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[Phil] So you know how you want a cat?
[Gilbert] No
[Gilbert] You're always saying I should get a cat
[Gilbert] That's not the same thing
[Phil] Well you *should* get a cat
[Phil] This cat <link>
[Gilbert] …
[Phil] She would be purrfect for you *laughing cat emoji*
[Gilbert] Go to hell Phil.
Gilbert was used to Phil sending him links to rescue cats with sad stories and pleading eyes – she had been doing it ever since he had moved into a place of his own – and despite his protestations, he did want a cat. What he would not have admitted to anyone, barely acknowledged to himself, was that having a cat was part of a larger domestic dream: not just a cat, but a dog too; friends coming round to eat and drink and laugh; someone to share it all with.
During lockdown he’d found himself thinking about it more seriously. The idea of coming home to another living creature instead of an empty flat, after days spent interacting with people through computer screens or brief, socially distanced conversations, was incredibly tempting. In the end he’d decided he was too busy and his work too uncertain to take on pet ownership just then, but the idea had taken a deeper hold in his mind. Maybe now was the right time after all? And what harm would it do to investigate how to go about adopting a cat?
But who the heck calls a cat ‘Anne’ anyway?
Gilbert and Phil met for brunch a few weeks later.
"Gil honey, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall face first onto a cheese grater or have an Edward Scissorhands moment while you were shaving or something?"
"Nice to see you too Phil."
Phil grinned. "Come on, let's hear it."
Gilbert picked at his breakfast muffin. "Remember that link you sent me about a cat?"
"The ginger one?"
"Mmhmm, yeah. Well, I decided to adopt her. And," seeing the look of triumph on Phil's face "before you interrupt to crow about being right, would the purrfect cat scratch my face the moment I got her home? No. No she would not."
"Oh Gil. Please don't tell me you pulled her tail and called her 'Carrots'?" Phil joked.
Gilbert glared at Phil. "l'm not going to dignify that with a response. Do you want the story or not?"
"I'm sorry," Phil replied. "I promise I'll shut up."
"Good. Right. Well. I decided that you were right – don’t say anything…” Phil mimed zipping her mouth closed “- and I did want a cat, and when I saw the pictures of Anne… I know it’s an absolute cliché but I couldn’t resist those big, green eyes! And what kind of person leaves a cat in a library book returns box anyway?” Gilbert bristled with indignation.
“People are the worst,” Phil murmured in agreement.
“So I called the shelter, and after a home visit, a whole load of paperwork, getting all her vaccines and things in order, long story short: I picked her up a few days ago.”
“Even though she scratched you?” Phil knew that Gilbert could be stubborn when he set his mind to something but adopting a cat who took an instant dislike to him seemed an uncharacteristically foolish decision.
“No, like I said, that didn’t happen until I got her home. She was fine when I met her at the shelter. More than fine really, for a cat who had been unceremoniously dumped into a library returns box.” He was clearly still fuming about this. “She’s barely more than a kitten! She wasn’t chipped so the people at the shelter don’t think she’s had a proper home before, but despite all that, they said she was quite the character, not shy at all and always trying to explore and climb up stuff! And talkative!” Gilbert’s eyes started to twinkle. “Anne meowed whenever anyone spoke to her! Just like she wants to have a conversation! She’s got this squeaky mew that’s just really sweet, and then a little chirrup sound, like a ‘mrrp’, but it sounds much cuter when she does it…”
His evident enthusiasm drew a smile from Phil; there was no hiding the fact that he was smitten.
“…and she seemed quite happy when I petted her at the shelter.” Gilbert paused and his tone became thoughtful. “But I don’t think she liked being put in the cat carrier much, which makes sense given what happened to her, but my face might have got a bit close when I let her out, and, well,” Gilbert took a deep breath, “she took a swipe at me with her paw and then ran and hid under my desk. I’d forgotten how sharp cat claws can be.” Gilbert winced at the memory, subconsciously dabbed at the scratches on his cheek, and sighed. “And now she’s ignoring me.”
Phil laughed.
“It’s not funny, Phil! I’ve been trying to win her over with cat treats and bits of chicken, but so far all I’m getting is the cold shoulder. She doesn’t meow in reply when I talk to her now.” Gilbert sounded particularly downhearted as he said this, so Phil bit back her laughter and did her best to console him.
“It's probably because of all the changes and she’s overwhelmed and scared. You’ve only just got her. I’m sure she’ll come round to you soon enough, especially if you keep spoiling her. Give her time and space to adjust.”
“Yeah,” said Gilbert, sighing again and looking down at his phone and the silhouette of a cat surrounded by computer cables on his lockscreen.
