‘If we’d stayed we might have got a reward,’ George said, although he followed us all the same.
‘When Claire and Jonathan hear they’ll reward us I expect,’ I replied. Paws crossed.
Shorty after arriving home, the story of how Bailey was returned home was spread. A few friends arrived for drinks in our garden, all socially distanced of course, and they all talked about how it was thanks to us the puppy was safe. So George, Gilbert and I got our reward. Fish for our main course, and for pudding a lovely bit of Hocking’s ice cream. The couple next door brought Bailey over and thanked us again, although they brought flowers and wine which wasn’t much use to us cats, but Claire liked it. As the sky got even darker, the children sleepy and the adults more lively – which was the wine I think – we three cats thanked the stars for what had been an eventful but fulfilling day. In fact it was the perfect end to the perfect holiday.
ALFIE THE LOCKDOWN CAT
We suddenly find ourselves in very strange times. There is a virus sweeping the world, which is bad, and people are getting very sick. Everyone is scared, and the situation is not like anything I have ever experienced before; it’s incredibly sad. In order to protect ourselves we are being told to stay home – or our humans are anyway. We’re unsure as to how far this staying home business applies to cats. The debate in our house went something like this:
‘I heard a Belgian cat got Covid-19,’ Claire said.
‘I’ve researched it, love. The general thinking is that there is no evidence that cats or dogs can be infected,’ Jonathan replied.
‘Should we keep Alfie and George in, just in case?’
‘Meow.’ No way. I flicked my tail in horror. This lockdown is bad enough – having the humans home so much isn’t easy, let me tell you. It would be devastating if our freedom was curtailed too. By we I mean myself, Alfie and my kitten, George (he’s not much of a kitten anymore but you get the idea).
‘I’ve asked the vet and she said that, unless the household have the virus, it’s fine for cats to carry on as normal,’ Jonathan finished.
Phew. Because although this is anything but normal, it seems to be our new normal for now.
***
Jonathan is having to work from home, which has made him grumpy because he says he can barely concentrate with the noise levels in the house. School is closed so Summer and Toby are home all the time, and, although Summer is pretty happy because she was never a huge fan of lessons, Toby misses it terribly – he’s always loved going to school. Claire doesn’t have a job as such, but she looks after us: the children, cats, Jonathan and the house, and she’s suddenly having to take on the role of homeschool teacher as well as her usual cooking, cleaning, shopping and keeping-everyone-happy role. She’s being run ragged! It’s a lot of work normally, but now she’s even busier. She says she has a new respect for school teachers, because it seems to her to be the hardest job in the world.
George and I are’nt used to having the family home so much. At first, I thought it would be lovely but, honestly, the novelty has worn off pretty quickly. Jonathan was right, it is a very noisy house.
And if that’s not chaotic enough already, Pickles the pug is staying with us, because his owners, our very good friends, have had to self-isolate for two weeks because someone coughed or something like that. So, we get Pickles on account of him needing walking and lots of attention. It means that while some people are apparently moaning about being bored, us cats are busier than ever trying to keep our humans and Pickles in check. Like Claire, we’re exhausted by it all, but of course trying at the same time to make the best of things.
An area in the living room hasd been set up as the ‘school’ and the children are sat at the table, with their workbooks.
‘Mum, Summer keeps talking and I’m trying to do maths,’ Toby complained.
‘Maths is boring,’ Summer replied.
‘Guys, stop arguing, you have to get your work done. Is it too early for wine?’
‘Meow.’ It was too early; it’s only eleven in the morning. Even during lockdown that was definitely too early to drink.
‘How do your teachers cope?’ Claire was baffled.
‘Well, Summer is always in trouble for talking in class,’ Toby pointed out.
‘I’m not even in your class,’ Summer retorted.
‘I hear it from others in school, actually.’ They started squabbling again. George jumps on Toby’s lap and tried to nuzzle him. I know exactly what he’s doing, trying to diffuse the situation. Claire throws him a grateful look.
‘Not now, George I am trying to work!’ Toby gently puts George back on the floor. ‘My maths is very important if I’m going to be an astronaut.’ George raised his whiskers. I raised mine back; there was just no pleasing people sometimes.
‘I have to have a conference call with an important client,’ Jonathan’s voice boomed from upstairs where he had turned the spare room into his office. ‘So, can you all be quiet?’
I very much doubt we can.
***
‘I’m bored,’ Pickles says, as we’re banished from school room. He got into trouble because Summer tried to encourage him to eat her workbook – and he was actually going to, until Claire intervened. Now, he was snuffling around the kitchen, looking for food. George and I had learnt quickly not to leave any of ours laying around. Dog food, human food, cat food, paper – none of it was safe from Pickles the pug.
‘I know,’ George says, examining his paw. ‘Why don’t we go and see what Jonathan is doing?’
‘No!’ I reply, as firmly as I can, but George and Pickles ignore me and take off upstairs. I’m father to George and sort of an Uncle to Pickles; as the grown up, they pay absolutely no attention to me, and I have no choice but to follow them. Damage limitation is my goal, but I’m not full of confidence, if I’m honest.
In the office, Jonathan is sat at the desk talking to a computer. Pickles has already bounded in, but George hangs back with me by the door.
‘Ah! Ow!’ Jonathan exclaims.
‘What was that?’ the computer – a man’s voice – seemed to reply.
‘Sorry, nothing. As I was saying, with market volatility, there’s… ah, ah!’ Jonathan’s face turns red as Pickles does his best to climb up his leg. ‘I mean, my projections are quite clear, in the spreadsheet…’ Jonathan looked down and with one hand tried to gently push Pickles away.
‘Jonathan? Are you alright, you’ve gone a funny colour,’ the computer asks.
‘No, it’s fine. Fine,’ he squeaks.
‘Oh Dad, I’d better go and show Pickles how it’s done,’ George says, raising his whiskers.
‘No, George,’ I hiss to his departing tail.
I can’t watch, but I also can’t look away. George runs up to Jonathan and leaps onto his lap.
‘Ahh,’ Jonathan said in surprise. The chair wobbled and then rights itself. Jonathan’s face gets redder.
‘Is that a cat?’ the computer voice asked.
‘Meow!’ George says, proudly.
‘Woof, woof woof,’ Pickles says, trying to climb his leg again.
‘And a dog?’
Jonathan sighs and scoops Pickles up from the floor.
‘Yup, this is George.’ George holds up a paw. ‘And this is Pickles.’ Pickles licks the screen. Watching from the doorway, I can’t help it. I know Jonathan will be angry and we might be banned from this room for the rest of lockdown, but I want in on the action. I suffer terribly from what the teenagers called FOMO – fear of missing out. I jump up onto the desk.
‘Yowl!’ I say, introducing myself. On the screen is a man, staring at us all with a confused look on his face. He looks a bit older than Jonathan, with grey hair and a slight beard, but he grins and hopefully that means he’s nice…
‘Wow, and this is?’ the man asks.
‘Alfie, my first cat,’ Jonathan mumbles.