It Takes Two
A Working Cat in London
by MaryAnn Brooks
The man behind the desk smiled at me, they usually do.
“Dog?” he asked. I shook my head.
“Didn’t think you were a dog person,” the smile slipped momentarily, he was obviously a dog lover but he recovered and smiled at me again. They usually did.
“Cat?” he asked.
“Yellow,” I consulted my mental list, “a good mouser, and neutered.”
“Ah” his smile widened, he’d obviously forgiven me for not being a dog lover, “a replacement perhaps? For your mother?”
“My mother does not need replacing, thank you. Neither does her cat.”
“Oh,” the smile faded and he waited for further verbal chastisement, but I was in a good mood.
“Our cat at work has died,” I explained, “and mother won’t replace him with anything that isn’t yellow, a good mouser, and,” I looked him straight in the eye, daring a flicker of amusement, “neutered.”
“No problem,” he managed, almost, to conceal a grin, “and I think I have just what you want. One thing though” he thought a moment, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Best you come and see,” he indicated a door and we left the muted quiet of the office for the un muted noise of the shelter itself. It was like being backstage before a performance. Musicians tuning up. Small groups of singers practicing a passage. The Diva trying out that high note she’s having trouble with. Quite an accomplishment for a disconnected assembly of cats.
“Don’t they ever sleep?” I asked as I followed him along an aisle lined with cages, each one occupied by a feline determined to out do his, or her, neighbor.
“We play lights out at nine,” he called over his shoulder but I couldn’t be sure if he was having fun at my expense.
“Here we are,” he stopped at a large cage that at first glance looked to be empty; except it wasn’t. In the gloom of the far corner I could just make out what appeared to be a cut down orange crate.
Gently, very gently, he rattled the metal gate and slowly, very slowly, a large, not quite yellow head came into view. Ignoring the attendant, the head turned in my direction and I found myself the subject of intense scrutiny from a pair of equally large, not quite anything colored eyes.
I’d seen those kind of eyes before. They look round you. They look over you. They look out of focus. But they’re not. Lions have eyes like that.
“Not exactly yellow” I commented.
“Tawny yellow would be a better description,” he answered, “but regardless he’s a terrific hunter, I mean mouser,” he corrected himself.
“So where’s the problem?” I leaned forward to inspect what I could see of the cat and my question was answered as a second identical head slowly came into view.
Intense scrutiny by two pairs of not quite anything colored eyes was a bit unnerving; it was as if I was being sized up, though whether as a prospective owner or a prospective dinner, I wasn’t sure.
“Hate to separate a perfect pair,” he said. “You sure you won’t take both?”
“Can’t.” I said. “One is what I was told to bring back and one it has to be.”
The attendant shrugged then set about removing one of the cats. Now if it had been me doing the removing job, I would have dragged the crate to the door then just grabbed cat by the scruff of the neck.
Not so the attendant. He inserted most of his top half – there’s no other way of describing the maneuver – into the cage, picked up one of the cats and using great care not to allow any fur to brush against the metal bars, eased himself plus cat out again. If that wasn’t enough, he stood there scratching the tawny yellow head while he whispered sweet nothings into one alert ear.
“Ahem,” I coughed.
Cat and attendant both looked at me and for a moment I felt like the kid who had interrupted some serious communicating.
“Can we go?” I asked. The attendant thought a moment then nodded and we proceeded, him and cat first, me last, back to the office and the necessary paperwork.
Ten minutes later, I was in the car with the carrier set on the floor behind the passenger seat. I could have set it beside me but I wasn’t sure if the seat belt would fit; the carrier not the cat. Also, was a carrier in the passenger seat legal? Anyway, whoever heard of a cat riding up front?
Cat was behaving well, if regarding me with silent indifference fitted that category. I had been given the silent treatment all through the paperwork in the office. Ditto as said attendant put him in my cat carrier. And more ditto as I started the engine and pulled into traffic. Whatever the man had whispered into that cat’s ear had done the trick.
I should have left well alone.
For no reason other than I’d read somewhere that talking to a nervous animal will help calm him down and just in case cat decided to be nervous, I carried on a one sided conversation while I drove us back to the office. And mother.
