by Lisa Young
Thinking about Archie reminded her of the comedy sketch she had been party to in the house that morning. The animal loving mother and son had been horrified to discover yet another headless rabbit on the floor of the utility room. For many months now, since spring had arrived, Boots had pursued a campaign of merciless terror against the local breeding rabbit population. Now in full swing, the baby bunny numbers were soaring, and it was certainly a sight to behold on the hills around Pennan, often reminding Alice of a scene from Watership Down. On a daily basis Boots returned home at breakfast time with an offering of his own. Sometimes, if he was alone for a while he would dismember the helpless bunny into various tasty morsels as an offering to his family, an eyeball here and an ear there, gruesomely displayed on the utility room floor.
Lottie wasn’t the most alert person in the morning, and inevitably this led to her treading in unspeakable matter as she went to retrieve the milk from the fridge. This usually resulted in a mild form of hysteria which drew Archie away from his TV programmes to join in the melodrama. Alice had given up trying to explain to them that this was a high form of praise in the cat world, and that Boots was simply contributing to the household in his own way.
Sometimes the unfortunate furries would be balanced between a state of life and death, which would galvanise Lottie and Archie into action, as they administered bunny first aid. There was now a specially dedicated triage unit in the corner of the kitchen, complete with a shoe box lined with tissue, otherwise known as the recovery unit. After much discussion about ways to reduce the slaughter, Lottie had decided to attempt to put a collar and bell on Boots to provide an early warning system for the rabbits as Boots stalked them. Unfortunately, Boots was more or less a feral beast and did not take kindly to the offensive collar. Eventually, they achieved the collaring, but not without a significant injury to Lottie, which Alice was sure should have been stitched. Boots sat sulkily in the corner of the room constantly shaking his head and glaring at Archie, no doubt plotting a bloody form of revenge. Convinced he would attempt suicide by hanging, Lottie had insisted that Alice take him to work to keep an eye on him while he got used to the offending article.
Reluctantly, Alice had managed to trick him into the cat
carrier which was now shaking ominously in the corner of the surgery. Giving into her animal-loving instincts she gingerly lifted the cage into the only available recovery pen and released the perturbed Boots, who paced the side of the cage like one of his larger cat relatives. Shutting the door and clipping the latch firmly into place she hastily made her way to the front-of-house where morning surgery was due to begin.
Hearing raised voices in reception as she approached the waiting area, Alice turned the corner and came face-to-face with Pru who was arguing loudly with Elsie, her elderly receptionist. Spotting Alice, Pru abandoned her verbal tirade against Elsie and made a beeline for her. Smiling personably, she moved to meet Pru in the middle of the reception area, hoping to avoid bringing her into the treatment room, from where she would be more difficult to evict.
Shaking her finger in agitation at Alice, Pru seemed to have acquired a high-pitched squeak to her voice which betrayed her highly emotional state.
“You must immediately clear your diary, Sappho is in labour!”
Looking down, Alice spotted Pru’s fluffy pride and joy who was yowling mournfully as she crouched low into her sheepskin mini-rug in the depths of her cat carrier. Immediately recognising from the pitiful noise that there may be a problem with the birth, Alice relented and whisked the basket and its contents through to the surgery.
In spite of the noise Pru was making, Alice managed to lean in and get a better look at the precious Persian pussy. She noted that Sappho fitted nicely into the obese category, despite her heavily pregnant state. Obesity was known to complicate birth both in humans and animals, and although Alice determined that the birth was not imminent, she decided that the best thing for Sappho would be a restful environment minus her semi-hysterical owner.
Looking around, she eyed the holding cage containing Boots. She had not banked on such a full house at the surgery and she didn’t think that Sappho would be happy to share with a feline enemy in her vulnerable state. Fortunately, there was one adjoining cage free. Hoping that Pru hadn’t noticed that Sappho was going to be in the same vicinity as Boots, she hastily removed Pru back to the reception area with a promise that she would be called when the time came. Pru settled reluctantly into a plastic chair and retrieved a snack box which she had abandoned temporarily while on her emergency mission to get Sappho to a medical professional.
Happy that Pru was safely out of the way Alice fired a quick text to Lottie.
Baby, you’re not going to believe who is at the surgery! Only Pru and Sappho and you’re soon to have grand pussy babies! Xx
Waiting for a response, she glanced towards Boots who appeared to have forgotten his post-collaring rage as he strutted backward and forward, flicking his tail and yowling a greeting to Sappho. It appeared that the two had remembered one another despite their brief one-night stand and Sappho rose to meow a greeting in response.
Her phone beeped loudly and she read Lottie’s response.
LOL, oh God, Alice, make sure she doesn’t clap eyes on Boots, she’s bound to finger him as the dad! Xxx.
Her train of thought was interrupted as once again the reception area appeared to burst into a cacophony of noise and Alice once more headed out to the front to investigate. When she rounded the corner she was greeted by a cackle of older ladies all wearing long, shapeless garments and carrying a variety of homemade instruments. In the middle of the group she noticed Pru, who was busily uncloaking a bright orange tambourine, while passing out an assortment of drums to her friends. Pru glanced up briefly and confirmed to Alice that the group belonged to her.
