Chapter 17; Recovering

The radio was playing WestLife's "You Raise Me Up" when Humbert walked into the kitchen to see Haru jumping down from where the small contraption sat on the bench.

"Yes, you do," Humbert said. He had woken alone in his room, and had worried that Haru had left him, but the paranoia would pass. "Breakfast, and then I need a shower," he said.

Haru perked up at the word "shower". It was another way in which the completely pattern-less brown cat was odd: she liked getting drenched, soapy, drenched again, and then dried and brushed. She also covered her face with her paw when faced with a naked Humbert, making him blush and turn his back quickly.

Depositing the breakfast things in the dishwasher, Humbert headed back upstairs, trailed by Haru, her tail raised high in the air in anticipation.

"Anyone would think you weren't a cat, the way you love showers," Humbert said, opening the door for the cat.

She froze for a moment and turned big brown eyes, even bigger than usual, on him. It was clear that the suggestion shocked the sinuous feline. Shaking her head, she trotted into the bathroom.

Humbert dressed in a dark jeans and a grey shirt when he came out of the shower. Somewhere he even found a black ribbon, which he tied around Haru's collar in a bow. "In mourning," he had explained when she looked at him curiously. The cat had nodded and sat, docile, for while Humbert packed a lunch and a drink.

He was going to visit his father again. He was just about at the door when Haru trotted up, an old basket in her teeth. It was the basket she had been first taken to the vet in – she wanted to come too.

"Sure," he said. "But in your carry cage, not that," Humbert added, pointing to the great plastic thing, lined with a thick blanket.

Haru nodded and dropped the basket, slipping silently into the box.

Humbert shut the wire door and picked her up. The drive wasn't long, but it would have been a tiring walk. The day was warm, and it was uphill most of the way.

"Dad? Jemima? What are you doing?" Humbert asked, veering from his original path to the door when he saw the two people in question in the driveway, installing seats upholstered in red leather to the car everyone had been working on the day before.

"What's it look like?" Jemima demanded, scowling as she tried to shove the backs into place.

"We're keeping busy," Harold said, more softly. "Andrea is gone, but life has to go on for the rest of us. How're you doing son? You looked a bit stretched when you left last night," seeing his son's blank look, the man explained. "Like you'd been put through a spin cycle and then wrung out."

"I'll get there, still tired, but…" Humbert didn't know what else to say. It didn't matter; his father had always understood what he wasn't able to say.

"Yeah, but she's peaceful now," Harold said kindly. "What's this you've brought?"

"Haru wanted to come," he said, tilting the box up a little and opening the wire door so that Harold could see the cat inside.

"Ah, I've wanted to meet your cat ever since Andrea came home disapproving of it," Harold said with a smile. Perhaps it was remarkable that the man could speak so lightly of his wife when she was so recently passed away, but it was Harold von Gikkingken. He'd done his crying, and now he was alright. He knew Andrea better than anyone else – and he knew that she wouldn't stand for tears when there were things to be done.

Haru peered out at the wrinkled old man as he peered in.

"You let her ladyship rest in the shade of the garage door, and come and help with the car yourself," Harold said at last. "She's a real beauty," he added.