Later that
morning Mrs.. Reece, Mrs.. Mostyn and Mrs.. Trim gathered in Mrs. Trim's kitchen over
cocoa and ginger biscuits to discuss the matter. The hope at first held by the
other two that Mrs.. Trim might be induced to offer the kitten a home had been
shortlived.
'I can't afford
to keep another, and that's flat,' she said with finality. `Besides, there's
Dad's feelings to be considered. He's bitter about the egg bill.' If the matter
was put to Dad she knew exactly what he'd say. He'd say it was hard enough that
he should be a couple of pound to the bad on account of them campers, let alone
be asked to harbour their cat for 'em. `And you couldn't blame him
really.' Mrs.. Reece and Mrs.. Mostyn felt obliged to agree.
'I don't see it
starving,' Mrs.. Trim went on. 'Not when there's mice and birds to be had. It'll
go wild afore long, I shouldn't wonder.'
`Be kinder to put
it away,' was Mrs. Reece's opinion. 'Ted would do it,' she added, looking at Mrs.
Mostyn.
'I dare say he
would. But I shan't ask him.'
`Nor I won't ask
Dad neither,' said Mrs. Trim, 'not till we've tried other ways. If you're so set
on the notion, Amy, why not get Bert to do it?'
'Bert?'
Mrs. Reece
exclaimed with derision. `Not him! He's a proper softie, Bert is, for all his
size. Won't so much as squash a beetle.'
'Ah, that's
true,' said Mrs. Trim. 'He don't like it when Dad shoots the rooks that pinch
corn from the hen run.'
'He's a rare one,
my Bert is. You don't often see a man as don't want to kill nothing. Well, you
two can do what you like.'
'Well, I dunno,
I'm sure.'
No solution was
reached. The only point on which all three were agreed was the wickedness of the
people responsible for the whole tiresome matter.
Just then a
series of squeaks was heard outside. Three heads turned to watch a tall figure
wheeling a bicycle down the rough path to the lane. There was the person best
fitted to offer a home to the kitten, but to adopt a homeless animal was not a
thing you could ask of someone with whom you were not on speaking terms.
'There she goes,'
said Mrs. Reece, dunking another biscuit in her cocoa. `The old misery! Reckon
she's got vinegar instead of blood in her veins.'
'I wonder why she
ever wanted to come and live here.'
'That's what we'd
all like to know.'
`And no one's
likely to tell us, that's for sure. Least of all her.'
Of the two larger
cottages in the hamlet, one was the holiday cottage of a solicitor named
Ferguson and was used only during the summer months and for an occasional
weekend in the winter. The other, so far as her neighbours were concerned, might
not have been occupied at all, for it belonged to Miss Coker. Her gaunt figure
in its raincoat and stout boots was a familiar sight, yet little more was known
about her now than when she had first come to live there. She kept to herself,
silent and solitary. It was thought that her odd behaviour hid some dark secret,
but the truth was that this poor lady had no secret save the great sorrow that
had changed her life.
She had once been
a lively and attractive girl, one of an affectionate family living in a London
suburb. Then one night the family house burned to the ground before anyone could
be saved and at one blow Miss Coker lost everyone who was dear to her. She
escaped only because she had gone out to look for their cat, which had been
missing all day. She never found the cat and she never forgave it for saving her
life.
She lay in
hospital for many months, ill with shock, and when at last she was able to leave
she was a different person, irritable, morose, shunning human company. She left
London to look for a dwelling place lonely enough to suit her. Eventually she
found the cottage in the hamlet, and since she came to live there she never
spoke to the other inhabitants except to complain. Mrs. Mostyn's radio was too
loud. The Reece children had thrown stones on to her roof. Mrs.. Trim's cats
trespassed in her garden. This last infuriated her more than anything else, for
her grievance against one particular cat had grown till it included all
cats.
She first became
aware of the kitten on the fifth day of its ordeal, towards the end of a grey
and lowering afternoon. She had cycled back from the village and was pushing her
machine up the track over the green when she saw a small animal sitting outside
the Trims' front door. As she passed, the door opened a few inches and Mr. Trim's
craggy red face appeared in the crack.
'Dinged if it
ain't still there!'
A missile of some
sort - it looked like an old cloth cap - came hurtling out and narrowly missed
its target. Then the door slammed with a noise like a thunderclap. But to Miss
Coker's surprise the animal, which she now saw to be a small tabby cat with
white feet, did not retreat but continued to sit there staring patiently at the
closed door.
It was watched by other
eyes besides Miss Coker's. From within the cottage, snugly curled on the window
seat, Mrs. Trim's two cats gazed calmly out at the intruder. They had become
resigned to its presence in their domain. On the previous evening the female had
even allowed the kitten to share the saucer of milk put out each night by Mr. Trim. The milk was not intended for the cats but for his hedgehog. Unbeknown
to him, however, the hedgehog had hibernated earlier than usual and the milk was
stealthily consumed by other prowlers until he caught them at it.
WHAT'S
NEW? 