– Holmes, you are no gentleman!
Clara brushed away the trailing thread of mischief, which, by some peculiar whim of nature, had taken the form of a cat, and sneezed.
– Ugh! Where have you been? Your tail is all covered in cobwebs! I know I’m no domestic goddess, but this is a bit much, isn’t it? Did you roll through every attic in London? And for heavens sake, get off me!
The cat barely twitched an ear. He continued perched on Clara’s pillow, gazing down at his wild-haired mistress with royal disdain. The tip of his ginger tail flicked, smacking Clara on the nose, making her yelp and leap almost to the ceiling.
– Good morning, you say?! Id rather you all vanished at onceIm not responsible for myself right now!
The hamster, on loan from Claras young neighbour while the family holidayed in Devon, darted into its house, deciding to skip breakfast for today, while the lazy ginger puddle on the floor barely flicked a glance her way. The cat, whom Clara had rescued two years back from the alley behind the pub sickly and skin-and-bone had flourished into a plump, brazen tyrant. Hed made himself the most punctilious, and unwanted, alarm clock even when nobody wished for it.
But today, Holmes, named after Claras favourite literary hero, was justified in his punctuality. Clara glanced at the clock and gasped, then tore off to the bathroom, realising she was scandalously late all over again.
– What is wrong with me?! Two alarms! Two! And I didnt hear a single one. How is that possible?!
She shoved open the shower and turned on the tap.
The wail that followed sent the hamster burrowing deeper into its little house, resigning lunch and maybe dinner as well, while Holmes poked his curious nose round the bathroom door, staring in surprise as Clara hopped on one foot, chattering her teeth.
– Not again! No hot water!
A tirade of wrath followed, which the cat endured with such a zen expression that Clara almost calmed down.
– RightI just need to have a bit of a yell. Dont be alarmed, all right? This waters arctic!
Holmes ignored her, leaping onto the toilet lid (Clara had finally trained herself to keep it closed), kneading it a bit before settling down, watching her so insolently that Claras bad mood quickly returned.
– Turn your head! Have you no shame? Sitting there gawping!
Indistinguishable grumbles and mutters followed, which Holmes no longer acknowledged, well-versed in his owners tempestuous ways.
Once upon a time, hed been a rather serious cat. A show cat, with rosettes and silver cups. His kittens were valued almost by the ounce, and his owner adored the prestige. But it didnt last long. After one show, Holmes fell ill for no clear reason. Vets shrugged and ordered more tests, while the owner withdrew him from stud.
Back then, he was called Hector. His full name was an elaborate affair that nobody, least of all the cat, could recall in its entirety. On show days, thered always be confusion with the nameno matter how much they tried, even printed on the programme, it was a tongue-twister.
But all of thatthe status, the namebecame worthless once it emerged that Hector couldnt have more kittens. In theory, yes, but buyers wouldnt line up for them.
The owner wasnt pleased. Overnight, Hector went from pride of place to a burden.
He sensed it, deep in his bones, when he went to his owner for a scratch behind the ear in the evening, but instead was met with a curt:
– Off you pop nowno time for you tonight.
Weeks later, he was sold.
A stranger collected himan odd young woman with bubblegum-pink hair cropped short and long vowels spilling from her mouth. She eyed Hector in a way that made it clear this wouldnt end pleasantly. She haggled with flair, and soon Hector was bundled into a carrier, his former owner not meeting his eyes, unmoved by the low, mournful yowls clawing out from somewhere deep in Hectors soul.
He was carried off on a long journey, then tipped unceremoniously from the carrier with the warning:
– Make a mess, and you can find yourself a new place.
Of course, he did. Several times. He had no wish to linger where he wasnt welcome.
To be fair, his new mistress didnt banish him at once. She even took him to the vet, searching for a reason for his wickedness.
But by an odd twist, she took him to the same practice where hed been treated before. Hearing his old case history, she went palethough the bill was saved for the second visit, to spare her delicate nerves.
– How much?!
That same evening, Hector was bundled into the carrier again. Next stop: the bins behind the chip shop, where he was left for fate to do as it pleased.
Clara found him quite by accident. The carrier, shiny and new, was ignored by busy passersby, wedged behind the bins out of sight. Hector was trapped in a strange placedark, foul-smelling, and inescapable. He scrabbled at the door, claws sliding uselessly over the bars, and eventually curled up on the cold plastic floor, not even a towel for comfort, nose buried in his half-bald tail. No way out, no food, nobody listening. What he longed for most was his old owneror anyonesomeone to come to cradle him, whisper,
– Hector, my boy, time to come home.
But nobody did. People came to bin their rubbish, then went on their way, disregarding the carrier left in the shadows.
Clara, a kind soul, walking her neighbours neurotic little spaniel while its owner recovered in hospital, made an early start to take out the rubbish.