Gilbert’s talk with Phil left him with renewed hope. It had only been a few days after all and Anne had been through a lot. He'd probably had unrealistic expectations of how quickly she would settle in; he just needed to be more patient until she was ready to be herself and feel at home. Surely the chatty, affectionate side of her that he’d seen at the shelter would re-emerge before too long?
Opening the door to his flat, he thought for a moment that he’d been able to manifest the change just by hoping for it deeply enough. Because there was Anne, sitting composedly in the hallway, looking towards the door as if to welcome him home. His smile broadened at the sight, but only for a moment. Anne looked at him unblinking, and then got up and stalked into the living room.
Gilbert was beginning to realise that nothing could deliver a judgmental look quite as devastatingly as a cat with a grudge.
“I probably should have expected this,” he said to himself as he updated his lockscreen to a photo of a ginger tail poking out from behind a curtain.
[Phil] How’s goes the charm offensive?
[Gilbert] Seemingly Anne just finds it offensive
[Phil] Cupboard love!
[Gilbert] You think I’m not trying that?
[Gilbert] I would greet cupboard love with open arms
[Gilbert] At least I’m getting my recommended two portions of fish a week now
[Phil] I take it these are generous portions with suspiciously cat-friendly quantities of leftovers?
[Gilbert] You may very well think that, I couldn’t possibly comment.
Gilbert stared at the array of cat toys in the fancy pet store and tried to guess whether Anne would prefer a catnip sardine or a mouse stuffie, before deciding to get both and adding a cat toy pinata to the basket for good measure. It was important, after all, to make sure that she had enough stimulation (“especially as she’s ignoring me” came unbidden into his mind). Once home, Gilbert placed all three in strategic positions around the flat. Anne regarded each of them with a show of utter indifference.
Only, a few days later Gilbert found the sardine out of paw’s reach under the bookcase. The fluffy mouse, now somewhat more bedraggled and less stuffed than before, was spotted tucked away in the blanket in Anne’s basket. And the toy pinata, successfully deconstructed into its constituent parts, was discovered variously next to the television, by the fridge, and in one of his shoes in the wardrobe (which also helped explain why his smart trousers were all covered in cat hair, but not how she was getting into the wardrobe in the first place).
Gilbert could probably have saved his money as Anne was quite capable of finding her own entertainment. She took great delight in knocking books off his shelves and batting them around the floor with her paws. “It’s not as if I don’t worship you already,” he muttered, as he replaced an old travel guide to Egypt once Anne had got bored of it and had returned to her preferred spot on the windowsill, with a view of the cherry tree outside. One of Gilbert’s favourite photos was of Anne sitting there with her nose in the air, looking as if she was smelling the blossoms.
This cherry tree gave Anne a gateway to the outside world. She would jump out of the open window onto a branch and then onwards to explore to her heart’s content. She was a familiar sight walking down Gilbert’s street and he was aware that she was a popular visitor to several of his neighbours, who commented on her friendly company and curious nature. One day, the building a couple of doors down was having the gutters cleaned out and Anne, like most cats, took the sight of an unattended ladder leading up to a roof as an irresistible challenge. But, like most cats, her ability to climb up a ladder was in no way matched by her ability to come back down. Gilbert, returning from a trip to the corner shop to get some milk, a tin of tuna and a pizza, was startled out of a reverie by Mrs Andrews calling out to him. “Gilbert! Your cat is stuck on our roof! Would you be so good as to retrieve her?” Mrs Andrews was not one of Anne’s fans. The handyman apologized to Gilbert for not rescuing Anne himself (“Sorry pal. Allergies”) but held the ladder steady for Gilbert to climb. He sensed Gilbert’s apprehension and offered a steady stream of encouraging words, assuming it arose from a fear of heights. Actually, Gilbert was too busy wondering how Anne would react to him to think about how high up he was. “Come on, Anne,” he chirruped encouragingly, and to his surprise she did, jumping lightly onto his shoulders then digging her claws in deeply as he climbed down. Once back on solid ground she was off without a backwards glance and Gilbert trudged home to see about washing the blood out of his t-shirt.
[Phil] So when do I get to meet the elusive Anne?
[Gilbert] Why don’t you and Jo come over tomorrow evening?
[Gilbert] If you don’t have plans already
[Gilbert] We can get takeaway and watch a movie and hope Anne isn’t out avoiding me
[Phil] Jo’s busy
[Phil] But I’ll bring the wine!
