This is a short story about a cat. Now, anyone who knows about cats
will know that there really can be no such thing as a short story
concerning cats, and anyone who has read T.S. Eliot's "Book
of Practical Cats" or seen "Cats" the musical will also
know that's not even the half of it.
Anyway, this Willoughby's Tale. Not actually his tail, although it is
a very attractive tail, to match Willoughby, who is a very attractive
marmalade cat. He is not my cat, you must understand, as if any cat
can be owned by anyone, but instead he "belongs" to my brother
Stephen and his wife Sarah.
Willoughby is, however, a cat of little brain: a few whiskers short of a
moustache, you could say, although he does seem to be an unending source
of fluff, which gets everywhere, including inbetween the keys on the
computer keyboard.
Willoughby is definitely of the school that prefers to curl up on the
floor in front of a hot air outlet or possibly on the chair that you
were about to sit upon or had just vacated, as that would be warmer,
wouldn't it? His ginger stripes are an almost perfect match for
the grain on the kitchen floor, so he can be overlooked if you are
occupied, such as, when making a cup of tea or a cheese sandwich.
No doubt this goes some way towards explaining his ability to appear
wherever food is being prepared.
On this particular occasion, I had just finished packing up an order
for a customer and was sending a text message to the driver to let
him know that it was ready for collection. I was sitting on a chair
next to the smoked glass-topped dining table, and Willoughby had
jumped up, apparently from nowhere, onto the table.
Of course, cats aren't supposed to do that in Stephen and Sarah's
house, but such trifling rules are of little concern to a cat like
Willoughby, being generally of too complex a nature to fit in his brain,
although he does pay attention to items such as cheese sandwiches and
especially pieces of corned beef, which are not.
It was only when I finished sending the text message that I noticed
Willoughby was sitting on the table right beside me. He was staring
fixedly right at me and his pupils were wide open, making his eyes
look completely black. I sat quite still, and he reached out with his
right front paw towards my face. It didn't quite reach, and he put it
back on the table. He reached out again, and this time, he touched me
on my beard and pressed, very gently.
I suppose he might have thought it was a mouse or something edible to
cats, that had inexplicably become attached to my face, and most
things are inexplicable to Willoughby, but then he is not really
the inquisitive, mouse catching type of cat, if only on account of
their typically rapid movement when cats are about.
He didn't use his claws or move quickly, just put his paw up, reached
over to me, touched my beard and put his paw down again. The world had
slowed down to Willoughby's speed for a moment, and then sped back up
to normal, leaving him in his customary position near the back of the
bus.