by Ruth Hay
I welcomed him inside and we chatted for a while as he gave Catling a cursory look. Anyone could see at a glance that she was thriving beautifully.
I asked if he had any news from the RSPCA.
“I understand they have found all the places where Alan Crawley dumped the bodies, but the man has not been tracked down. I know his career in animal sales is over for good. The entire matter has been a warning for others who trade in animal misery. That’s the benefit of the news going out to everyone.”
“Dan, I have no television here. Can you tell me if my name came into any of this? I don’t welcome the publicity at all.”
Dr. Dan knew there were a few missing pieces in the story, such as how I had found the barn all by myself in the midst of a storm in the huge Dartmoor area. He had never asked outright, but I knew he had his suspicions.
“Well, nothing came from me, but I think Joan Crawley may have found out about your name from the police. Her interview was reported in the Exeter newspapers.”
I was about to say that was unfortunate, when the strange jolt came into my brain again. It was like a first stab of a migraine headache without the following effects.
I stopped short, and my face must have shown my puzzlement.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not really! Just an unusual feeling. I’m all right now.
Can you stay for some tea or a cool drink?”
He declined with thanks and was soon off down the hill by bicycle to his Vet Van and his busy practice.
I sat back and wondered what was going on. This feeling in my brain was highly unusual. Was it possibly a type of psychic intrusion from someone I did not know?
Who had that kind of power? I had met only a very few individuals who could communicate in this way. The jolt I felt was unfocussed, but there was power behind it nonetheless.
It was a puzzle all right. A puzzle with no obvious explanation or solution.
I dismissed it as an anomaly …………………………….. but not for long.
The next day after Dr. Dan’s visit, I had a call from the town’s one postal outlet. They had received a letter addressed only to Justine Dixon, Perranporth, Cornwall.
The letter was pinned to a bulletin board in the post office until Pauline saw it and claimed it must be for her neighbour. She gave them my phone number
The call was to tell me to verify this information by coming in person to collect my letter.
I could not imagine who would send me a letter. No one knew where I was. I had deliberately kept my information secret. If Simon wanted me, he would use the usual channels.
This was strange and disturbing.
I intended to drive to the post office to collect my letter but first I had to secure Catling inside the car. With her mobility improving each day, she could not sit on my knee or be left to wander around getting into trouble. I searched my belongings for some kind of restraint. The only thing I could find of any use was my knapsack. There was a large outside zipped pocket.
If I placed one of the towels inside and partly zipped the pocket, it should provide a small safe space for the kitten. I needed to do some food shopping in town and this would allow me to keep the knapsack over one shoulder so I could guard Catling, and also get my errands done.
If this idea did not work out, Catling must go back into the car until I returned.
I hoped she would enjoy some exposure to the world outside of Sea View.
All was well at the local grocer’s shop. I collected my purchases in a plastic bag in one hand, and kept my other hand on the little round shape inside the zipped pocket. So far, Catling had shown no inclination to investigate the wider world.
When I reached the fishmonger, however, the smell attracted her attention and the little head popped out to the surprise of the man in the queue beside me. That led to a brief conversation in which I divulged nothing and collected my order quickly.
My last stop was the post office.
I showed my credit card for evidence of my name but I had to tell them where I was living in the rented house.
“Aha! That explains why we haven’t seen you here before, Miss Dixon. We did not know where you were living. Welcome to Perranporth!”
The exact moment when I received the letter into my hand, I felt the same jolt in my brain and I had to stop briefly and refocus my eyes. This time the jolt was stronger.
Catling’s head emerged suddenly from the zipped pocket as she mewed in my ear. Before she could be noticed again, I turned and ran back to my car in some confusion.
Was this strange phenomenon to be a regular occurrence? If so, it was not a welcome one.
I was usually in control of my powers, after long years of practice. This was something new and unwanted, and I must determine the source, and eliminate the source, as soon as possible.
When we reached the safety of Sea View, I released Catling from her pocket prison. She reacted by quivering all over and restoring her fur into its normal smooth places. I went into the kitchen to stow my supplies and found Catling at my heels as if she was afraid to lose sight of me.
Perhaps, I thought, she felt unsettled by being exposed to so many different smells and sights in the town. I figured she would sleep soon.
I made tea and gave her a bottle. She gulped the food down quickly now and it was definitely responsible for most of her growth. She seemed to change every day.
With tea nearby, I sat down on my chair by the window with the letter in my hand.
It was time to solve the mystery.
I had no sooner slit open the envelope with my nail, then Catling jumped onto my lap, purring loudly. She would have to wait for petting while I found out who had my address …… and why?
