Six
Lara had hoped that, when she woke up the next morning and went downstairs to the kitchen, she would find the cat was gone, that it had left everything as it had found it, and deposited no unwanted ‘gifts’ on the sparklingly clean, albeit rather old, vinyl on the kitchen floor.
As she had half expected, she opened her eyes to the sound of the dawn chorus, and the squawk of several seagulls. They could teach her smart speaker at her flat a thing or two about the sound level required to wake her from her sleep – but not in a good way.
What she had not expected was to discover she was not alone.
She had woken with a start and, after frowning at the hellish noise made by the gulls, she had stretched out her arms and legs as usual, but her feet had found a large lump. Remembering she had left her dressing gown draped at the end of the bed, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Even so, she raised her head, just to be sure, and let out a shriek. To her astonishment the black cat from yesterday was curled up in a ball, fast asleep on her dressing gown, at the end of her bed.
She sat bolt upright and pulled the top of the duvet over her chest. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. It was probably a survival instinct in case the cat leapt at her with its claws out. It did leap up as if on a spring, and it turned its head and glared at her, its emerald green eyes forming slits, its ears flattened and its back arched, but all it did was hiss, growl, and jump off the bed.
Lara breathed out another sigh. How did the cat get out of the kitchen? She had definitely shut the door tight. She had heard the latch click. Could the cat open doors? The handle was one of those imitation Victorian lever latch scrolls, so the cat could probably jump up, grab the lever between its paws, and pull the handle down.
Come to think of it, she had seen videos of cats and dogs doing exactly that. Another thing to add to her list. Replace the lever latch handles on the kitchen door with round knobs. She’d like to see the cat try to open a door with one of those fixed on it.
Where had the cat gone now though? And what was that rattling noise?
Lara got out of bed, stretching again once she had stood up, and shivering a little from a slight chill in the air. Her body still ached despite the relaxing bath, and the wonderful sleep and she toyed with the idea of climbing back into bed. Instead, she slid her feet into her slippers and padded across the bare floorboards to the window. No sunlight was peeping in, so it must still be dark, but the radiator beneath the window was hot, so at least that was still working.
Pulling the curtains back, she could see that it was. But not the dark of night. It was the dark of a stormy day. Thick, heavy, black clouds marched across the sky, and the sea, that had been such a beautiful blue yesterday, was a gunmetal grey this morning with choppy waves and large white horses cresting as they broke on the shore. She couldn’t see the sand below, from her bedroomwindow, but she could hear the thunderous crashing as the waves pounded the sand.
The copse of trees opposite, swayed and bowed in the wind, and the gloriously coloured leaves were wrenched from the branches and spiralled their way to the grass beneath.
The sheep that were wandering happily across the clifftop all day yesterday, were huddled together this morning beneath the boughs of the trees as if seeking cover. But the now almost bare branches gave scant shelter from the torrential rain that fell from the sky like a waterfall, before Lara’s eyes.
What a difference a day made.
Nevertheless, as Lara stood there looking out, and discovered that the rattle was caused by the wind whipping against the sash window frames – another job to add to her ever-growing list – she had to admit that the view was still spectacular. Not beautiful, like yesterday, but certainly commanding and dramatic. She couldn’t tear herself away.
Until she heard the crash from below, and the yowl of the cat. Without another thought, she rushed from the bedroom and flew down the stairs two at a time. The kitchen door was wide open as she knew it would be, but the cat was nowhere to be seen.
Her favourite mug however, the one Jenny had bought her, and the one Lara had left on the worktop beside the kettle last night ready for her morning coffee, was smashed to smithereens on the kitchen floor.
‘You’re dead,’ Lara hissed, her eyes forming cat-like slits as she scanned the room for the perpetrator of such destruction.
Her ears pricked up, figuratively speaking, as she heard a soft whimper. It appeared to be coming from somewhere near the fridge freezer.
‘Oh god! Are you hurt? I didn’t mean what I said. I won’t punish you, I promise. Believe me, I won’t hurt you.’
She hurried over to the fridge freezer and bent down, and there was the cat, now just a fraction of the size it had looked earlier, as it had squashed itself into the gap between the back of the appliance, and the wall.
Lara gingerly reached out her hand to it but the cat hissed and backed itself in further. Lara moved around to the other side, but the cat moved further away.
A sudden thought popped into Lara’s head and she opened the fridge door to see what she had inside that might tempt this cat out. She had switched the fridge freezer on last night before the food had lost its chill. She spotted the sliced chicken breast that she had planned to have in her sandwiches for lunch today. All cats liked chicken, right? Never having owned a cat, she was not entirely sure, but it was worth a try.
She took a small plate from one of the cupboards and then cut one slice of chicken into tiny pieces. She offered the plate to the cat but she couldn’t get it in between the appliance and the wall, so she left it on the floor just a few inches away and then she retreated several feet away to give the cat some space.
It took about a second for the cat to smell the chicken and it dashed to the plate as if it hadn’t eaten for days.
‘Oh no!’ Lara said aloud. ‘What if that’s true?’
She stared at the cat who was hoovering up the chicken faster than Ula’s vacuum cleaner had sucked up the dirt and dust yesterday. Having cleaned the plate and licked every inch of it, the cat lifted its head and met Lara’s eyes. It reminded her of Oliver Twist in that scene where he asks for more.
‘Did you like that, kitty? Do you want some more?’
She could’ve sworn the cat’s odd little meow was a yes, so she went to the fridge, took another plate from the cupboard, and cut up more chicken. The cat didn’t move an inch. Even when Lara scraped the chicken pieces from the second plate to the first. It wolfed the second helping down as fast as the first.
Lara got out a cereal bowl, filled it with water from the tap and placed that on to the now empty plate. The cat lapped it up so quickly that it sprayed droplets of water on to its black whiskers.