“My spiritual coven, dearie, here to help me with the birthing ritual.”
“Birthing ritual?” Alice had a sinking feeling as she started to anticipate her quiet workplace descending into a Stonehenge-like gathering. Without waiting for an invitation, Pru rounded up her troupe and headed into the treatment room. Alice watched with increasing trepidation as the group, galvanised into action, banged furiously on their collection of drums, while Pru shimmied her tambourine. She produced a hazel branch which was now being brandished ceremoniously around poor Sappho’s cat carrier, which they had not noticed was now empty.
“Come ladies, come! Birthing represents one of the most auspicious and earthly experiences of the female. Sappho needs us now to draw upon our spirit guides to provide her with the optimum birthing environment.”
The other residents of the holding cages raised their own objections to the ensuing chaos, with a variety of barks, growls and groans, in whatever way they were able to muster. Alice couldn’t help but notice that Boots seemed remarkably unfazed by the spectacle, eyeing the group with something akin to amusement from the corner of his pen.
As Sappho progressed farther into her birthing experience, the noise steadied to a communal humming and a low rumbling undertone of drumming, with the occasional untimely tambourine shimmer, which left Alice a little more able to regain her composure before she quietly extracted Sappho from the holding cage and onto the table, assisting in the safe delivery of five striped delights of a decidedly un-pedigree origin.
Licking her new brood clean, she was sure that she saw Sappho glance across to Boots for his approval. However he, it appeared, was engrossed in firmly licking his balls in a silent acknowledgement of his own fertility.
Alice couldn’t help but be amused by his sheer arrogance, but she felt she should probably be talking to Lottie about a little corrective op for Boots to remove the offending body parts. She also thought this would stem his bloodthirsty slaughter of the hapless rabbits of Pennan. Brought back to the present moment by the delighted squeals of Pru, she couldn’t help but soften towards her as she showed clear and genuine delight as she headed toward
s the table for a closer look. Alice headed her off at the table corner, a light sheen of perspiration, the only give away to the stress she felt.
“Sorry Pru, they just need twenty minutes or so. She needs to feed and groom them, and to bond. Then you can come back through for a look.”
Pru smiled, and thanking Alice profusely, she headed back to the reception pulling from her backpack a second snack pack.
Alice manoeuvred Sappho and her brood from the table and back to a free holding cage. She could not help but feel amused as she observed the kittens with their unmistakeable stripy backs and unusually large bush-baby eyes, all belying their genetic heritage.
“Bloody hell, Boots,” she muttered to no one in particular as she bashed out a hasty text to Lottie.
Babe, help! How am I going to stop Pru getting a look at these kittens? She’s like a preening proud parent!
She clutched her phone anxiously waiting for a reply:
LOL! Rather you than me, Alice, probably better done in public anyway, then she won’t make a connection with Boots, so we’ll be fine! Love ya! Xx
Alice grimaced.
Won’t make a connection as long as I can get Boots into a different—
Pru burst through the treatment room doors before Alice could finish her thought.
“Right, let the fox see the rabbit!” she said and headed with speed towards the holding cage.
Alice clutched the edge of the worktop tightly to steady herself. “Prudence, we probably ought to—”
Again, Alice was cut off in mid-flow.
“Dear Gods above! Isn’t this Lottie’s cat? Oh, dear Lord! These little runts look exactly like him. But I don’t understand! Oh wait, I do understand. The group. He must have got to my poor Sappho at the group!”
Alice was galvanised into action as Pru collapsed in a faint and slumped unceremoniously at the side of the holding cage.
Without warning, Boots shot a stripy paw forward, accompanied by a deep and ominous growl. Claws extended, he swiped with a direct hit at Pru, leaving her with a bloodied cheek and an expression of unadulterated indignation, as she regained consciousness.
Alice was horrified at the sheer audacity of Boots, but inwardly chuckled in spite herself, as Pru threw herself forward squealing in misery,
“It’s bloody feral! What on earth am I to do?”
Pussy Parenthood
PRU AWOKE TO take in the surroundings of her snug wood-cladded bedroom. Her bag-laden eyes betrayed the difficult night she’d had as a new parent to five demanding kittens. Pru had always prided herself on her ability to connect with all things feline, but, at four thirty in the morning, she had wept in despair as Sappho continued to provide inadequate parental supervision, apparently considering parenthood something of a bore. Sappho was nothing, if not discerning and Pru felt that the inferior genetic heritage of her offspring may be something Sappho was inherently unwilling to accept.
Struggling to get into an upright position, Pru remained in bed and reached across to pull her curtain open, revealing the beach view at the top end of the small village of Pennan. Despite her difficult night, she smiled with pleasure as she drank in the exclusive view, which had been a deciding factor in her purchase of the cottage, despite the more exclusive postcodes available in Fraserburgh. These were the views which inspired her abstract art creations.
