The Outrageous Oriel

Sutemi Boxing Day, Dear Jenny, Those two feral kittens I wrote about? And I only want Domino--? Well, I’m being bullied, that’s what. By everyone. By Fred looking sorrowful. By Cattery Kate and Domino. By my mythical faerie godmother Figgy. By dreams of hissing and pink tonsils. I’d hoped the month’s delay would sort things out, and some soppy nut would adopt Smudge or she’d get less Dependent on her sister, but Kate’s just been on at me again. I said No Smudge. I said I can’t take two ferals, and Smudge doesn’t even like me. Nobody listens. I’m nervous enough taking one, and I hate being pushed, and everyone’s pushing me. No. No, NO, NO! ---Combs? And so forth? I’m afraid to ask-- What is And So Forth? Love and Happy New Year to Max and the boys, but I’m not sure I’m speaking to you. Sally Jan. 3, Dear Jenny, Yes, I know you probably haven’t even had my last letter, with Christmas mail so slow and all, but I do have a bone to pick with you. Two, in fact. And with Fred, Domino, Kate, Smudge and Figgy. I told you all I didn’t want two cats, not even two friendly ones, let alone ferals and another hisser. I told you positively no, and no, and no, and NO!... ...So they sat together in the carrier coming home, on Fred’s lap: Fred looking intolerably smug, Figgy probably smirking with Kate, Domino peering anxiously through the bars (she takes life very seriously, she does. A worrier) and Smudge-Tonsils sitting round-eyed and quiet--except just once when she undertook a very professional examination of the carrier latch. “That’s going to be your lively one,” Fred commented judiciously. I almost ran off the road. “NO! That’s the timid helpless quiet one! Kate said so! She promised!” Fred says he distinctly heard Figgy guffaw at that point. Anyhow, we got home, and I’d got everything, even And So Forth, but nobody had mentioned the wisdom of keeping them in one room until they got used to things. So I didn’t. And at once it was too late. Domino, tail and ears apprehensively low, tip-toed out, and slunk cautiously along the walls. From behind her an impetuous furry black bullet shot out and vanished. It took a long time to find her. Wedged into about three inches behind the dressing table. “Let her stay there: she’ll be all right,” Fred suggested. But Smudge was having none of that. We had found her, therefore she was no longer safe. So she moved and I was scared not to know where she was, so we started over. That’s how it’s been ever since: her hiding in simply impossible places that have to be narrower than her tiny elegant head. And then hissing and going to find another even more impossible one. Like squeezed behind my noisy old washer, where she sat firmly through an incredibly violent complete cycle. Said she preferred that monster to the two-legged one. I said why didn’t she go be dependent with Domino? She said Bother Domino. She is now holed up under the bathtub. You may recall, my tub is on cast-iron claws, with particle board all around. Only now it has a large gap at the outer corner, which is how I found her. Having looked everywhere else except the loft, which I didn’t want even to think about. Shone in the flashlight (torch to you) and there was a pair of glowing emerald eyes at the very back corner, defying me to reach her there. Which I couldn’t, of course. She’s been there ever since, hissing when I appear at the corner crack and talk to her. Says she’s never coming out. I believe her. Reading Dear Sally, Heh-heh-heh! ONE cat is so banal and boring (unless it’s a Siamese). Yes, she’s here, and nobody is going to be allowed to forget it. WE damned nearly got two, as well. Samantha and Solitaire, because Max fell for Solitaire, too. The breeders even offered us a discount! But the bank manager is twiddling his eyebrows at us these days, so I put my foot down. If we want more we’ll breed them. But I think one is enough. These breeders live in the middle of nowhere, no trains or buses, only taxis. And the car I hired cost almost as much as she did, and I’m not saying how much either were. First we met Mum Cat, a lovely person with a wise face and an intelligently questioning voice. Then we were assaulted by three kittens, who launched themselves at us, shouting. Sam, Solitaire, and their small blue-point brother Simmie, who was leaving for his new home that afternoon. Once the riot had run its course, Simmie went to sleep behind the cat-proof fireguard. (I DON’T KNOW! One minute he was standing on the bookshelf yelling at his sisters and the next minute he was behind the fireguard fast asleep. I think he teleported but I didn’t see him do it.) Sam came over and chewed a button off my anorak and then stuck a paw in my eye to see if I blinked (I did!) and Solitaire climbed onto the back of the sofa behind Max and tried to hook off his toupee. Once she discovered that all that hair really did grow out of his head, she sat down and made personal remarks about it in a loud and penetrating voice. When did he last have a haircut? she wanted to know. Why is it so thick and black? Is he a Persian? We were both so entertained by this that we didn’t notice Sam, and when I next looked she had emptied my handbag and eaten half my driving licence. She is the type who takes advantage of a moment’s inattention. I shall have to remember that. Anyway, having firmly and regretfully said we could NOT take Solitaire too, we brought Sam home. She was rather subdued in the car. But once we got back, she livened up. I shall never forget her first meeting with the twins. I had told them they were to be very good and quiet, and wait for her to come to them. So they sat in the hall, good as gold, and waited, and waited, and waited, hardly daring to breathe. Finally I went to investigate, and found Sons Numbers One and Two downstairs, playing with her. So I beat them up a bit, and said they were to let Sam come upstairs to meet Lee and Jay. A few minutes later, she came tearing up the stairs, shot round the corner, and came face to face with the twins. She stopped dead, and looked absolutely astonished. Then up went her tail, and she came forward. "Hullo,” she said, "I'm Sam. Why are you two?" (Well, it was a reasonable question, they being identical.) Ten minutes later, they were all galloping around the flat playing a version of musical-chairs-without-the-music that the twins insist Sam invented. You know the rule about allowing a new kitten plenty of peace and quiet in order to settle in to her new home. (Or perhaps you don't. You seem to have harried poor Not-Smudge a bit.) Well, speaking of peace and quiet, I wish Sam would give me some. I mean, three o'clock in the morning I woke up to find Max throwing ping pong balls for her. He told me she couldn't sleep. And it was he who had said we should put a hot water bottle in her box in case she was cold or lonely. Box be damned! That kitten has not set foot in that box. She sleeps where people are meant to sleep, in bed. On his chest under the duvet, and he'd better not fidget, otherwise she wakes up and lectures him. It's his own fault. I told him he should be firm with her, and he looked at me as though I had suggested frying her. Oh yes. Those curtains you liked. Well. . . Have your two found curtains yet? Don't try to stop them if they do, because Feline Revenge is not something to be taken lightly. I looped up the curtains and told her she was a ruddy nuisance and would she please use her scratching post and her climbing tree, and she slitted up those blazing blue eyes and looked at me. A long, considering look. And she didn't half teach me. She got into the wardrobe. Just as much fun as curtains.