‘We’re all a bit crazy here,’ I added. ‘Jonah fits in.’
Vivienne suggested some of his problems stemmed from boredom. I asked if she meant we should let him be an outdoor cat, but she was quick to say no. With Jonah’s jumpiness, an encounter with a dog, let alone a car, could be disastrous.
She asked if the scratching post in the corner was the only one we had. If we wanted him to stop destroying the stair carpet, she said, he needed more scratching poles, and taller ones.
‘Isn’t that one tall enough?’ I asked, worrying that the house already resembled a pet shop.
‘See how long his body is?’ Vivienne said. ‘That pole isn’t nearly tall enough for him to stretch out properly against and have a good scratch. And have you thought about getting an outside enclosure for him?’
‘You mean a cage?’ I asked, even more dispirited.
‘I’ve seen some amazing cat runs,’ Vivienne said, scribbling phone numbers on our kitchen note pad. ‘Take a look on the web, or try some of these people.’
Which is how, a week before the wedding, Jonah became the luckiest cat in the neighbourhood. A fresh delivery of scratchers, balls, puzzles and an infrared torch for chasing red dots made us look even more overrun by a cat.
When the world’s tallest cat scratcher was delivered, Jonah circled it first with curiosity, then delight.
Vivienne’s assessment had been spot on. Not only did he relish stretching his body out against the length of the ridiculously tall pole, he loved sitting on the platform at the top, which put him at the perfect height to preside over family meals. When the girls were cooking or doing dishes, they slid Jonah on his pole into the kitchen where he inspected their activities with the authority of an Egyptian slave-driver overseeing the construction of the pyramids.
Soon after (and despite Philip’s fear it was going to be ugly) an elaborate cat run was erected in the back garden. From a cat door inside a laundry cupboard, Jonah emerged into a wire mesh tower that led him through several metres of tunnel above the iceberg roses which ended up in a larger tower near the olive trees. The second tower was a substantial enclosure containing several wooden ledges and two cat hammocks. To complete the luxury lodge, the girls and I planted bunches of cat grass under the hammocks.
I was relieved Mum was no longer around to witness this spectacle of feline worship.
Joy
A mother’s greatest moment is to see her child happy
Enamel sky arched over the pre-wedding barbecue in our back garden. With Jonah safely inside his run, we threw open the French doors. It was a perfect evening, if a little hot.The drought remained so severe I didn’t bother apologising about the dusty patch where grass should be.
Guests gazed curiously at the new cat run and its handsome inmate while Philip cooked up mountains of prawns, steak and designer sausages. The girls laboured over salads in the kitchen. I was secretly proud of Lydia’s skill in the kitchen these days. Like all top chefs, she could rustle up a curry or a batch of melting moments without any signs of effort. She was practically a domestic goddess, apart from a tendency to leave the bench top in a mess. But that was a minor quibble.
It was great to see Mary again, along with her husband Barry and their grown-up children. Our old friends and neighbours from Wellington, Ginny and Rick de Silva, arrived in a blaze of laughter. Ginny, Rick and their son Jason had been such a source of strength to Rob and I after Sam’s death, having them at Rob’s wedding brought a sense of completion – and a reminder to open another bottle of champagne.
When Rob and Lydia’s father Steve arrived with his wife Amanda and their daughter Hannah, it was good to be reminded my ex-husband had moved on and found contentment. His response was offhand when I thanked him again for paying for Lydia’s return to Australia while I was in hospital. He probably thought it an inappropriate subject to mention just now.
Sitting alongside his lovely fiancée on the circular seat under the tree, Rob looked so happy. I was touched, too, that so many of his school friends had travelled thousands of kilometres for the occasion. Among them were the boys Rob had gone on a road trip into the outback with not long after his surgery. Most of them were grown-up now and married to good-hearted women. From that group, Rob had chosen his oldest friend, Andrew, to be his best man.
Music, laughter, dreams and reminiscences. As the sky faded to pink, only one individual made it clear he wasn’t enjoying the celebration. Standing on the top ledge inside his five-star cabana, Jonah yowled to be let out.
We rose early next morning and hurled clothes into suitcases. A country wedding sounds simple. We’d been so intoxicated by the notion of celebrating in a hilltop convent, we hadn’t realised how obsessive we’d need to be about details.
A lot of overseas guests had arrived crazed with jet lag and with no idea how to get to Daylesford. Philip did the maths and allocated them into available cars. Lydia opted to travel with Steve and Amanda. Katharine squeezed in with the de Silvas and us. Rob and Chantelle had made arrangements with their friends.
The responsibility of transporting the bridal gown from my study cupboard to the country was so great only the bride herself was willing to take it on. When she arrived to collect her gown, she deposited a cat-carrying case on the family room floor. There wasn’t a sound from the carry case, or from Jonah, who was casting a steely eye over it from his tallest scratching post.
All of a sudden the carry case burst open and a silvery creature rose into the air. We watched open-mouthed as Ferdie flew like a genie out of a bottle, straight at Jonah’s face. Jonah sprang back, locking wiry limbs around the invader. The young cats tumbled to the floor and rolled over each other.
We didn’t have time to work out if they were playing or fighting. Ferdie was the larger and stockier of the two. If they were enemies, Jonah was bound to come off worse. I hoped Vivienne would sort them out.
Just when it looked as if everything else was under control, the wedding cake was delivered. We’d assumed it would be in three separate tiers that could be farmed out to sit on obliging passengers’ laps. But the cake’s tiers were firmly glued together with icing roses. There was no room for such a lofty creation in any of the cars.
After several panicky phone calls we found out Chantelle’s aunt, Trudy, had space in the back of her station wagon. It was fitting for Trudy to be bearer of the wedding cake since she was the one who’d arranged Rob and Chantelle’s first date to a footy game nearly a decade earlier.
Ginny and Rick squeezed into our car and we joined a convoy of vehicles packed with wedding guests heading to the country. Wedged in the back with Katharine between us, Ginny and I reverted to the outrageous banter that’d sealed our friendship all those years ago while our men gazed good-naturedly at the scenery.
We stopped at Mount Macedon, where we’d arranged to rendezvous for lunch with other wedding cars. Dry wind blasted like a fan heater through the tree-lined street. There were extreme fire warnings throughout Victoria and the temperature in Daylesford was predicted to be in the high 30s. When we first moved to Australia, hot weather had distressed me. Though it didn’t worry me much anymore, I did wonder how anyone survived before air-conditioning. Maybe those who weren’t tough simply melted. I hoped our visitors from temperate climates weren’t going to faint inside the chapel tomorrow.
We scurried in from the furnace to arrange ourselves around a long cafe table. Rick wondered aloud if it was always this hot in Australia, and ordered a bottle of cooling white wine. Alcohol intensifies its effects in hot weather – a fact some guests seemed aware of. While they sipped juice and mineral water, Ginny and I became shamelessly louder. We anointed ourselves the noisy end of the table. Some things never change.