[Gilbert] *thumbs up emoji*
[Phil] *smiling cat emoji*
Phil turned up with the promised wine, and a feather on a stick for Anne.
“Trying to curry favour with Anne? I hope it works for you.” Gilbert laughed, not quite managing to keep the bitterness from his tone.
“Oooh, good idea, let’s get curry! I’ve not had Indian for aaaaages.” Phil’s attempt at deflection was blatant but effective. Gilbert went off to hunt out the menu for his local curry house (“You’re so old school! Why don’t we just use the app like everyone else?” “They still print menus for a reason, Phil”) and Phil wandered into the living room, hoping for a glimpse of Anne.
Anne was sitting in her spot on the windowsill watching the raindrops chasing down the windowpane, but she turned her attention to the visitor.
“Hello Anne. I’m Philippa, but everyone calls me Phil,” she said. “Except my mother when she wants to tell me off,” she added, wondering why she was telling a cat this. For all her enthusiasm about meeting Anne at last, Phil was actually a bit uncertain about how to approach her; she wanted Anne to like her - of course she did – but she knew that Gilbert would be hurt (but try not to show it) if Anne paid her any attention while continuing to ignore him. She was saved from having to make a decision as Anne jumped down and came towards her with a welcoming mew. By the time Gilbert came back with the menu, Anne was dancing around trying to catch the feather that Phil was dangling in front of her. Gilbert couldn’t resist taking a photo – it made him smile to see Anne acting so happy, but it was bittersweet.
Things got worse for Gilbert as the evening went on. Anne had been spending a lot of time inside over the last few weeks. Gilbert didn’t know if this was an after-effect of her rooftop experience or because of the almost ceaseless rain that had followed it (Mrs Andrews had timed her maintenance well), but usually she would not stay in the same room as him unless she was being fed. So when Gilbert and Phil sat down with aromatic plates of tikka, daal, rice and naan to watch The Princess Bride (“I can’t choose between When Harry Met Sally or The Princess Bride. Gil, you pick.”) he was surprised to see Anne walking into the room. She ignored them and the food and went straight to sit in front of the TV, blocking the view (as much as a small cat can block a large TV screen) and mewing at the characters. Gilbert didn’t mind - he’d much rather watch Anne than the film; it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before – but Phil went to pick her up. Not only did Anne make no objection to this, when Phil sat back down still holding her, she settled onto her lap facing the TV. Anne continued to meow conversationally all through the movie and when Phil got up to leave, she followed her to the door and meowed a goodbye. “I wonder if she’ll ever talk to me,” thought Gilbert.
After Phil’s visit, Gilbert started leaving the television on sometimes while he was out, as company for Anne. The evidence of a cat hair-covered indentation on a sofa cushion suggested her viewing spot of choice was right next to his, though never while he was there. He came home one evening to find her transfixed by a nature documentary, sitting up close to the screen and patting at the images of flying gulls with her paw. Gilbert snuck a photo of her before she noticed him and walked away into the kitchen. Gilbert set the picture as his lockscreen image.
Gilbert came home happy but weary. He’d met up with Phil and Jo for a day trip and they’d decided it would be fun to try rowing on the lake. And it had been. Only Gilbert was now rediscovering muscles in his back and shoulders that he’d forgotten existed and decided that the situation called for a bath. While Gilbert didn’t often have baths, when he did he did the thing properly – bubbles, scented candles, Enya, the lot. As the bath filled with water and the bathroom with steam Gilbert went to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, only to come rushing back at the sound of a large splash and strangled yowl. He was confronted with the sight of a very wet, very pathetic cat who nonetheless looked at him with scornful eyes. “Oh Anne! What on earth are you doing?” exclaimed Gilbert as he helped the very soggy moggy scramble out of the bathtub. To Gilbert’s surprise Anne suffered to let him dry her off with a towel without a mew of complaint or hint of claw, and Gilbert even managed to stroke her tentatively in an attempt to comfort her after her watery ordeal. But this fragile détente was short-lived; with an abrupt switch in mood Anne turned her back to him and went to sit in her favourite spot on the windowsill.
“I just can’t believe it…You’ll send me the details for the funeral? ... Yeah, I love you too, Mum. Bye.” Gilbert ended the call and put his head back, squeezing shut his stinging eyes and breathing slowly in a vain attempt to stop the prickles around his nostrils. He’d last seen his uncle Matt over the holidays; there had been no hint then that he hadn’t been in perfect health. That there had been anything wrong with his heart. Gilbert clenched his jaw but couldn’t hold back his tears.
