Jonah trotted toward me, let out a mournful groan and vomited a coil of rubber bands on the rug.
‘Oh dear . . . !’
But he’d just heard the toilet flush. Nothing was more exciting for him than trying to bat the torrent of water with his paw. Turbocharged, he was off to the bathroom.
Watching his tail disappear, I tallied his score. Two champagne flutes and one red wine glass – smashed. One Mexican candlestick – beheaded. Carpet shredded on stairs, plus damp patch where rubber bands were vomited up. Merino beanie (brand new) – chewed and holey. Computer keyboard – jammed.
The dream of owning a kitten had become a nightmare. We’d been hit by a feline tornado that left nothing but destruction in his wake. If Cleo had in any way sent us this creature, it was as a cruel trick to remind us what a perfect family pet and guardian she’d been.
I convulsed with tears. Lydia protested and Katharine cried while Mary looked guilty, but there was no alternative.
The kitten would have to go back.
As I crept off the sofa and down the hall to find the pet carrier, I heard the front door key turn in its lock. Philip appeared with the ravenous look of a man who’s smelt chicken casserole at the end of a twelve-hour day.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked as Jonah trotted forward to greet him.
‘My biggest mistake,’ I said. ‘Would you mind taking him back to the pet shop in the morning?’
Jonah sat neatly in front of Philip, examined him closely, then stretched up a long front paw to pat his knee.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Philip asked, as Jonah put his head to one side and mewed politely.
‘Hyperactive, neurotic, destructive, dysfunctional, vain . . .’
‘Vain?’
‘He’s like one of those fashion models. He knows he’s beautiful, and he uses it to manipulate people . . . just look at him . . .’
Jonah stared innocently at a spider on the ceiling. He was so perfectly coloured, and those eyes beaming out from behind their robber’s mask were exquisite.
‘What do the girls think?’
‘They want to keep him, but that’s easy for them to say. They’ll be moving out before we know it.’
‘You’re very dashing, aren’t you boy?’ said Philip, lifting Jonah into his arms. Jonah lay passively on his back for a few seconds, his outsized kangaroo feet pointing skywards while Philip tickled him behind his ears. Jonah returned the favour by licking his hand. ‘And affectionate.’
‘He’s exhausting.’
‘He’s just a boy,’ said Philip. ‘Let’s see how everyone feels after dinner.’
‘That’s the other thing. Remember how Cleo loved food? We could get her to do anything for a piece of chicken. This one refuses to eat.’
Philip carried him through to the laundry where a bowl full of dry food sat beside another filled with wet food, both untouched. He lowered Jonah in front of the wet food. The kitten sniffed the mound of fishy goo, licked it tentatively and began bolting it down.
Philip told me to go back to bed and he’d sort things out with ‘Fur Man’. Pet names already? He was bonding dangerously with the intruder. Nevertheless, I was too tired to do anything other than retreat to the bedroom. Lydia tapped on the door and brought in a tray bearing dinner.
There were only three sleeping pills left inside my bedside cabinet. I swallowed two with a swig of water and signed out for the night.
Before dawn next morning we woke to the sound of regular thudding accompanied by jingling bells – a noise that might accompany an invasion of morris dancers. Philip climbed out of bed. As he turned the door handle, the door swung open and in burst Jonah, fishing rod firmly snared between his teeth. He hurled himself on the duvet, placed the rod on my hand and stepped back expectantly. Philip smiled and disappeared off to the kitchen to make tea and toast.
Nestled on the blankets, Jonah purred like a machine, waiting patiently for the game to begin. I wasn’t in the mood to play, especially as he was going back to the pet shop in an hour or two. Jonah looked quizzically at me, then moved forward and touched my hand with a soft paw, its claws diplomatically sheathed. In the most gentlemanly manner, he was issuing an invitation. To wrap my hand around the rod and swing it through the air would involve minimal effort. Surely I wasn’t so mean-spirited I’d turn him down?
Sighing, I started swinging the rod with my good left arm, setting the pesky bird and its bell in motion. Jonah watched mesmerised for a few seconds, before adjusting his legs into the ideal lunging position. Anticipating his victim’s flight path, he quivered from side to side.
Watching the bird, his focus became intense, as though he was imagining himself inside the body of his prey, and was at one with its every swoop.Then with the grace of Rudolf Nureyev in his prime, Jonah launched himself into the air, catching the bird and bell between his teeth and front paws.
Once we’d started we couldn’t stop. Every lunge was balletic. There was no challenge the young kitten wouldn’t accept. Higher and higher he leapt until sometimes he seemed to pause mid-air in a single pose reaching for the bird. A study in cappuccino shades, with those flashing blue eyes, he was so beautiful. And so full of life.
I was falling for Jonah’s charms again.
‘Still going back to the pet shop are we?’ Philip laughed when he returned laden with mugs of tea and marmalade toast. Easing into his favourite chair, Philip sank his teeth into his toast. But Jonah had no intention of letting him enjoy breakfast in peace. With the bird between his teeth, the kitten jumped off the bed and laid the fishing rod at Philip’s feet before dipping his head and stepping backwards. He gazed steadily up at Philip.
‘You can’t turn him down,’ I said.
Feigning reluctance, Philip sighed and picked up the fishing rod. But he had no intention of going easy on Jonah. Philip had been an army officer trainer before I met him. Summoning up old skills, he flicked and spun the fishing rod at twice the speed I’d managed. Jonah rose to the challenge, leaping higher, running faster, springing on and off the bed so fast he became a blur of pale fur. Sometimes Jonah caught the bird, other times it was too fast for him.
‘Go easy on him,’ I said.
Philip held the rod still and smiled down at the kitten, whose only signs of exertion were his heaving sides. Once more, they charged into battle.
Philip stood up and twirled the bird in a circle around his legs with Jonah chasing a whisker’s length behind.
It was the raucous rough and tumble Philip had missed out on since Rob had left home. Man and cat made quite a pair. Whenever Philip tried to finish the game and put the fishing rod down Jonah picked it up and pressed it into Philip’s hand.
‘Someone’s got to work around here,’ he sighed, collecting Jonah off the floor and curling him around the blankets over my knees. Jonah emitted a strange sound through his nose – a cross between a cluck and a sneeze, a sort of ‘snitch’. A condescending noise we’d soon become familiar with, the ‘snitch’ was Jonah’s way of expressing disappointment or disgust. He hadn’t wanted the game to end.
‘Never mind, boy,’ I said. ‘You can have a rest with me now.’
Jonah looked at me with eyes that could melt an ice shelf. Purring, he stepped over the covers, carefully avoiding my sensitive abdomen and torso. He seemed to know exactly where he needed to be, nestled into my neck with his head on the pillow. Heaving a sigh, he sounded like a traveller who, after an epic journey, had finally arrived home. Who was I to argue?
* * *
When I heard Mary bringing her suitcase down the stairs, I felt a moist lump in my throat. It had been wonderful having her stay for the week. Philip was taking her to the airport. As he stowed her bag in his car, I burrowed in the comforting curve of her shoulder and thanked her for everything.
‘Take care,’ she said. ‘And good luck with that kitten.’