loves a fuss and a treat.
‘Anyhow – he’s not microchipped. No collar or ID of any kind. From the state of him, he’s not been living in a home for a while, and he’s been out and about getting feisty with the locals. The tip of one ear is gone, and he has a line of fur missing where it’s not grown back over some scar tissue on his face. I’ve called around all the local shelters and the police station and checked the pet registry, and nobody’s reported him as lost. I think he’s been stray for a while, and sadly nobody’s looking for him. I’m keeping him in for a day or two, giving him a course of vaccinations, and … well, performing the necessary operation to prevent a ginger tom epidemic.’
‘Ouch … that’ll make you popular!’
‘It’s only a small op – I’ll keep him with me for a few days, make sure he’s not a stitch-remover. But as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m here about what happens to him next … I need to find him a good home, and Laura suggested you, because Saul loves animals.’
I pause, and ponder this idea. It’s not terrible – but it’s not brilliant either.
‘Well, Saul also loves dinosaurs, but we’re not adopting one of those,’ I point out.
‘They’re extinct.’
‘I realise that – but … well, what do you think? What’s your professional opinion? I’m out a lot, and I’m busy. I’m sure Saul would love it – he loves Midgebo and Bella and Rick, and pretty much every other animal he comes across – but Saul is three. He’s not in a position to make mature decisions.’
Matt nods and looks thoughtful. This is easily the longest conversation we’ve ever had, and I’m finding it easier than I thought to be blunt. Matt is a straightforward man, which makes life so much simpler.
‘It’s better to think it through,’ he agrees. ‘I see too many cases of people taking on pets they’re not equipped to deal with, and it ending badly. But I would say this – cats are a lot less high-maintenance than dogs, on the whole. This one in particular seems pretty independent, very robust physically, and has a nice nature. Even when the kids were chasing him around, and Midgebo was barking at him, he never once scratched or lashed out, which is usually a sign of a good, stable personality. Maybe you could come and meet him, and bring Saul?’
‘If I bring Saul, it’s a done deal – I won’t be able to resist the pleading! If it’s okay with you, why don’t I pop in now, while Saul’s out? I must admit, I do kind of like cats …’
He gives me a small and understanding smile – like I’ve just made a life-changing admission – and waits while I grab a coat and an umbrella. I feel like I have the umbrella permanently glued to my side these days. It should be made part of my arm, like a cyborg limb. Robo-Brolly.
Together, in what I have to describe as a companionable silence, we make our way down the slight hill to his surgery, which is closed until the afternoon. Neither of us seems to feel the need to fill the time with small talk, which is refreshing – and leaves me free to save all my spare oxygen to use in the outrageous coo-ing sounds I make the minute I lay eyes on the cat.
He’s in a big kennel in the back of the building, next to a sorry-looking Dalmatian who I’m told is recovering from knee surgery. Opposite, there’s a far more feisty French bulldog, who is turning round and round in circles, so happy to see Matt he’s almost climbing the walls. Matt makes a few comforting noises, lets the bulldog lick his finger through the cage door, and gives me a few minutes to make the acquaintance of the ginger tom.
He is ginger – but with gorgeous stripes of so many different shades that he almost looks multi-coloured. He’s absolutely enormous – especially for a stray – but a lot of that looks to be made up of a very thick, very fluffy coat. His tail is fanned, a bit like a golden retriever’s, and he has bright green eyes set in a very wide face. His feet are all white, like he’s wearing little boots, and I can see the ear with the tip missing and the scar Matt mentioned.
He gazes at me that way that cats can – the way that says they can see into your soul, that they know all your secrets, and that they’d quite like a can of tuna now, please.
Matt has opened the cage door, and after a few moments of getting to know each other, he finally trots to the edge, and gracefully leaps to the floor. Once there, he winds in and out of my legs, purring and snuffling, rubbing his fur against my jeans and basically totally flirting with me. I lean down and stroke his head, and he leans into my hand, giving me a quick lick with a sandpaper tongue.
Matt’s right. He is a big softy. Also, I suspect, a big softy who knows a thing or two about human manipulation, and is putting on a good show of adorableness.
‘So,’ says Matt, after a few minutes of this dance, ‘what do you think? Take some time if you like. It’s a big decision, I don’t want to rush you …’
‘I’ll take him,’ I say quickly, tearing myself away from my new friend and standing straight. Because suddenly, I can’t imagine our little home without this cat in it. He is clearly some kind of cat Jedi, and has totally mind-controlled me.
Matt lets out a quiet laugh at my undoubtedly soppy expression, and leans down to scoop the cat into his arms. Said cat looks at me pleadingly as he is reinstalled in his prison, and lets out a few plaintive meows to let me know he expected better of me as I stand by and allow him to be jailed again.
‘It’s okay, sweetie, I’ll be back …’ I murmur, poking my finger through the door to touch his fur. He gives me one sad look before curling up in a giant fluffy ball, as if to say ‘yeah, right … I’ve heard that one before.’ I suspect he’s a cat who’s had a lot of humans disappoint him in his time. Or – just possibly – I’m reading too much into it.
‘Okay,’ says Matt, walking me back into the reception area. ‘Good decision. I think he’ll settle just fine, and I’m always around if you need me. What are you going to call him? Not that it makes much difference with cats.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, putting my coat back on, and smiling. Smiling because I’m genuinely happy – almost excited in fact – at the prospect of getting a cat. I really should get out more.
‘I’ll leave that up to Saul,’ I decide, looking around at the posters about worming tablets and neutering programmes and the importance of vaccinations.
I stay for a few more minutes, chatting to Matt about Laura and the impending life-changing arrival, and find out that she’s started back at work, that she’s feeling so excited it seems to be helping override the less pleasant physical symptoms, and that they have an ultrasound booked in a few weeks’ time. After that, assuming all goes well, they’ll start telling people their news. Until then, it’s their little secret.
Or, I suppose, mine too. Mine and the cat’s – because he undoubtedly read my mind and knows all about it by now.