Dear Justine
I found your location by making a nuisance of myself to a young college student called Penny who was mentioned in a newspaper article. She was keen to talk about recent events regarding the rescue of neglected animals and finally gave in and gave me what I wanted.
I knew it all had something to do with you, my dear, as you always had a strong attraction to animals.
This was ridiculous! Who was writing to me in this personal way?
I flipped at once to the end of the second page to see the signature.
Two things then occurred simultaneously.
My heart stopped for a second in shock, and the brain jolt almost knocked me off my chair.
Gasping for relief, I looked first at Catling. Her eyes were huge, dark golden, and fixed on my face and she was perfectly still, as if concentrating.
Suddenly several signs came together. Catling was the common denominator in these highly unusual brain jolts. She was near me every time it happened.
Not only that, but the impact was getting stronger, especially at the exact moment when I read the name of my mother at the end of the letter.
Sixteen
Several minutes of chaos ensued while my brain tried to absorb this information.
Was it even possible that my little kitten could communicate with me, brain to brain?
I had never before heard of anything this improbable.
Yes, I could send messages to grown cats, like the Siamese Ramses, when I needed to, but they were exceptions to the general rule. Mostly, the cats that were attracted into my sphere, were interested and curious about me. They could sense vibes in my vicinity that intrigued them.
This direct style of communicating was something of an entirely different order.
I looked again at Catling. She still held my gaze with her golden eyes and there was a suspicion of a smile on her face, if that was even possible?
Was I now imagining things?
What had I taken on when I scooped this little creature from an early grave by the riverside that day? And, what was the link between Catling and this unexpected letter?
I put that unanswerable question aside for the moment, and returned to reading my letter with a dry mouth and a thumping pulse.
>
What next?
Oh, I am well aware, Justine, that we two have been separated for these many years and you are a person who I do not know any longer. I could say the same about myself, of course.
I met a wonderful man and we married a year after I left Wychwood.
Oliver Rosyth is a musician who writes excellent music for several different touring groups.
We have a nice house here in Exeter with room for a visitor at any time. You will see the address at the end of this letter. I hesitated to put it on the envelope in case my letter was returned to me without efforts being made to find you.
Knowing you were back in Cornwall after this long time, gave me the courage to contact you.
It has been far too long and there are questions you need to know the answers to.
Please, my dear and only daughter, please give me the chance to answer these questions for you.
Life is an uncertain thing for everyone. I want to find you again before it is too late.
My Oliver says this is a vain attempt. He does not yet know how special you are, and about the ties that forever bind mother and daughter.
Help me prove him wrong, Justine.
Always yours,
Estelle Dixon Rosyth
It would be a very hard heart to be unaffected by the earnest pleas of a mother.
My heart, I discovered, was not that hard.
All of this family turmoil, in addition to the strange brain jolts, required thought, consideration, and interpretation. It was altogether too much to deal with at one time.
I gave up and went to the kitchen for another cup of tea since the first one was now quite cold.
Had I possessed something stronger to drink, I would definitely have favoured that choice, but tea would have to do for now.
I tried to organize my thoughts over tea and cookies, but nothing went together to make any kind of sense.
Catling was chasing a leaf around the kitchen floor and looking for all the world like a normal kitten. So, then, what was that look she gave me before, when I was reading the letter, and,
why was she so different now?
Again, I tried. Finally, there was nothing for it other than to consider the impossible.
Wasn’t there a common saying that suggested when one has tried everything likely, the unlikely must be the answer?
The most unlikely conclusion was that my little Catling had reacted every time something connected to the letter was mentioned in my presence. She had reacted most strongly when I was actually about to read the letter.
If that were true, and I still could not accept the premise, what was the reason?
Each partial step forward led me to another problem to be solved.
What could be the connection between Catling and my mother’s letter? The two were not even of the same species, never mind had never even heard of each other’s existence.
This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute and I was seriously perplexed.
I did not enjoy unsolved mysteries. I disliked, particularly, being in the middle of a mystery that I could not decipher.
I was beginning to think there was very little chance of sleep this night and I had lost enough sleep the last months without starting down that dark path again.
I sat back and looked at Catling playing happily on the floor.
What did you want, little one?
Without really meaning to, I applied my question directly at the kitten with more force than I intended. She stopped at once and gazed at me with that big-eyed, golden stare that was really beginning to look positively uncanny.
Like a shot from a bullet came the answer.
It was not a word. It was more like a concept composed of snippets of scenes flashing past me.
I grasped at the snippets and my conscious mind formed them together into the most likely interpretation.