That spanielBella, grandly named Isabellagave a shrill bark at the reek from the carrier. Clara hissed her quiet, mortified the neighbours might complain.
– Bella! Have you lost your wits? What is it, a rat?
Isabella indicated, with regal disdain, that vermin would not merit her attention, and pulled at her lead.
At Claras gentle Here kitty, kitty Hector didnt respond. She almost set the carrier back down, presuming him gone, but the very tip of his tail twitched. Clara shrieked, echoing Bella’s yapping.
– Alive!
Then there was a commotion so wild that Hector still recalled it with bemused alarm. Who knew a slight, dainty girl could be so loud, frenetically bustling, and wonderfully odd?
She dumped him in the washing up bowl, scrubbing him clean of every last scrap of grime, working off great chunks of his once-magnificent coat.
Bundle-wrapped in a bath sheet that unmistakably belonged to the lady herself, Hector was so bewildered he didnt protest. Presented with a dog bowl of spaniel kibble shared by Isabella (who did not approve), Hector regarded Clara with a sudden, keen curiosity.
– What? Its sort of meat, isnt it? If the dog eats it, its good enough for you. Sorry, friend thats todays menu. Im broke. Mums back Sunday, so well have to fend for ourselves till thenIve already spent all my wages. Want to see?
Clara, cross-legged on the kitchen floor, leapt up so suddenly the cat chattered his teeth in alarm.
– Did I frighten you? Get used to it! Bit chaotic here always a surprise. But youll understand. Its not as bad as it seems.
She proudly showed off her shiny black stilettos. The cat was unimpressed. He stared at her, wondering if shed one day be the sort to throw him out with the bins.
– Dont like them? I do! As they say, Fit for a party or a funeral and everything between. Im stylishand so are they. Dont look at me like that! I didnt invent beauty. My mum says so. I believe hernever lied to me, not once!
Mind you, the only fib her mum ever told was that Claras father had been a missing aviator, presumed lost before her birth. She later learned he had no connection with aviation, but he was a lovable rogue and a tippler, so Claras mum invented that story so her daughter wouldn’t grow up doubting herself.
Strangely enough, when Clara learned the truth as a teen, she took it in stride. She had a bit of a cry, then declared she only needed one parent anyway, since the world was always heaping restrictions on the young, just when freedom mattered most. And since Mum was all she had to answer to, that was quite enough.
– We do just finewhat would we want with a third?
Mum doted on Clara, but not suffocatingly. It was that blend of dread, tenderness, and a desperate wish to give her daughter some sort of foothold in the worldthe essence of English mother love.
Her mothers maxim was clear and unwavering: Fancy a go? Go on, then! That rule led her mum to great success in her flower business (set up while carrying Clara), and she gave her daughter free rein to find her own path.
Clara attended music school, played guitar and sang, but in the end chose to study veterinary medicine she couldnt walk past suffering creatures without stopping to help.
Her mum, in her time, had rescued all kinds: kittens, dogs, swifts, even a wounded lizard with two broken tails (the first by some boys, the second by accident from Clara, who, trying to release it on the heath, found it barely out of her hand before it bolted, leaving another tail behind).
That sight so shocked Clara that she came home bawling, and by sundown she was feverish, prompting Mum to whisk her off to hospital.
Thats when Clara, six years old, announced she would be an animal doctor.
She stuck to her plan. Now she worked in one of the best practices in town (though always worrying shed be let go for her habitual lateness). The job and the stoic patience shed cultivated, mumbling to herself over textbooks,
– Do it yourself, girl! No saviours here. No princes left, and precious few horses to ride into the sunset. So get on with it, girl, churn your cream into butter, and youll be just fine!
There was never a better time for Hector to recover. He had no choice. Clara nursed him unflinchinglywhen she shaved his paw to insert the drip, he offered it up and squinted, never wriggling nor biting.
Now, he wanted to live, because finally, he had a home. A home with someone who swaddled him in a fluffy blanket and in the evenings scratched his ears, promising:
– Just hold on a little bit, all right? Its hard, I know, and painful. But Im doing my bestso help me out a bit, wont you? Youve got to put up a fight yourself, or all my trying wont be worth a thing. You hear me? I wont let anyone take you away now. Youre mine.
His recovery took three months. At last, ginger fuzz was reclaiming those parts of him hed forgotten, those long painful patches hed stopped grooming. Then, Clara realised: he had no name.
She was cleaning the windows, poised on one leg, and watched the cat on the sill. Musing, she muttered,
– You know, you havent got a name
That evening, a family council assembled: Claras mum, Ann, her relatively recent stepfather Peter (a broad, quiet man with gentle hands), and the nameless hamster, who by now lived more with Clara than his original humans.
– What does one call a cat like that?
Clara was utterly serious. Her mum choked back laughter, then gave in:
– Is that what you called us here for?
– Mum!
– Well! Ive dropped everythingnew flower delivery and allflown across town to name a cat?
