Chapter seven
It was late. The cottage was quiet and the children were asleep –tucked up in sleeping bags on air beds in their chosen bedrooms.
Darcy had managed a sort of tepid shower by crouching in the tiny bath and had changed into her warmest pyjamas, swaddling herself in a thick pale blue chenille dressing gown before flopping down exhausted on the still-wrapped sofa. It made a rude whoopee-cushion noise as she sat and again when she put her feet up, but she didn’t care. She felt like a bit-player in some naff sit-com but had no extra energy to get up and take off the plastic. There’d be time enough tomorrow to remove the wrapping.
The day had been long, tiring and full of unexpected challenges and surprises. Rosie had enjoyed her first day at school and had made not one but three new friends. She had gone to bed full of enthusiasm and was already planning play-dates for the coming weekend.
The other big surprise of the day, well, Darcy revised, quite small really, was occupying the far end of the sofa. Their newly acquired kitten, christened ‘Napoleon’ by Rosie and Connor had been sitting in one corner of the sofa first toying with a loose section of the plastic then plopping himself down and diligently licking his legs.
He stopped grooming and got to his feet, stretching his back into an arc before yawning enormously. Either curious or just needing company, he padded along the length of the sofa, balancing carefully on Darcy’s outstretched legs like someone crossing a log bridge, to curl his lithe little body on her warm lap. She put one hand on his head, gently scratched behind his ears and was soon rewarded with loud purring. He was a pretty tiger-striped tabby with a snow white tummy and face but looked, to Darcy’s eyes, far too young to be taken away from his mother. She’d noticed as he stretched that his ribs were clearly visible under the fur.
“You probably miss your Mommy, don’t you wee chap?” she crooned to the tiny thing as she patted, but the kitten’s eyes had already closed and if he was missing his mother he wasn’t making a big deal of it.
Napoleon had been an unexpected and unsolicited gift from Bertrand, who had popped in to check on progress just before school was out. It was just as well he had dropped by or Darcy, busy cleaning and not yet into a routine, might have forgotten to collect Rosie.
She’d already scrubbed the entire living room and children’s bedrooms and was up the ladder once more, making a start on the kitchen ceiling when Bertrand poked his head in the kitchen window. He had a cardboard box in his hands and, opening it to show Darcy the contents, explained that a friend’s ‘chatte’ had produced an unwanted litter. This little one needed a home rather urgently, the alternative being an unsavoury end to its young life and he’d immediately thought of “les enfants.” He was sure that Rosie and ‘Konour’ would enjoy having something to take care of and the kitten would have a wonderful home to roam around in. After all, he said, how many ‘petits chattons’ had as much space to explore as the chateau afforded? This little chap would be very lucky. It had been a large litter and he’d been a bit under-fed, but Bertrand was sure that with the right food and care he’d put on weight quickly.
All of this was said in Bertrand’s usual full-speed French, but Darcy understood enough to realise that she was being landed with a rescue kitten.
Just what she needed on day one …she would have liked to have said ‘no’ but once Connor and Rosie saw the kitten they were so entranced with their new pet that there was no going back. Napoleon was there to stay.
Bertrand, as if to make amends for foisting the tiny animal on her, had brought enough food for the kitten to get them through the first day or two and went outside around the rear of the cottage, fighting through shoulder-high nettles to switch on the gas water heating before he left again, setting up the pilot light to heat water. Darcy had, up to then, been relying on an electric kettle to boil water for cleaning and cups of tea having flipped the electricity breaker for the cottage when she’d returned from the chateau after finding the ladder.
Darcy let her head fall back on the sofa backrest. It had been a long day of hard scrubbing, washing and rinsing walls and floors. She’d lost count of how many times she’d climbed up and down the ladder but if the ache in her thighs and backside was any indication, it was a lot. Better than any stair-master or gym membership for the old buttocks, she thought idly. She had a feeling that getting out of bed tomorrow morning was going to be something of a challenge, especially since she was planning to sleep on the floor.
Something was causing an itch on her wrist. Probably a reaction to one of the cleaning products, she thought, as she raised her hand to scratch. Some of those cleaning agents could be nasty and her skin was inclined to respond badly. She’d worn gloves but inevitably liquid had run back down her arms when she was cleaning the ceilings.
She pulled the sleeve of her dressing gown back, expecting to see red welts where her skin had reacted to the caustic cleaner, but there was only a single tiny spot of bright red raised skin. It was itching badly now and she scratched her arm knowing she shouldn’t but unable to resist. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was a flea-bite.
She glanced at the sleeping kitten with lips pursed thoughtfully then peered more intently down her robe sleeve. There, Darcy captured the tiny black parasite in a pincer-grip between her finger nails. Oh great. Just what she needed. Next, she used her fingers to gently part the kitten’s fur, sure enough, fleas. No wonder he was so skinny
“Oh, yukkity yuk.” She said under her breath. Cradling the kitten in her hands she removed the furry bundle from her lap and set it back on the other end of the sofa. It would have to stay in here for the night and she’d deal with the fleas first thing tomorrow.
Darcy had set up her own bed on the floor in this room as her bedroom was the one space she hadn’t finished cleaning but she didn’t want to stay in the same room as the flea-infested kitten so she picked up her mattress and sleeping bag and quietly relocated both to the floor in Rosie’s room, after closing the door to the living room firmly so the kitten and its extra baggage would be contained in that space.
She crawled into her sleeping bag, pulled it up tight to her chin and was asleep in seconds.
Collecting Thoughts Page 7