The Life of Crookshanks - Part 2
As soon as she came into the compound, Henry realised that she was not among the ordinary run of visitors. There were no children tugging this way and that at her hand. She was not making various cooing noises. She did not flutter ecstatically at the first large cage of adorably fluffy kittens…
Purposefully, the young woman approached the row of cages housing adult cats; her air of calm efficiency only slightly impaired by the tension in her slim neck. She was pretty in a flower-like way, but with strength in her delicate features, a contradiction that gave her face character. She looked along the line of cages. Henry sat still, waiting, hoping. He had been stuck in the tiny cramped cage for almost a month now, and he had heard from the other cats what happened when you had been in the cattery a month.
"Oh heavens," the young woman muttered, somewhat distraught.
There were dozens of cats. Fat ones, thin ones, old ones, young ones, a pair of cats that both had an eye missing. Green, blue and amber gazes swiveled away from her. They ignored visitors. She was merely part of the daily procession.
But somehow Henry knew that she was different. He sensed her hidden distress, as she slowly progressed towards him. She stopped, and looked into his cage, a sudden gleam of hope coming into her clear hazel eyes.
"Now you might do," she said. She turned to the kennel helper, who had been following her. "Can you tell me anything about this one?"
The kennel helper, who was a sturdy youth of about twenty, had all the facts. "For a start," he said, "we get very few pedigrees. Most Persian owners take good care of their pets, after all they are very valuable. But the circumstances here are very sad. This cat was left on the doorstep of an RSPCA centre a few miles away; no-one knows who left it. That branch of the RSPCA was full at that time, so we took the Persian on."
"How terrible. Have you tried to trace the owner?"
"Of course, but the cat was plainly dumped and unwanted. There is very little chance of anyone trying to claim it now."
Fiona was inspecting the cat closely. It had a cream coloured body, and the long sweeping fur was deep marmalade. There were flecks of brown and white in the coat. There was a good width between its eyes, she decided, and the ears were pricked. It gazed at her fathomlessly with its brilliant copper eyes.
"The face is a little dark," she murmured.
"Its time is nearly up. A month is all we keep 'em, then…"
It was blatant sales talk, thought Fiona.
"OK, I think she'll do."
"Actually, he's a neutered male."
"Oh heavens!" the young woman was torn, but something in Henry's expression made up her mind. He looked intelligent, and she desperately needed intelligent help.
"Do I have to sign something?"
"Come to the office," said the kennel helper, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his overall. "You've got a good 'un there."
Henry was put in a cardboard cat box, and Fiona took him out to her car. Once inside, with the windows closed, she opened the lid. He stepped out cautiously.
"I bet you don't like being in that box," said Fiona. "Would you keep still while I drive us home?"
Henry listened. He'd been in a car before, couldn't she tell? He sat down on the front seat, and began to groom himself meticulously. He did not turn a hair when she switched on the engine, and drove slowly out of the compound.
"I hate to tell you that your name is Princess Mila," said Fiona with some trepidation. "I know it sounds a stupid name, but it's only a collection of syllables after all."
Henry turned his burning amber gaze on her. He agreed, it was a stupid name, but anything was better than being stuck in the cattery.
"If it's alright with you," Fiona continued, "I think we'll call you Prinny. Perhaps you'll get used to it. But I wish I knew your real name. If only you could tell me. We live in a house near Kensington Gardens. At least, it's not my house. I work there as a sort of housekeeper-come-secretary. It's my responsibility to see that everything runs smoothly. The main advantage of the job is that I have my own flat at the top of the house, and these days, that's like gold dust. I couldn't afford to live anywhere else in London, at today's prices…"
Prinny listened to her babbling on, and gave a low miaow to show his understanding. He was enjoying the ride, and his driver's gentle voice. He noticed that the delicate spring leaves were bursting out on the trees again, and the little clouds were chasing each other across the sky. He liked seeing the children skipping along the pavements, the other cars flashing by with powerful roars, the lumbering red buses towering overhead, while he sat safe and contained in this funny little square car. He trusted Fiona implicitly. There were some people that could be trusted straight away. Yet she had not touched him once yet. It was all in her voice.
"Poor puss," she was now saying. "What a long time to be shut away. It must have been horrid. I suppose you have almost forgotten your old owners by now."
Prinny felt compelled to tell her that he had not forgotten his old owners, nor ever would. But Fiona did not know him well enough to understand or recognise his different vocal sounds.
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Prinny looked curiously at his new home when they arrived. It was an elegant Georgian house, set in a suburban part of London. He padded over the priceless cashmere carpet in the polished hallway, and sniffed at the bright burst of yellow daffodils arranged in a crystal vase on the Sheraton table. He felt sure the young woman had put them there.
Is this it? he yeowelled.
"This is it," said Fiona. "And believe it or not, you have a sitting room of your very own. Now how many pussycats can boast of that? See what you think of it."
Fiona opened a door to one of the ground floor rooms. It was furnished like a normal sitting room, but there were a few feline refinements. There was a cushion-lined cat bed on four short gilt legs. A grooming table. A china bowl of water standing on a king-sized mat. A cat litter tray was hidden discreetly behind a Japanese silk-painted screen. The room was centrally heated and the double-glazed doors led out onto a small, but richly green lawn. On the wall hung a cabinet containing a collection of satin rosettes and several silver cups.
Wow, thought Prinny, impressed.
He also knew a lot about the other cat that had once lived there. She scratched and sharpened her claws on the legs of the grooming table. She adored minced chicken and warm milk. She was lazy, and sat about a lot, especially on the chair with the pink satin cushions.
