Taking in the Laundry

Early one morning from her kitchen window, Grannie Annie studied the storm clouds speeding toward the village. Next door’s clothes danced, pegged out on the line strung over the new family’s back garden.  

She only had a nodding acquaintance with them so far, but they seemed nice enough. The little boy had not come to Storytime at the library yet on a Saturday morning, but she expected he would in time. She knew she would tell the right story for him when he did.

After a moment’s consideration, she realised that nobody would be home in time to take in the laundry before the rain began to pelt down.

She bestirred herself, exchanging her crocheted slippers for her old garden shoes and grabbing her long patchy jacket from the hook. She picked up the empty laundry basket.

As she went out the back door, a gust of wind blew in, shifting some papers on the kitchen counter. She tsked at the wind’s mischief, but didn’t scold. It was only a young breeze that didn’t know any better than to dash into her house like that.

Grannie Annie walked over the oval paving stones to the back gate of her garden, then along the narrow ginnel to the gate that led to neighbour’s. She reached over to free the latch and once she entered the garden, secured it again. The last thing she wanted was it banging in the wind. No need to teach that young wind bad habits.

She unpegged the flapping clothes on the line without a motion wasted:  jeans and towels, nightgowns and thermal leggings, shirts and trousers. She didn’t bother to fold anything like she had folded her own earlier this morning. There was not time. This storm was in a rush. She dropped the pegs helter-skelter into the basket as she went along.

Just as she unpegged the last item from the line, the sky darkened. She hefted the full basket, walking briskly and balanced it on her hip as she unlatched the neighbour’s gate and latched it.

As she continued along the ginnel, a raindrop splashed onto her nose. “Now then,” she said, giving the grey clouds a hard stare. The storm held its breath.

She nodded with satisfaction as she opened her own gate, secured that, and carried the full basket toward her back door where a black Persian cat with white paws was waiting for her.

“Come for a visit?” she asked as she opened the back door.

He streaked in ahead of her, not deigning to answer. She had seen him before, but only at a distance. Cats often claimed more than one home as theirs, of course, but he was lucky she did not currently have a cat who would resent his intrusion. Perhaps he knew that when he sought shelter.

Grannie Annie closed the door behind both of them as the rain began a real onslaught. She placed the basket on the kitchen table and gazed out the window, relishing being indoors when a storm held sway outside, though part of her lifted and took wing because she always preferred stormy weather to sunshine.

After hanging up her patchy jacket and swapping her old garden shoes for the cosy slippers she had crocheted, she held the kettle under the tap long enough for making two cups of tea without, of course, switching it on yet. She always liked to be prepared.

One by one, she plucked everything from the basket until only the pegs remained in the bottom. Humming to herself, she folded a pair of jeans before continuing with the rest of the heavier items, stacking them all in the basket before progressing to the lighter items. The black and white cat, grooming himself on the linoleum next to the fridge, rearranged his long limbs into the various poses of feline yoga.

Satisfied with a job done, Grannie Annie went into the living room and added another lump of coal to feed the crackling hearth fire. When she sat down in the big armchair, the black and white cat strolled in from the kitchen and curled up on the red and gold paisley half-moon rug.

“Make yourself at home,” she told him as he stared into the flames. Rather than take up her latest crochet project, one of two baby blankets for someone at the library who was expecting twins, she also watched the fiery dance while tracking the progress of the storm. No thunder or lightning, but a steady, cleansing downpour.

Grannie Annie opened her eyes, releasing the storm which was travelling north, and roused herself to head into the kitchen just before the knock came on the back door.

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Rebecca from next door. “You are a star for taking our laundry in.”

“Always glad to be of help,” Grannie Annie replied and clicked the switch on the kettle. “Cup of tea?”

“Please,” the neighbour said, “I’ve just time before I need to fetch Jimmy from school.”

“Welsh cakes?” Grannie Annie inquired. “I’ve been baking this morning.”

“That would be lovely,” the neighbour said. “It’s been so busy at the Co-op today. I was glad to get away. Lucky I’m not full time. Two sugars, please, but just a splash of milk.”

Grannie Annie moved the basket of rescued laundry to a spot near the back door, then placed a plate of Welsh cakes on the kitchen table, opened a jar of her own plum jam and set the butter dish down beside it. Then she prepared both cups of tea.

As they nibbled and sipped in a comfortable silence, a notion came to Grannie Annie so she asked, “How is Jimmy doing?”

“Not brilliant at the moment,” Rebecca said.

Grannie Annie listened as if she were a lake, each sentence a pebble dropped into it, ripples spreading out. The little boy was wailing the house down, just about. And both parents though appearing strong were mightily upset as well, though they managed to say hopeful things to the boy, of course. The beloved family cat was missing for three days now.

“I honestly don’t know what to do,” the neighbour said finally. “I ring the vets twice a day in case Casper is brought in. I know they promised to phone, but in case they got busy.”

Grannie Annie remembered the poster she had seen at the library. Best to be sure, however. “A Persian, isn’t he?”

The neighbour nodded. “Definitely. I’m the one that has to groom him. Such long fur, but we love him to bits, especially the little lad. This morning, Jimmy threatened to stop eating until we find Casper. I don’t know what I’m going to say when I pick him up from school.”

“A black cat?” Grannie Annie inquired.

“Yes,” the neighbour said, “with white paws. Quite a handsome cat.”

“Excellent photo, yes,” Grannie Annie agreed. She glanced behind the neighbour where the Persian black cat with white paws was standing. She watched the neighbour nibble another Welsh cake and waited until she had swallowed some tea and put the cup down again. “Caspar,” she said, “you have been a naughty boy.”

“What?” said the neighbour, then she turned around in her chair when she saw where Grannie Annie was gazing. She bent down and whispered endearments. Caspar stared at her before deciding to come to her and be petted.

Grannie Annie smiled at the reunion, sipping her tea. Timing was everything. If she hadn’t prompted her to bring the laundry in, Caspar might still be wandering. Looking out the kitchen window, she sent a thank you to the distant storm.

To be on the safe side, Rebecca nipped along the ginnel and came back with the cat carrier. By that time, Caspar had settled himself in the laundry basket on top of the folded laundry. The neighbour laughed and petted him. “I won’t scold you now that you’ve come home.”

Grannie Annie stared at Caspar until the cat felt her watching him and turned his head toward her. “Stay closer to home,” she whispered so quietly that only the cat heard her. “That little boy needs you.”

Caspar held her stare a bit longer, then looked away.

Message received, Grannie Annie thought and asked, “Shall I open the doors and the gates for you?”

“Please,” the neighbour said, “that would be great.”

Caspar was escorted home in the laundry basket like a prince, with Grannie Annie carrying the cat carrier which now had a plastic container filled with Welsh cakes inside.

In Rebecca’s kitchen, she liberated the Welsh cakes and set them on the counter.

“Oh, but I should be thanking you,” the neighbour said.

“Never you mind,” Grannie said, “I can’t eat that many Welsh cakes on my own.” Though her tummy insisted she could, her mind was wiser. “And I’m sure Jimmy will like them.”

Caspar sat by his food dish, staring at Rebecca who didn’t seem to notice.

“I think he’s hungry,” Grannie Annie said, exchanging a glance with the cat, and made her way home again.