Easy As Falling Off A Bike
by Bonzi Cat & his Mum.
part 248.

We got the chores finished and shot into the hospital to see my dad. He understood Simon's need to leave quickly for the rugby. Me, it wasn't my game, but Wales had beaten England at Twickenham and from what the pundits were saying, Scotland were going to be lucky to avoid the wooden spoon. Simon was supporting Scotland, given he was supposed to be Scots. Me, I was looking forward to the bike track worlds in March at Manchester velodrome, so as far as I was concerned Wales could win the Six Nations or the World cup, we were defending seven golds in the cycling better than anyone had ever done before, yet it barely gets a mention in the papers or on the telly.

I sulked all the way home, Simon thought it was because he'd cut short the visit to see my dad, it wasn't but I didn't tell him, the guilt would do him good.

"I'm sure your dad understood how important the rugger is to me."

"I doubt it, we were barely there long enough to tell him. Do you have to drive so fast?" I managed to keep a straight face, there was enough anger about the share of air time cycling got to keep me from laughing.

"I'll make it up to you Cathy, and your dad."

"You did sort out his financial stuff, so I suppose I should be grateful."

"Yes I did, didn't I? I knew you'd see reason."

"Simon, that speed camera just flashed at us."

"I didn't see that."

"Trust me, you'll get a nice surprise within two weeks."

"What d'you mean."

"A summons for speeding."

"Wonderful, just what I need."

"I did tell you to slow down, but oh no you had to keep going."

"Shut it Cathy."

"What! You can't speak to me like that."

"I just did."

"That's it, let me out, I'll walk home."

"Cathy, this is a motorway, no pedestrians, no stopping and you can't walk sixty miles in those shoes."

This was true, but why should I humour him? I sat and refused to talk to him at all, which seemed okay with him - grrrrr!

We arrived at Tom's and I couldn't believe it, we had a power cut. It lasted two hours, after half an hour Simon drove off into town to find a pub with a tv showing the rugby. As soon as he'd gone I giggled and when I explained to Stella, she laughed too. Tom of course was out anyway probably watching it down at the students union.

I cooked for just Stella and myself. I did beef Stroganoff, there was enough for absent friends, but just us girls ate it hot. Simon had not returned by bed time and I was a little worried about him.
I had actually gone to bed when my mobile peeped to indicate a text message.

'C, 2 p'd to drive home.
C U 2moro.
S. xxx'

I was relieved but angry. For all I knew he was staying with a prostitute or some other malefactor. To some extent, I'd brought it upon myself with my sulking. I hadn't heard the score but I assumed the worst otherwise he'd have crowed about,'Bring on Wales' or some such thing, although common sense told me if Wales had stuffed England, world cup runners up, at Twickenham, then Scotland might be equally at a loss to beat them.

Like I said, it wasn't my sport, so I didn't care. Actually I did, but Simon had acted so heavy handedly, I pretended I didn't. He had lots to learn about handling me, and staying out because he got the worse for wear was not a good follow up to his first mistake. These things didn't add up, they multiplied by geometric progression (you know the way they charge for overdafts!).

I did eventually go to sleep although thoughts of my dream the night before did assail me for a while. Without Simon there, my bed felt a very lonely place. Then I got angry with myself.

"What am I a man or a mouse?" I said out loud, then after a moment's reflection decided I was neither of them. I must stop thinking in cliches.

I awoke, there was a noise. I breathed evenly and shallowly. There it was again. A rustling noise. It came towards the bed and I screamed, loudly.

Nothing happened except Tom came lurching into the room asking what was wrong. I explained about the noise. He switched on the light just as Stella arrived.

"What's going on, I heard screams?"

"Nothing, Cathy had a bad dream, thought she heard something."

At that moment I was getting out of bed to go to the loo when my foot moving against my slipper disturbed a mouse. I jumped and screamed again and Stella fainted. Fortunately, Tom caught her.

"What a pair," he said after he'd sorted her out and caught the mouse. "What will Simon say when I tell him, my rodent specialist is frightened of mice."

The problem was it was true. Dormice I could handle and did, frequently. In the wild I could cope with mice because they didn't usually surprise me. That one had and I couldn't deny it, I'd wet myself in the panic. I wasn't as bad as Stella, but then she didn't breed dormice for a living. Tom had me by the proverbials.

"How much is it going to cost me?" I addressed my blackmailer, "your silence I mean."

"Oh I haven't thought about that yet, but it's not going to come cheap."

"I didn't think for one moment it would. What about Stella?"

"Stella is excused."

"Why, because she's a biological female?"

"I thought you knew me better than that Cathy." The look he gave me was one of hurt.

"I'm sorry Tom, it was uncalled for."

"Bloody right, don't you ever accuse me of thinking of you as anything but an attractive female."

"I'm sorry." I hung my head and blushed.

"It has nothing to do with you being anything other than my rodent expert, who is apparently afraid of mice. How do you manage if you live trap things?"

"With difficulty." I answered my breathing getting more rapid as I recalled an incident where I'd trapped a rat in one of my live boxes. There had also been a dormouse in there, but the rat had killed and eaten most of it.

I'd let it go before I knew all that, realising it was too heavy for a dormouse. Had I known what had happened, I'd have drowned the rat or killed it some other way. Thankfully it didn't happen again, but if it had I'm not sure what I'd have done. Had there been a rat in my room, I suspect I'd have fainted too. I also know Tom would have killed it rather than releasing the mouse in the garden. He marked it with a felt pen first, if it came in again, he'd kill it.

Instead of going back to bed, I ended up sitting in the kitchen drinking tea while Tom regaled me with stories about his undergrad days. He was a bit of a lad by his account at least, doing awful things to women students with frogs and other doomed lab animals.

His funniest one, unless you happen to be the frog in question, was demonstrating the knee jerk reflex as an electrical stimulus of the nerve. I recalled reading about it rather than doing it. The current to get the leg to twitch is minute and comes from a battery. He connected his up to the mains.

I expected him to say, 'it jumped off the bench,' but no, it caught fire and fused the entire lab. So much for experimental work, now you can see why I prefer field work, except for the rat incident. No boiling tadpoles in test tubes or frying fruit flies, for me! I'd rather watch and count things or understand what I'm observing. Okay there's lots of time involved and sometimes the statistics can get fiddly, which is why we have statisticians to check the maths, mine can be ropey at best, chi squares and so on. Yuck!

It turned out I had to cook him sunday dinner next week. As I should probably have done it anyway, it was hardly a forfeit. I agreed to his terms and he promised only to mention that he'd helped me catch a mouse.

Simon arrived at tea time on the Monday, he looked awful. I had no sympathy, neither had his father, he docked him a day's leave for calling in sick.

When Tom told him about the mouse incident, his response was, "I hope Stella wasn't there, she fainted the last time we had one in the house."

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Comments please or this cat goes on strike, and you could be the target!