Then he felt a shift in the sofa beside him, soft fur under his hand, heard a quiet, questioning ‘prrp?’ and opened his eyes to see Anne looking up at him. She climbed onto his lap and rested her head against his heart and purred. The gentle vibrations grew deeper as Gilbert held onto Anne and cried.
When the tears stopped, Gilbert was still holding Anne. He’d started stroking her without realizing what he was doing, and Anne was looking at him intently. Her soothing purrs helped him bring his breathing back to normal. “Uncle Matt died,” Gilbert told Anne. “Do you remember him? He visited for dinner that time when he was travelling for work. He said he couldn’t face another restaurant meal and would take his chances with whatever I was prepared to make, as long as it involved vegetables! I don’t think he had much faith in my culinary skills. And you loved him straight away.” Gilbert smiled at the memory of his softly-spoken uncle being accosted by Anne the moment he’d walked through the door. She hadn’t left Matt alone all evening, following him everywhere around the apartment, jumping on his lap whenever he sat down, and meowing along with him as he told her stories of his work in salmon conservation while Gilbert cooked dinner. When he left, Anne sat staring at the door. “He’s not coming back,” Gilbert had said. “I’m sorry, Anne.” And now, when he said those words to Anne once more, she licked his hand and meowed.
Gilbert didn’t want to move. He didn’t know why Anne had chosen this moment to sit with him, but he was grateful for it and didn't want it to end. He also had the beginnings of a headache and wanted some water and some painkillers. He took a deep breath and stroked the top of Anne's head. "Thank you, Anne. This meant a lot to me." He lifted her onto the floor and got up to go to the kitchen. Anne followed him. She jumped onto the counter and watched him as he found some tablets and filled a glass from the tap. The moment he sat back down, she jumped onto his lap, nudging her head under his chin and not settling until he'd started stroking her again. He relaxed into the sound of her rhythmic purrs. "Remind me never to play squash," he whispered to her.
It was like a page had turned in Gilbert and Anne’s relationship. When he came back from work the next day, she came running to the door. Gilbert had always said “Hello Anne, I’m home” when he got in. This time, for the first time, she meowed in return and Gilbert couldn’t help but try to continue the conversation. “Did you have a good day?”
“meow”
“Meow?”
“meow”
“Well I suppose you had good weather for it at least. Do you fancy salmon or trout for dinner?”
“meow”
“Good point. Trout it is. And maybe we could watch an episode of Blue Planet?”
“meow”
“Yeah, I thought you might like it.”
“meow”
Anne sat on the sofa next to Gilbert all evening as they watched TV, her head resting on his thigh, and when he went to bed, she was curled up next to him.
Gilbert was slightly startled to be woken up the next morning by Anne sitting on his chest and staring at him intently. They both ate breakfast and then Gilbert got ready to work from home. He hadn’t anticipated that Anne would want to sit on his keyboard while he was trying to type. “I hope you don’t think you’re helping,” he said but he wasn’t really complaining, too thankful that Anne wanted to spend time with him at last. Anne barely let him out of her sight all day and her presence made his video calls more interesting. He managed to persuade her not to sit on the keyboard so she draped herself around his shoulders instead, to the amusement of his colleagues (“like a living Victorian stole”) though they had been less impressed when she’d turned to present them with a close-up view of her bottom (“Anne! I’m trying to look professional!”).
Gilbert found the feather on a string that Phil had bought and teased Anne with it, Anne pouncing and trying to catch it in her paws and Gilbert laughing as she demonstrated her hunting prowess. The first time Anne brought Gilbert a dead bird he did not laugh. Although he felt a certain pride in her abilities and pleasure that he was now deemed worthy of such a gift, this was balanced by concern for the local wildlife and annoyance at having to clear up the resulting mess of feathers and bits of bird carcass. The novelty wore off quickly too, especially when Anne decided that the best place to leave her offerings was by his slippers. Gilbert shuddered to remember a particularly unfortunate occasion when he got up in the morning and put his foot on a live frog instead of a comfy slipper, jolting him instantly awaker than the strongest coffee. He put the frog outside and it quickly hopped away, but he then had to make peace with Anne who sulked at his rejection of her gift. The following weekend Gilbert bought Anne a new collar, in a shade of green that brought out the red tints of her fur beautifully, and with a bell attached.