As well as having a true appreciation of the natural beauty of her surroundings, Pru was always focused on new business opportunities, and had readily been able to sell her eclectic artwork to passing tourists. After an astrological star-chart consultation, Pru had been assured that she was innately creative, and despite not gaining local acclaim for her work, she was positive that people from farther afield had a greater appreciation of her artistic talents. She would often sit on a small stool outside her property, plying her trade to passers-by. Annoyingly, the few locals with whom she had become acquainted tended to studiously avoid eye contact when they passed her. The tourists, however were less wary. Often, she would engage them in conversation about the location, considering herself a local historian, she would charm them with anecdotes about the village before moving on to a fairly hard-core sales technique, which frequently left her victims feeling obliged to make a purchase.
Willing herself to get up, she slowly hoisted her leg over the well-worn bed and it returned her efforts with an involuntarily
groan as it dipped to receive the additional weight of Pru’s hefty frame. She rose to complete her morning t’ai chi routine. She wasn’t quite sure how the routine was officially done, but she had developed her own sitting version of the ancient practice in order to reduce the amount of balancing and straining required, as her cumbersome frame wasn’t built for prolonged stretching.
After a couple of minutes of stretching and humming, Pru was satisfied. She ducked to avoid the homemade, dust-laden, crystal chandelier which blocked the exit to her bedroom. She tutted loudly as she stubbed her toe on a pile of books, which were balanced precariously to stop the door from swinging shut in the night. Pru believed in the circulation of air through all the small rooms of the cottage. She had explained this to guests, as being necessary to ensure the passage of the spirits, who she believed lived with her in the house. She would often leave the landing window open to allow them easy exit. After all, her house was the oldest on the street, and undoubtedly held some spiritual companions from the days of poor souls lost to the sea, when the harbour had been more active.
Stooping with some difficulty, she grabbed a couple of books from the top of the pile and moved them to the edge of the large pine chest containing her tambourine. This reminded her that she had yet to plan a theme for this week’s group activity. She had begun to feel that the new starters, Lottie in particular, were taking control, and she felt disgruntled by this, being the founding member and natural leader of the group. Once again, she tutted loudly to no one in particular, as she descended to the living room via the steep staircase.
Pru’s furrowed brow displayed her distaste as she recalled the events of the previous day. She was extremely disappointed to discover that Sappho’s offspring had a mixed biological heritage, and she considered Boots to be from poor stock.
Pru had written in her gratitude diary that she felt she had accidentally purchased a jar of instant coffee instead of her usual superior blend of imported beans, direct from Puerto Rico, fair trade. Pru had written that she was not accustomed to having possessions of inferior provenance. It was well known amongst her associates that she had made it her business to collect low cost, good quality belongings. In fact, her home was bursting at the seams as she struggled to part with anything she had acquired. She chose, instead, to erect cumbersome display cabinets which housed the majority of her curiosities, most of which were covered with an unhealthy layer of dust.
Pru tucked into her hearty, full English breakfast. She glanced around her living area, reflecting that some of her braver friends had told her the room was oppressive. Every wall was clad in dark mahogany and heavily stencilled with a fleur-de-lys pattern, which distinguished the darker lower stain from the lighter stain above. There were few available surfaces, as each bookcase, fireplace mantel and occasional table, groaned with a shocking display of Pru’s crafting activities.
The display of half-completed projects did not provide the onlooker with much reassurance that Pru had any natural talent for her chosen crafts, but this did not deter her. Her small home was literally overflowing with an unimpressive collection of unfinished curiosities.
In the corner of the living room, stood a strange oval-shaped, woven basket from which spilled forth a variety of colourful yarns, and its accompanying, dusty spinning wheel stood proud, but unused. Along the walls an impressive collection of eclectic local art was hung clumsily from the cladding, some of which bore the flourish of Pru’s own signature. Creating her own impressionist versions of local scenery was something Pru was currently pursuing, because she
saw it as a potential source of new income. It was a well-known fact amongst the local community that Pru considered herself something of an entrepreneur, and she was always keen to exploit what she saw as her extensive creative talents, in order to improve her impoverished bank balance.
In her mid-life years, following the end of a long-term relationship, Pru had lived somewhat extravagantly in an attempt to fill the vacuum of loneliness she had experienced. Unfortunately, this had left her in difficult financial circumstances, but unwilling to cut her cloth to tackle her debts, Pru had embarked upon a series of, mostly unsuccessful and expensive crafting courses, with the intention of opening a craft shop on the beach.
In theory this had been a good idea, as the village lacked any outlet for tourist spending, other than the box of hand painted postcards by another local artist, which sat with an honesty box on the corner of the street. Prudence considered these postcards to be rather substandard in comparison to her own selection, although it was hard not to notice the similarities between the two, and Marion’s efforts had been acknowledged in a local travel brochure, much to Pru’s disgust.
While she demolished the final bits of her eggs, Pru leafed absent-mindedly through the books on the nearest shelf. She ran her fingers along the spine of Inuit Women Artists before settling on a copy of Adventures in Knitting. Perusing the pages, she folded corners with the intention of revisiting the potential ideas for quick production of the garments at a later date. Shoving the books back between a volume of Artist’s Houses, and Seaside Interiors, she cleared her plate away to the miniscule kitchenette in the corner