"I want you to stay indoors for a few days," said Fiona. "I'm sorry about that, but if you were to run away or get lost…" her voice tailed off.
Prinny shrugged his compliance. Whatever. He would have agreed to anything at the moment. Anyway, there was plenty to look at around the house.
"You can roam all over until she comes back. Would you like to see the kitchen and my office? Then I'll get you some milk. Come along, Prinny."
Prinny followed her neat ankles along a mirror-lined corridor to the back kitchen. He did a complicated little side step as he crossed over the threshold - a sort of celebration dance. It was a very modern room, not at all like the kitchen at the Robinson's or the Marshalls, but nevertheless it had a more lived-in atmosphere than the rest of the house. In the room leading off the kitchen, there was a desk and computer. The room smelt of flowers, and of Fiona, thought Prinny.
"This is my office. You can come and see me anytime."
He leapt up onto the desk, and walked all over her papers, which rustled delightfully. He smelled the mysterious box and keyboard that was the computer. His ears pricked as he heard a blackbird somewhere in the garden singing loudly and clear, a tantalising sound. He turned and gazed longingly at Fiona. Can I, please? he asked.
She shook her head. "Sorry Prinny. No birds allowed. It's a rule. Come and have some milk while I make myself a cup of tea."
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That night Prinny did not sleep in the cushioned bed. He chewed a corner thoughtfully, then decided to curl up under the radiator. He also ignored the lightly roasted chicken dinner, preferring to share Fiona's scrambled eggs and bacon in the kitchen.
The next morning, he was exploring the rooms on the first floor when he heard a car draw up outside the house. He peered down from the windowsill and saw a large purple-ribboned hat being helped out of the car and then coming up the front steps. The ribbons wobbled as the hat laboured up the steps.
Fiona rushed into the room, her hair flying out behind her, picked Prinny up, and hurried downstairs to Prinny's sitting room.
"Now, you've got to be very, very good," she whispered urgently. "Mrs. Armitage is back."
Then Fiona did a very peculiar thing. She patted his face with some fine white powder that made him sneeze.
"Please don't fuss," she said, shielding his eyes with her other hand. "It's only talcum powder. Your face is a little too dark." She placed him on the satin cushions. "Sit," she hissed. He was so surprised, that he did.
Under the large, purple-ribboned hat was a large purple-ribboned woman, and suddenly Prinny found himself being clasped and squeezed against ample folds of Mrs. Armitage. He was too astonished to resist.
"Princess, my darling Princess. Mummy's back! Has my darling Princess missed her mummy while she's been away in America?"
Prinny yeowelled politely. What a strange woman!
"Beautiful little girl, Mummy's beautiful darling," she cooed. "I've got a lovely present for my sweetie baby." She turned excitedly to Fiona. "Bring in my small leather travel bag, will you Fiona? I want to give Mila her present. I hardly knew what to choose. They have such marvellous things in America. Dear little jackets, and wellington boots for her paws. I could have bought and bought."
Prinny lowered his ears. He hoped he wasn't going to get any damned fool wellington boots.
Mavis Armitage took out a long leather box out of her travel bag and opened it. Lying on velvet was a soft suede collar, intricately shell-edged, and inlaid with red stones. It was finished with a butterfly shaped buckle, which Mrs. Armitage was fastening lovingly around Prinny's neck.
"There, doesn't she look absolutely gorgeous. It highlights her eyes. She must wear it to the cat show next month." Mrs. Armitage took her spectacles out of her handbag, and put them on her matte-powdered nose. She peered at Prinny.
"Have you been keeping to princess Mila's high protein diet sheet?" she asked, frowning. "She looks a different shape. Thinner…"
"She's been pining for you," said Fiona, quickly.
"Ah, yes, of course, that would explain it. Now my baby must have a nice rest so that she will look beautiful for the cat show." Prinny sat back on the cushion in shock. But he would have plenty to say later.
When Mrs. Armitage disappeared upstairs, Prinny made his way to Fiona's office and put his paw on her lap. He tilted his head so that Fiona could see the collar.
"Do you want me to take it off for you? I thought you wouldn't like it. No you can't have it to play with. Or bury. It's probably very valuable. Nor can you sit on my lap silly! How would I type? And I've got masses to do. Look at all this work she's given me…"
But Prinny insisted.
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Mrs. Armitage was not exactly suspicious, but certain things puzzled her. Princess Mila had always been content to sit on her chair and doze, but now she seemed to have developed a rampant vitality and curiosity, streaking up and down stars so fast that no one really knew where she was. She refused to eat any of her special foods, preferring a helping of whatever Fiona was eating.
Princess Mila had never played before, but now she boxed tassels on the curtains, skidded across the polished floor, trampled on the piano keys, and chased everything chaseable, including her own shadow.
"Please put Princess in her room, where she belongs," said Mrs. Armitage pointedly on day to Fiona. But Prinny had a will of iron. He was determined now that he would not go into that room at any cost. He dared Fiona to put him there.
"I said put Princess in her room," called Mrs. Armitage from the hall. "And I mean now, Fiona."
Prinny's tail began to whisk. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his ears pricked forward as if stalking, the prey in this case being large, bossy, and purple-ribboned.
"Oh dear," said Fiona, trying to obey.
It was blue murder. It was all hell let loose. Prinny exploded into the most deafening protest of outrage that Fiona had ever heard. She stood outside the room with her hands over her ears. She would never have believed that one cat could make such a deafening noise.
"I'm going out to Harrods," said Mrs. Armitage, sweeping through the hall with her mink coat over one arm, her face creased with annoyance. "I trust Princess will have calmed down by the time I return."
End of Part 2.