“Ah. Hm.” The man hummed, a contemplative look on his face. “You would like to see?” he asked. “We have more. Lots. Many kittens.”
“Oh!” Francis lit up. “Oh, yes, please!”
Today was off to a much better start.
Chapter 8
Francis spent a wonderful morning with the handsome stranger, sitting on plump cushions inside a beautiful white, open pavilion in the gardens, its pillars lined with pink roses. He had dozens upon dozens of tiny fluffy kittens climbing all over them, mewling and playing, sleeping and scampering, and it was wonderful.
Francis had never seen so many kittens in his life. He discovered their claws were indeed sharp, but they meant no harm, they were merely curious and enjoyed clambering over Francis.
The stranger gave Francis a thick brocade blanket to cover his lap with, to protect his skin from their pinprick claws.
Francis ended up with four kittens snuggled into his lap, two fast asleep, two purring, and a fifth trying to clamber in.
“They are darling,” Francis said, for probably the third time. He could not get over how tiny they were.
The blue-eyed beauty inside the stranger’s robes watched with interest, occasionally nosing a hello to any kitten that climbed up to investigate.
They weren’t alone in the pavilion. Several children of varying ages were also playing with the kittens or making cuddle piles in the heaps of multi-coloured cushions.
A couple of young women flitted in and out periodically, silent on bare feet, bringing trays of snacks and tea for the children, and plates of food for the older kittens.
Everyone appeared well cared for.
The stranger noticed Francis watching them.
“Orphans,” he said. “And children of one parent on their own. They have jobs here now. To look after the cats.”
Francis nodded. That seemed like a wonderful job. “A capital idea,” he replied.
“We have more,” the stranger said. “In the city. Houses. Not like this.” He gestured at the rosy pavilion. “More rooms. Anyone can work and live with the cats there. Some houses for dogs also, in a different part of the city.”
“Sounds very innovative,” Francis said. “I must say, I’m most impressed by what I’ve seen and heard of Istanbul. The tram is very clever.”
The stranger beamed happily.
“I was told there is air ventilation for the city, those tall towers?” Francis went on. “Very impressive.”
“Oh, but those have stood for centuries.” The stranger laughed. “My generation has no credit for that. But the tram…Come. Let me show you where it started.”
He showed Francis to another part of the garden where, hidden behind fragrant orange and lemon trees, lay an ornamental rock garden complete with train tracks winding through the rocks and shrubs, and plenty of cats lounging about.
Francis gasped when he realised what it was. “A little tram for the cats?”
The stranger smiled. “Come. We can watch it come in.”
He led Francis to a wrought iron bench padded with satin cushions, and they sat together.
The rock garden was serene, with plenty of plants and miniature statues for the cats to sniff and keep them occupied.
Nearby, two women in pastel robes and bare feet were watering the flowerbeds.
“Where does the tram go?” Francis inquired.
“Through the south garden,” the stranger explained. “Half circle. Stop, then come back.”
“Do the cats ride it?” Francis asked. He really hoped the cats rode the tram.
