by Vera Loy
The Present
“No one should be alone in their old age,” Rob thought. He was sure he was doing the right thing, despite his mother’s objections.
“It’ll be too much trouble,” she had protested. “How will she manage?”
“It’ll be fine.” He had tried to reassure her.
He knocked perfunctorily on the door and turned the knob with one hand, pushing it open with his hip so he could manoeuvre the box he was carrying inside.
“Aunty Irene?” he called as he walked through the short hallway towards the lounge. “It’s Rob.”
“In here, dear,” came the slightly quavery voice.
He wove his way between the two armchairs with their white lace-covered headrests, past the smart new television set he had helped her choose only a couple of months ago, into the sunny kitchen where his great-aunt sat at the table, her head cocked, looking for him. The large double-sliding glass door behind her showed the garden in all its summer glory, the two apple trees laden with fruit, the pink rose bushes edging the small patch of green lawn.
A large-print book was face down in front of her on the round wooden table which had belonged to her mother, a half drunk cup of tea in its china saucer nearby.
Her wrinkled face broke into a smile as he bent to kiss her soft cheek.
“How are you, Rob?” she asked. “It’s Tuesday. I wasn’t expecting you today, was I?” she added a little hesitantly. Rob normally dropped around every second Saturday to mow the lawn for her.
“I’m fine. I’ve got a present for you,” he smiled, placing the box on the table. “Now don’t worry if you don’t like it,” he added, his mother’s words coming back to haunt him. “I can easily take it back, no problem.”
His Aunt looked at the box. “Oh, Rob, you shouldn’t have,” she protested automatically. But her gnarled fingers were already reaching towards the jaunty pink bow Rob had stuck on top. “What is it?” she asked.
“Here, let me,” he answered indirectly. Aunty Irene was pretty sprightly for her age but the arthritis in her hands was a problem sometimes, especially with fiddly things.
Rob took the bow off and put it carefully to one side. He knew she would keep it to use again later.
He opened the lid of the box and reached inside. Whatever it was, appeared to be heavy. It took him a couple of tries to get a good grip and then the next minute he was lifting out a large tabby cat with a rather disgruntled expression on its wide face. Its furry tail slowly lashed from side to side.
“Oh my goodness,” came the rather startled response.
Suddenly worried that his mother might have been right after all, Rob put the cat gently on the floor.
“Her name is Tabby,” he said quickly. “But I’m sure you could change it if you wanted to. She’s ten years old.”
“Where did you get her?” asked Irene warily.
“Animal Welfare,” admitted Rob. “But if you don’t want her, I’m sure we can keep her instead.” He hoped.
Tabby sniffed the air, then stalked straight over to the patch of sun on the floor and started washing the middle of her back, where Rob had gripped her.
Irene’s face softened. There was something soothing about a cat washing. In the sun. She and Tom had always had cats when they had lived on the farm, but not, for some reason, when they moved to the city. Not after Puss had died, at any rate. And then Tom had died two years ago himself, and she hadn’t had the heart.
“She’s ten?” she asked.
“Or thereabouts, they couldn’t tell exactly. A senior, at any rate!” he smiled. “She shouldn’t dart between your feet like a younger cat.” Rob caught the smile dawning on his aunt’s face as she looked at the cat and felt encouraged. He reached down into the box again. “Here’s her bowl, and a litter tray, just until she gets used to the house. A couple of tins of cat food to get you started. If you want her, that is.”
Tabby yawned widely, showing a mouthful of small white teeth and a pink tongue. She turned her head to stare at both of them, then, judging they were no threat, settled down into a comfortable crouch, her front paws tucked under her chest.
“Of course I’ll keep her.” Irene was slightly surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth. She had her reward when Rob broke into a beaming smile.
“I’ll go and set her litter tray up in the laundry then,” he offered, suiting the action to the words.
“I’ll put her bowl down here in the kitchen, it’ll be out of the way there against the cupboard,” Irene decided, getting up slowly so as not to startle the cat. She opened the tin of cat food and put a small amount in the bowl first. “There you are,” she told the cat. “This is your new home. Tabby? Puss, puss,” she called as she put the bowl of food down on top of a sheet of newspaper.
Tabby rose and came over to the bowl, ignoring Irene’s outstretched hand. She settled down and dug in. Maybe this place wasn’t going to be so bad. She started purring.