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Jellicle Cats come out tonight,
Jellicle Cats come one come all:
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright–
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.

From: The Song of the Jellicles – “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” by T. S. Eliot

Previously…

As I returned up the lane towards Miss Silverton’s cottage, I wondered what she was like. She had grown up as a boy until it was discovered that she was intersexed. Maybe we had something in common? I was about to find out.

And now the story continues…

At the top of the lane I turned left and came upon the first cat almost immediately. It was sitting at the side of the lane, washing itself and paying no attention to me whatsoever. Then a few yards further on two more cats bolted across my path, one black and the other white. I spent the next few moments trying to work out if that meant good luck or bad. Did one cancel out the other? However, I had arrived at Miss Silverton’s cottage–it was called Jellicle* Cottage–and there was no more time for such philosophical cogitations.

I walked up the path smiling. She had a lovely garden, full of colour. I didn’t know what the flowers were, but it was all very pretty. I did recognise some roses climbing around the front door and their smell was like a heady perfume.

The door was open. I couldn’t see a bell so I knocked on the door with my knuckles.

‘Hello-oh?’ I called.

‘Hang on a minute,’ came a voice from somewhere inside, ‘be with you in a half a mo–’

I had a peep at the garden while I waited; there were several more cats wandering or lying around and I wondered just how many she had. I strongly suspected that mice were a non-existent problem in Jellicle Cottage.

At the sound of footsteps I turned back towards the doorway.

‘Hello, you must be Samantha.’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

As I looked at her my heart sort of flipped. Miss Silverton was very pretty, in her mid thirties I would say. Thin with a nice figure. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt emblazoned with the words Cats-R-Us across her well-proportioned bosom. She had long blond hair and her figure was curvaceous. She had blue eyes, a retroussé nose with a smudge of something on it and her lips were full and red. She was smiling apologetically and had a kitten in each hand, both of whom appeared to asleep.

‘Come in, come in. Sorry I can’t shake your hand because mine are somewhat full, as you can see.’

I spoke severely to myself. ‘Don’t even think it, Samantha, your life’s in a mess as it is, and you don’t want extra complications.’

I followed her along a short passage. I laughed at myself for being so silly, yes she was pretty and had a nice smile and I liked the way her kind eyes had looked at me, but I was not in a position to do anything about it. She wouldn’t be interested in me and what am I thinking, going all gooey after seeing her for a few seconds? Mentally, I pulled myself together and followed her.

She paused for a moment, knelt down by a small enclosure and gave the kittens back to Mum, who looked pleased they were back. Then Miss Silverton led me to what had probably been the lounge at some time, but was now more like a cat sanctuary–with cats on virtually every surface.

She shooed a couple of them off a settee. ‘Please sit down while I go and wash my hands. I won’t be a moment.’

As soon as I was seated, curiosity overcame one of the cats who, after sniffing my hand, jumped on my lap. I think it was a he as it was ginger, and after another ‘hello’ lick, it settled down and promptly went to sleep. I realised I shouldn’t have worn white–I just didn’t think. That’s my trouble. I hoped that Miss Silverton hadn’t noticed my going all gooey-eyed at her. She’d probably think I was even stranger than she had heard on the village grapevine and anyway she might have someone…

She returned, dislodged another cat and sat on an armchair opposite me. With difficulty, I returned to the real world.

‘Miss Silverton, you’ve got a beautiful cottage and garden.’

‘Please call me Abby.’

‘Okay, Abby–what a nice name.’

‘Yes, it used to be Adrian. I assume the Penmarris grapevine has told you about me?’

‘Sort of.’ I replied, apologetically.

‘Don’t worry about it. Everyone’s very kind and not a bad word has ever been said about my miraculous transformation. Anyway, down to the practicalities; tea or coffee?’

‘Have you got anything cold, it’s a bit warm today.’

‘Know what you mean, d’you fancy some home-made ginger beer?’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Coming up; is Biscuit okay on you?’

‘Biscuit, oh sorry…’

‘Biscuit, my ginger tom.’

‘Nice name.’ I laughed.

‘Yes, it suits him doesn’t it? Anyway, I’ll get the drinks.’

She went out again and Biscuit decided to wake up and butt me with his head. I began stroking him and his internal combustion engine started up on full throttle. I wonder how many miles he went to the tin of cat food… Stop it, Samantha!

‘Here we are,’ said Abby, returning. She gave me a glass of slightly cloudy ginger beer. I took a sip and nearly choked–it was fiery to say the least. But after my tongue got used to it, it was thirst-quenching, leaving a warm feeling in my tummy and distracting me from my rather disturbing thoughts about Abby.

‘Mmm, this is really nice.’

‘Yes, I make it by the gallon. I’ll give you the recipe if you like.’

‘Mmm, that would be great.’

We sat drank in companionable silence for a few minutes. I didn’t want to stare at her but I know she was looking at me. Weighing me up perhaps?

‘Sorry,’ she said.

I looked at her.

‘Sorry?’

‘Yes, I shouldn’t stare. It’s just…’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Err, so you had a nocturnal visitor last night.’

‘Yes, Tammy’s a lovely cat.’

‘A bit scatterbrained sometimes, but all cats have their moments and she’s no exception. I think she’s probably used up three of her lives so far so she’ll have to watch her step.’

I laughed. ‘So you’ve got some kittens you’re trying to find homes for?’

‘Yes I’ll let you see them in a minute. You can have a pick if you like, but you’ll have to wait a while because they’re a bit young to leave mum yet.’

‘So, how did you start collecting cats?’

‘Well I suppose they sort of collected me. I took over this place from old Mrs. Thompson when she died; I’ve always loved cats and she was potty about them. I’d always helped her when I could and then, when she died, she left this place to me. She had no relations and I was the closest thing to a daughter she had. I was terribly upset when she died, but she lives on through the cats.’

