THE TUXEDO CAT

THE TUXEDO CAT

It was a dream come true, but ironically a dream encompassed within the greatest nightmare I had ever had. For a while all my woes were forgotten as I stood looking through the window in wonder. Yesterday’s abundant shades of green had magically turned into a white Christmas scene, a real one, for I had never seen snow before. As the snowflakes drifted down, faster and faster, I thought I heard the ringing of bells, and a hearty “Ho-ho!”

But the “Ho-ho!” was a “Mew-mew!” It was that Tuxedo again. I opened the door to the cozy little cottage that used to belong to my sister, and there sat the cat, leaving a furrow in the snow behind him trailing back toward the main mansion.

“Glad you could make it,” I said, “come in and settle on this cushion.”

He walked to the refrigerator and looked up at me, and asked “Something for me in there please?”

“Of course there is, I am always prepared for a visitor.” I took out the left-over tuna and dished it into his saucer, for by now he had a saucer of his own.

I settled down into my chair with a sweet, hot cup of tea. The Tuxedo mewed “Thank you!” and jumped onto his cushion and curled up.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said, “in fact, I owe you some thanks.”

“What for?” mewed the cat.

“For coming to visit me, for I am extremely lonely.”

“But why are you lonely, you are such a nice lady, surely you have relatives?”

“No, not any more.”

“And friends?”

“Not here. They are far, far away in a land beyond the sea.”

I smiled – I was talking to a cat, and I was quite prepared to tell him my whole sad story!

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. I knew not a soul in London, not even in the whole of England.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Mark, the Baron’s master.”

“The Baron?” I asked.

“Yes, the cat. I followed his tracks up to your door.”

So Mr Toby was back from his house on the Isle of Wight, I remember my sister having told me that he would be away for much longer. I opened the door. His mouth and nose were covered by the compulsory face mask in these times of the Covid 19 pandemic, but I could see his eyes – blue, alive, inquiring, kindly, beneath thick and rather wild grey brows, the hair on his head white. He introduced himself as Mark Toby.

“Your sister called me Mark, and I would like you to do so too”, he said.

So he knew. I was spared having to tell him the worst, but I knew that I would have to spell out my predicament.

“My sincerest sympathy with the loss of your sister, I mourn her too, she was like a daughter to me. The weather did not permit me to come sooner, I am so sorry you had to go through this alone, but I want you to know that I am here for you as your own blood family would have been.”

We both cried. He, still standing in the door opening in the bitter cold, I a few meters away, abiding the Covid Regulations.

“I have to isolate for 14 days, having travelled. David, from the house, will come every day. Give him a list of what you need, he will see that you get it. Now, you go and have a nice hot cup of chocolate and get into bed early and rest peacefully, we are here for you now.”

I could barely stutter my thankfulness before he quickly turned back to the mansion.

“Now, isn’t that a relief!” mewed the Baron.

“It sure is. I’m not going to think how I can overcome the future beyond these next 14 days, I’m going to do what Mark said – hot chocolate, then a warm bed.”

“Can I join you?”

“You can have warm milk, and then we’ll snuggle together.”

“Mew, mew!” the Baron demanded breakfast, much too early to my liking for it was still dark and terribly cold. I had started wearing my sister’s thermal clothes which weigh about nothing but keep you warm. What next! My classmates at university will laugh at my ‘joke’, we also wear clothes that weigh about nothing, but to keep cool under the hot African sun.

We each had our own hearty breakfast, the Baron and I, and then, encouraged by the good night rest and the good breakfast, I put an unfinished painting on the easel and picked up my brush. The Baron jumped onto the little table where I had arranged the paints. Focusing as intensely as a leopard does on his prey, he focused on the tip of my paint brush following the procedure from the palette to the stroke on the canvas.

“What is that long, curved yellow thing there?” he mewed.

“It’s a beach, the beach where I come from. See, there’s the blue sea with the waves breaking near the beach.”

“But where are the pebbles on the beach?”

“No pebbles, just sand. It looks exactly like this – do you like it?”

“Hmm … yes, it does seem quite beautiful. Is it warm there?”

“Yes. If ever I get the chance to go back I will take you with me. I must first generate money, perhaps sell a few paintings. I don’t know how, but I am going to try. Would you like to go with me?”

“I’d love to! But what will Mark say?”

As I lifted my brush from the palette, he could no longer contain his inquisitiveness to also try, and he tentatively stuck out his one front paw, and then before I could prevent the catastrophe, he promptly smeared his paw through the colours on the palette.

During that fortnight of Mark’s compulsory isolation I often found myself standing at the window, looking out at the beautiful picture in white, or watching the snow as it fell at intervals. And I painted vigorously. I took a chance and put canvases and a colour or two of oil paint on my list for David, and to my delight all was delivered. I knew I would have to pay in the end, but I had no other option, I needed the materials to do my job. The Baron and I became inseparable, and he never tried his copy-cat act with the paint again and I don’t blame him!

And then it was time for Mark to come again, and with that, an unexpected turn-about in my circumstances. He admired my paintings, he asked about my life, about my current financial circumstances, and because he was like the kindest grandfather I could ever wish for, it all came out.

I was to go back to South Africa on a repatriation flight and resume my life with my artist friends in our communal near the sea until the universities opened again, all costs paid – by my new grandfather. As I packed my belongings, together with my late sister’s, the Baron sat watching me.

“Why are you going?”, he asked.

I wiped a tear.

Then it was time to go.

“Be careful, the frozen surface is smooth,” said the Baron.

He took the lead, he knew the trick. I hovered.

“Come along”, he said, looking back.

So I took my first tentative step out onto the smooth surface, carefully following the Baron, starting on my long journey home.