“Hope you like mice” I began, “because they are beginning to show their nasty little heads. Thought I saw a rat out in the storeroom yesterday but it could have been imagination. But then, I’m sure you’re not afraid of rats.”
Silence.
“You’ll soon get used to mother,” I continued, then added, “she’s not half as bad as she appears. All you have to do is learn the ropes and you’ll do fine.”
I thought I heard a growl.
“The cleaner woman washed old Toby’s bowl and vacuumed his basket. Just in case,” I laughed at my attempt to make a joke.
Another growl.
“And you can forget about your other half back in there, because no way will we, will mother,” I corrected myself, “tolerate two cats on the premises.”
Now it might have been because we just went over a bump but whatever, the carrier gave a violent lurch. Fortunately, we were at the lights so I was able to look back to see if he was okay. He was fine; if having a feline stare at you with narrowed eyes and twitching whiskers, was fine.
The office was about to close but the crew delayed their rush to the parking lot long enough to welcome our new addition.
Other than one of the men saying, “you call that a cat?” and another reckoning he looked more like a lion with a hair cut, the general consensus was he was okay. Mother wasn’t sure.
“He’s not exactly yellow,” she eyed him with suspicion.
“It’s a new color, tawny yellow,” was I really defending the brute?
“Hmph,” Mother sniffed and turned back to what she was doing, leaving cat to do what cats are supposed to do.
Within the week, cat had the office, and mother, nicely trained.
I arrived one morning to find mother replacing Toby’s old bowls with two that looked suspiciously like a couple from her carnival glass collection.
“They’re doing me no favor sitting up on a shelf,” she defended her action, “at least here I can see them and I must say they are a great improvement on Toby’s old stuff.”
Two days later, Toby’s bed vanished; in its place the family picnic basket, minus lid.
“We never use it,” she said, “and he seems much happier with more space.”
The biggest change was when a brand new, state of the art, automatic self cleaning cat box was installed in the broom closet; after a state of the art cat flap had been cut into the broom closet door.
All this in one week!
Life settled back into its usual routine. Not quite usual because of cat but he was a forgiving creature and an empty dried food dish or water bowl was graciously overlooked.
Then, about three weeks after his Great Arrival, he vanished.
We looked everywhere, advertised everywhere, put out a reward, almost everywhere, but to no avail. Cat was no where to be found.
“You’ll just have to get another one,” said mother after a week of fruitless searching.
I would have refused but one didn’t argue with mother so I drove to the animal shelter. Again.
The man behind the counter recognized me.
“Another cat?” he smiled.
I just nodded. If I’d opened my mouth I might have said something I’d regret.
“It just so happens,” he indicated the door to back stage, “that I have just what you need.”
I left the shelter with cat number two in the carrier plus the cut down orange crate, “cats like to have something familiar, you know,” was the explanation, though in retrospect, I think he knew something I didn’t.
Back at the office, I dumped the orange crate in the storeroom, introduced cat number two to his new environment and left him to it.
He settled in so easily it was hard to believe he hadn’t been there all the time.
I’d brought home cat number one around Halloween, cat number two just before Thanksgiving and we were now into December and rush time with orders to fill and deliveries to make.
I always stop by mother’s office and say good morning. She’ll grunt and cat will raise his head and give me a good morning stare and I’ll go on my way. We might be rushed off our feet but I still stop; it’s a daily ritual.
I’d had a late night and was only half awake when I passed the office door on this morning but I managed to mumble something.
Mother grunted and I turned my head towards cat, only to stare in disbelief as two tawny yellow heads came into view over the edge of a cut down orange crate.
“Where’d he come from?” I demanded.
“One of the men found the crate in the storeroom,” she ignored my comment, “and they love it. I’ve also ordered another litter box.”
“How’d he get back?” I pressed my question.
“How do I know,” she turned a page.
“But what are you going to do about it?” I wanted an answer.
“You would separate a perfect pair?” she asked.
“You,” I frowned at the two yellow heads, “planned this, didn’t you,”
Two pairs of whiskers twitched. Two pairs of eyes narrowed in amusement.
Then two yellow heads slowly sank out of view, and I was left glowering at thin air.