‘Do you look after them full time?’

‘Heavens no! Cats aren’t like dogs, they’re self sufficient provided there’s enough food and a place to sleep, they are happy. No I run the pottery down on the quay.’

I remember vaguely seeing the pottery in my travels, but as I hadn’t been here five minutes, I hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet.

‘Do you make your own pots?’

‘For my sins.’

‘Another artist then?’

‘Oh, do you throw too?’

‘No, I paint.’

‘What houses?’ she said, giggling. It was a nice giggle, almost childish.

‘No, silly, canvases.’ I said smiling and looking into her beautiful eyes. ‘I bet you knew that. Everyone knows everything about everybody here.’

‘Almost true; yes, I admit it; I do know a thing or two about you; you see, I don’t like to give my cats to just anyone, so I like to know a bit about prospective parents.’

‘So who dished the dirt about me and more importantly, what do you know?’

‘Well, my sources are secret but I can say that when I asked Jocasta Gotobed about you she clammed up like a, err–clam. All she told me was that you originally came from London and had decided to move down here. Now for dear Jocasta to say the bare minimum about you, kind of worried me a wee bit, but as she loves you like a sister after such a short space of time and is, I know, a good judge of character, I think you pass my inspection with honours.’

‘Thanks for that.’

‘It’s okay. Anyway you asked what I know about you. Well, you’re in your early thirties and your marriage has broken down. You love painting and you have a studio in old Albert’s Cottage. You can’t hold your drink and go all giggly–what else–oh yes, you adore fish and chips. That’s it. Oh yes, one more thing, everyone who meets you, likes you and that includes me.’

I could sense I was blushing at all that, but smiled when she said she liked me.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I like you too.’

‘Good, then we have the makings of a mutual admiration society,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

We both laughed.

‘So Samantha, I have just told you how much I know about you. What do you know about me?’

‘Err, you’re in your mid-thirties, you live here and look after lots of cats and you have a pottery.’

‘And?’

I looked at her and felt myself blush again.

‘And…you were brought up as a boy but were discovered to be intersexed and are obviously a very pretty girl–’

‘–I am not,’ she interrupted, blushing.

‘How can you say that, sitting there and–’

‘–and what?’

‘Well, you are pretty,’ I said, rather lamely.

She looked as if she was going to say something, shook her head slightly and then stood up suddenly.

‘Shall we go and see the babies?’

I followed her, wondering if I had upset her in any way. She led the way to an outhouse in the garden, where she showed me another pen containing another mum and her four kittens.

‘Oooh, there’re so sweet!’

‘Yes, aren’t they? Which do you like?’

‘Who are the boys and who are the girls?’

‘Well, the ginger and white one is a boy and the other three are girls.’

‘Would having a boy and a girl cause problems?’

‘Not really, especially if you have them neutered. You may want them to have a litter first. I never liked the idea of neutering until I saw how many unwanted cats there were. Anyway it’s up to you.’

I dropped down on my knees and began tickling and stroking the little ones. They were all adorable but I kept going back to the ginger and a black and white one that seemed to fancy me more than the others did. Mum was watching with one eye open and it seemed to me like she had seen it all before.

‘Can I have these two?’ I pointed at the ginger and the black and white.

‘Of course; as I explained I can’t let them go yet, they’re only seven weeks old and I wouldn’t dream of letting them go before they’re at least ten weeks, so you’ll have to come and visit if you want to see them until they’re ready.’

‘Do you mind, my visiting?’

‘ ’Course not; anyway, it’ll help them become accustomed to you.’

We stood up and after a final stroke and tickle, left them in peace.

I really didn’t want to leave Jellicle Cottage but checking my watch, I had barely enough time to get home to change and then meet Katie in the Toad and Tart.

‘I have to go now, Abby, I’m meeting someone at one and have to go home to change.’

Looking at my dress, I realised I must have been having a blonde moment when I decided to wear a white dress because I had several more dirty paw prints on the once pristine white cotton.

‘Yes,’ laughed Abby, ‘white’s not a very practical colour to wear around cats.’

‘Thanks for seeing me, Abby, and for the ginger beer and of course, Molly and Toffee,’ I said as I left Jellicle Cottage by the front door.

‘Oh, so you’ve named them already? Why Toffee?’

‘Well, he’s got a white nose and a ginger bit at the side that looks like a bit of toffee.’

‘You’re weirder than me! Anyway they’re nice names but when you call him in at night, might you not get embarrassed shouting out, “Toffee, Toffee, come on, Toffee”.’

‘No more than you do calling for Biscuit.’

We both laughed and then shook hands. I felt a slight tingle as her warm hand held mine for a moment. She had puzzled look on her face which I couldn’t read.

After saying goodbye to Abby, I strode back to my cottage to change. Glancing back, I saw her standing framed in the doorway; I gave her a wave and she waved back before going back inside.

She had seemed sad to see me go and I was caught up in a whirlpool of emotions. I was in the middle of a messy divorce–well the beginning really. My life was complicated. The love I had for Olivia died the instant I saw her having sex with another man. Nothing had changed my mind there. Deep in my heart, I knew–even before that awful day–that our marriage was dead and had been deluding myself for ages that she loved me and I loved her.

Yes, my life with Olivia was over.

But, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I was aware of stories about love on the rebound. Also, I don’t know how Abby felt about me or whether she was seeing anyone.

‘How can you be like this after seeing her just once?’

You see, I had fallen in love.

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* Jellicle: Taken from The Song of the Jellicles from “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” by T.S. Eliot–which provided the lyrics for Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s musical, Cats.

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.