<ding>
Phil chuckled at the photo she’d received from Gilbert. It was just the latest in a string of photos he’d sent her over the last few weeks, ever since Anne had forgiven him: Anne curled up on his lap, on the bed, in an empty cardboard box; Anne looking regal sitting by the door, or kittenish playing with a piece of string; Anne lying on her back looking for all the world as though she wanted her fluffy tummy stroked (“but don’t be fooled!” Gilbert had commented on that one, and followed up with a photo of his scratched hand); Anne watching hunting lions on TV; Anne jumping from a branch of the cherry tree through the open window, or sitting outside looking at the roses; more selfies of Anne and Gilbert than she could count. This one was of the pair of them lying on the sofa, both with almost unbearably smug expressions on their faces. Phil realised it had been a long time since she'd seen Gilbert looking so happy and relaxed.
[Phil] New lockscreen photo?
[Gilbert] Yup
[Phil] I have to admit it’s pretty cute
[Gilbert] You needn’t seem so surprised!
[Phil] You look like the cat who got the cream
[Phil] Both of you
[Gilbert It’s like a dream come true.
Gilbert was sitting reading on the sofa with Anne on his lap, who headbutted his hand when he neglected to continue stroking her after turning a page. “I never thought I’d have a ginger cat, you know,” Gilbert mused to Anne, fondling an ear. Anne mrrped in reply. “I always thought I’d have a black cat. They’re less likely to be adopted, apparently people think they’re unlucky. Superstitious nonsense, of course. But I think we were destined for each other. You wouldn’t be you with fur any other colour than ginger,” and Gilbert laughed as Anne snuggled in closer to him.
The weather broke earlier than forecast. The air had been stale and oppressive all day. The weather apps had put out warnings for a thunderstorm, but it moved in more rapidly than any of them had predicted. Gilbert had been on his way home and was relieved that he only had a short distance to run from his car to the front door. He couldn’t remember ever seeing hailstones like this; they were setting off car alarms all down the street, and combined with the thunder crashing it sounded like an accident in the percussion section. He hoped Anne was safely at home.
He started to worry when she wasn’t at the door to greet him. There was no sign of her in the kitchen or the living room. In the bedroom though, he heard a faint mew and looking under the bed, a pair of very scared green eyes looked back at him. “It’s OK Anne, I’m here with you now, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said in his most reassuring tone. Anne refused to move as hail, then rain, then hail again dashed against the window, and she whimpered at every flash of lightning and crash of thunder. Gilbert lay on the floor so Anne could see his face and spoke to her calmly, telling her stories about his day, about the book he was reading and the podcast that Jo had recommended to him, until at last the storm faded away. Anne cautiously emerged from under the bed and he cuddled her into his chest.
“Anne! Anne!”
Gilbert was alternating between looking under the cars parked along his street and calling for his cat. Somehow Anne had intuited that a visit to the vet was coming up and before he could stop her, she had escaped Gilbert’s flat when he opened the door to receive a parcel (some new catnip mice which Gilbert had bought by way of pre-emptive apology); he had, naively, thought she was fast asleep on his bed and not a flight risk.
He turned around to see Anne at the other end of the road, snaking round the ankles of a tall woman with long, dark hair who bent down to pick her up.
“Anne! There you are!” Gilbert exclaimed, and the woman turned around in surprise as Anne jumped out of her arms and, in the way of cats, confounded expectation by trotting towards him with her tail up and a happy chirp instead of running away.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” the woman asked Gilbert as he scooped Anne up. Anne bopped her head under his chin.
“Er, no, I don’t think so”, said Gilbert, slightly confused, but the woman continued to look at him questioningly so he added “I was just looking for my cat, and it looks like you found her. I’m Gilbert, and this is Anne.” He held out his hand as Anne settled herself on his shoulders.
The woman shook his hand and laughed as she asked “Mum an Anne of Green Gables fan?”
“Brontë actually. She wrote a dissertation on The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.”
“Ah, I see, that’s why called your cat ‘Anne’. Your ginger cat.” The woman’s eyes sparkled, and she reached out to stroke Anne’s head. Anne shut her eyes and purred.
“I guess it’s an unusual name for a cat,” Gilbert said, belatedly trying to feign innocence about the reference, “but she was called that already, before I adopted her I mean. It seemed like she’d been through a lot and I didn’t have the heart to change it…” Gilbert’s voice trailed away and he looked uncomfortable. He always felt a bit embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that the name was part of the reason he had adopted Anne in the first place. “Anyway, I’d better be getting her home. We need to go to the… actually, I’d better not say. I don’t want her to run away again. You know cats.”
“Hmmm, yes. Well, it was nice to meet you, Gilbert. And Anne too, of course,” she said, giving Anne another pet.
“It was nice to meet you too, errr…” Gilbert hesitated, realizing he didn’t know the woman’s name. Not that it mattered, he didn’t expect he’d see her again.
“You can call me Cordelia,” the woman replied.