Amable’s Cat
I’m not asleep, I’m only napping. The dog’s doing pointless things, as usual, and I’m not interested in upsetting the goose this afternoon. The philosopher is busy inside the mill. I can hear him moving things about in the sort of way that doesn’t need my help.
The stones are cool beneath my paws, despite the warm air surrounding them. From my position on the wall I can engage in my daily staring competition with the pied wagtail bobbing its tail on the roof. There is no hope of getting it, so there’s no point in trying. I can get the adrenaline rush without the effort of actually hunting.
The dog has one leg in the air, inspecting his behind, when I hear humans not far from the mill. From the sounds of it, they are coming as a pack. I can’t tell if they’re just slow or if they’ve stopped, but their noises aren’t getting any louder. They seem to be getting excitable about something. I wash my nose with my paws, just in case I need to look charming. The dog hasn’t noticed and carries on licking his bottom.
The philosopher notices too, and appears at the door. When they don’t arrive he goes back inside. The goose is still drying her wings from an earlier walk by the water where the dog got her soaking wet whilst trying to join her paddle. She sits further down the wall from me, wings held slightly away from her body, neck stretched upwards whilst basking in the sunshine.
The humans are getting louder. I can see them at the bend in the path, but they keep stopping for more conversation. It looks tiring and I contemplate another nap, but it seems like they’re on their way to us finally. I stretch my hard-worked body and coil into a relaxed curl, one paw extended, head tilted upwards. This is usually my best pose for getting attention. It shows off my summer sky eyes, but you have to remember to keep your claws locked in for maximum effect. It used to work wonders when we were up in the village. It’s easy to make off with scraps from Bar Maria’s if you can engage helpless kitten mode.
They finish their conversation only to appear in our doorway and start another one, this time joined by the philosopher, who is purring at their presence. It looks like we have friends rather than intruders. The dog finally cottons on and blusters over, tail wagging. From where I am, I can see one or two of them looking at me, their stares warming my coat as I pretend not to notice just long enough to make them come to me. I can tell that some of them have come to see my philosopher instead, but that’s fine by me. You can only keep an eye on so many humans at once.
I mew at a lady I’ve met before. She keeps shushing me, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it. She’s happy to see me, so I weave circles around her legs and nudge them to get the fussing I deserve. I steal a glance at the dog, who is getting as much attention for half the amount of effort. I stroll over to a new human, who’s crouched down to my level. It’s best to let them do all the work if they’re willing to. The philosopher is saying something to her as she alternates tickling my ears and that spot beneath my chin that makes it impossible to keep my eyes open. He likes it when people appreciate us. It gives him a break from the dog.
I do a round of leg nudging, testing out which might be most profitable for later. I snake around them as they move inside the mill house, leaving the dog to stare at the wall for a while. The philosopher is getting animated about the machinery again. He spends hours coating it in revolting smelling liquid that knocks out my sniff sense for days, and he always seems so proud of it afterwards. He has the same look in his eyes now, as the humans make ‘mmm’s and ‘ah’s whilst he jumps up to crank the handle, back down into the pit, then back up again to point at the foul-smelling wood. He loves his machine, but it’s never done much for me, and I try to distract the humans with gentle mewing, only to be shushed again by my friend from last year. There’s one man I don’t bother with at all. I can see the disdain in his eyes and make a larger arc around him. It reminds me of the look the philosopher gave me when I returned with a present one morning. I don’t bring him birds anymore, it upset him too much. I just eat them in secret.
They crowd around the big table, taking an unusual interest in the light bulb protectors, and pile in to the tiny kitchen one by one before reversing out again. I lose interest as they stare at the weathered old trunk he keeps upstairs, whilst he tells tales of his life before I appeared in it. Some of them seem fascinated by spoons hanging from the ceiling, and I take the opportunity to slope off into the garden. They’ll fuss me again later, I’m sure of it.
I listen to their murmuring as a slow trickle of water cleans the stones on the riverbed. I close my eyes and focus on the birds hoo-ing and whistling around us. The breeze isn’t strong enough to move my whiskers but it stops the dust from settling for too long, and I doze as they emerge from the mill house, scrambling up into a tree to throw oranges at each other. Sensing their visit is drawing to a close I saunter over to my admirers and make the most of their attention before the philosopher settles with a book on the garden chair. They’ve given him one of the bottles we’re not allowed to knock over, and they all depart together.
After they’ve gone, I snake myself around his polished shoes and follow him back into the garden. We’re relaxing together when the dog causes a commotion at the front of the house. It appears that the humans hadn’t quite left us, and the dog has bitten one. The philosopher did warn them not to fall for him. That’s why I’m the favourite.