Mother
The word flew into my mind, unbidden.
What? How?
This was unprecedented. This was stupendous! This was amazing!
I now had proof that Catling had a mind link with me. Despite her early stage of development, she already possessed a quality most extraordinary, and somewhat frightening.
What would she be able to do when fully grown?
Could her messages overwhelm me and/or other people nearby?
What must I do to protect her?
I swooped her up in my arms and sat there stroking her head as much to comfort myself, as her.
I began to wonder if Catling was reading my dreams during those long nights when I could not slip into deep sleep because of her feeding schedule.
Was that even possible, or was I deceiving myself entirely?
I did not dare to attempt another experiment so soon. The very thought unbalanced my rational thinking.
There was some small consolation in believing this incident had been a once-and-only anomaly. It would never happen again. Catling had achieved her objective in alerting me to the importance of my mother.
It might never happen again.
I felt I had to cling to this or go mad.
There was another matter I now must deal with, and I needed my full mental strength for it.
How would I respond to my mother’s request to meet with her and her new husband?
That night my dreams were a horrible mix of the scary and the marvellous.
I was walking through a dreamscape consisting of signposts and roads. I followed along, reading the signs and eventually found the familiar name, Exeter.
What was the significance of that?
In my dream state, I next saw the name repeated on every signpost around me. I stood in the centre of the ring of names and the importance slowly bore in on me.
This was the town I had chosen in which to begin my return to Cornwall.
This was the town where I encountered Alan Crawley and Crawley’s Cuties.
This was where I chose the North Coast and returned to the broken cottage on the clifftop where my earliest memories were.
In my search for a house, I had revisited Newquay and my childhood memories of that place.
This was how my mother found me again in an Exeter newspaper through my efforts to save animals.
Exeter was central to everything I had done, and now it was revealed to me in the letter as the town where my mother had settled.
Every decision I made had led me to this conclusion.
Every signpost along the way here was significant.
I could not ignore the importance of this.
I, who prided myself, on my special abilities, had seen nothing of the path leading me to this point.
I was not at any time conscious of the influence, but that did not diminish the validity of the information given to me.
I must return to Exeter and see my mother after many years apart.
Seventeen
There was no question of leaving Catling behind if, and when, I visited my mother.
Catling was growing bigger and more beautiful every day, and her dependence on me was as strong as ever. In every way, other than biological, I was her substitute mother, her security blanket, and she meant to cling to me wherever I went.
The zipped pocket in my knapsack was no longer big enough. I could not drop her into the larger space at the bottom of the bag as she would be in the dark and unable to see around her.
I experimented with a few ideas but nothing did the trick until I looked online and found a site on which all kinds of useful items for pets were advertised for sale.
I chose a sort of handbag with a long strap. What made it useful to me was the fact that it had a padded interior and several stud fastenings on the top edge, so that an animal, small dog or cat, could be confined inside or allowed to see out without escaping completely. I estimated that I could place the long strap across my body when walking, and still have two hands free. When travelling in the car, the handbag could be secured with the passenger seatbelt and Catling wou
ld be easy to see and monitor. This travelling animal situation would be a first for me.
I refrained from making any definite plans to go to Exeter until the handbag carrier arrived and I could thoroughly check it out.
I did understand I was deliberately delaying a decision and that was fine with me.
The summer progressed.
Catling grew to be a fine animal and no further brain jolt communications occurred.
I settled down again and tried to forget my concerns.
Sooner than I wanted, the cat carrier arrived.
Our first outings were to the town centre for shopping expeditions. Catling caused some interest, particularly when her head popped out and her golden eyes were noticed. I grew used to comments about whether she was really a house variety of cat, or another more exotic species. I could not reveal that I suspected she was far from a common or ordinary cat, but that was not information for casual encounters.
Catling was not alarmed by meeting strangers. She enjoyed John and Sarah’s visits and tolerated their less-than-gentle handling of her fur. She was comfortable in the car and in her carrier. I wondered if she believed she was partly human!
In other words, I had no excuses left to delay the trip to Exeter.
My next decision was whether, or not, to inform my mother and her husband of my arrival.
I deliberated about this and decided to turn up unexpectedly, as this would let me see how
this married couple related to each other under the stress of my visit. I had no concerns about Catling’s presence. If it turned out that either of them was allergic to cats, my visit would end quickly and I would return to the Exeter hotel where I had stayed before.
Everything, in other words was staying flexible, and that felt like security for me. The amount of uncertainty I was accumulating about this encounter with my mother after so many years, was
alarming to me. I strove to conceal it and keeping all my options open was my best comfort strategy.