– Hold on, Ann! Peter put his arm round her, then turned to Clara. – Any ideas?
– I dont know. Hes strong, shrewd, not too troublesome Absolutely proper in the house. No accidents whatsoever.
– Quite the gentleman! said Peter, reaching out to stroke the cat.
The cat, familiar with Peter since Claras training course in London, trusted him. Hed filled Holmes water, changed his litter, and doled out food, earning a satisfied purr now as the cat butted his palm.
– See? Exemplary manners. Well, what do you think?
– Hell be Holmes! declared Clara.
He accepted his new name quickly enough. Hed answer sometimes, sometimes not, but Clara never pressedhe was a cat after all.
Lately, Clara had taken to calling Holmes Piglet on account of his occasional lapses in grace. What else could she do, now that Ann had moved in with Peter, leaving Clara alone in her childhood flat? For the first time, Clara found her independence a little heavy. She roamed the flat in headphones, trailed by Holmes, before settling with him in her arms, sighing:
– I think Im ready to swap all this for something solid. A family, maybe. But where would I ever find someone willing to start one with me Holmes, why do you think men never glance my way at all?
The cat offered no answer. Even if he could, Clara was unlikely to listen. She never noticed the stares in the Tube or the bus; never saw clients in the clinic drag out appointments, hoping to catch another glimpse of her pure blue eyes or wild curls beneath her cheerful scrub cap, printed with grinning pugsa cap Clara had picked and had the uniform tailor sew for the whole staff. The boss had even given her a small bonus, which shed spent on a plush cat bed for Holmesthough naturally, he still preferred her lap.
And so, Clara floundered, Holmes bleakly sympathised, Ann worried to Peter, who tried to console her, and the nameless hamster flourished, living for the hope Holmes would never pay him much mind.
Holmes, true to feline form, barely registered the hamster. More pressing was his mistresss melancholy, which wore on him so heavily he feigned illness for change.
Clara panicked, bundled Holmes to the practice for bloodwork, and that’s where they were dashing now, after her frigid, goose-pimply shower and the scruffy bun held together with a pencil rather than the hairclip Holmes had lost under the sofa.
– Everyone in, no one out! she instructed the hamsterwell be quick!
Holmes protested with all four paws but she thrust him into the carrier anyway.
– Well, thats what you get for limping around for two days! Off you go, scoundrelthis kind of healthcare would nearly have bought me a car by now. Well, maybe not a whole car, but a pair of tyres and a bumper for sure!
So, with more muttering, Clara hurried out, nearly leaving the door unlatched behind her.
The practice was bustling and noisy. Clara extracted Holmes, greeted her colleagues, and took him to a consulting roomand then her ordinary day spiralled into madness.
A tiny tabby, waiting her turn, transformed at the sight of Holmes into a fury, savaging the vets hand and breaking free for battle.
Holmes, as irate as his mistress, was so taken aback he barely knew what was happening. Incensed, fed up, he simply cuffed the oncoming cat and caught her in a single powerful embracepinning her down before anyone else could react.
– Well done! exclaimed a stocky, auburn-haired young man, the tabbys owner, whistling in admiration. – Do you think your cat offers lessons?
Clara, peeling the tabby from Holmes, was in no mood for jokes. She spun round so sharply her pencil-holding bun collapsed and flew under the table, and she was about to give the joker a well-deserved telling off when he suddenly looked at her, awe-struck, and whispered in earnest,
– Please, tell me youre single! Please!
Years later, in a warm and slightly peculiar home at the edge of the city, a soft, irate sigh would be heard:
– Holmes! Again?!
Something warm and small, possibly sentient, brushed Claras cheek, and she would clap a palm over her mouth to stifle a yelp. Her husband, not bothering to open his eyes, would reach for her, grumble,
– The hamster again?
– Yes Good grief, will it never end? Clara would wrestle free, ready to catch the runaway hamsterbe it a great-grandoffspring or some distant descendant of that original nervous one so afraid of Holmes.
Shed be thwarted. A little black lightning would pounce, snatch the hamster at the beds edge, and dart from the room, ignoring both humans and the serenely unimpressed Holmes on the threshold.
– Thats your cat!
– And thats your hamster! Holmes is innocent today, and yet you scolded him
Clara would stretch, nestling in her husbands arms.
– Still, its all a bit mad.
– What is? The cat earning her keep?
– And fraying my nerves! Must she deliver a hamster to my pillow every morning?
– At least were not overrun with mice.
– Dont give the universe ideas! Weve enough wildlife as it is. Tell mehow does she open the cage every morning?
– I know, but you didnt want to see yesterday.
– I was bathing the twins!
– Yes, and while you were at it, I learned a lot about Holmes.
– Whats he got to do with this?
– Watch this.
Clara took the offered mobile, and soon she was choking with laughter at the video of Holmes delicately flicking open the lock for his friend, then watching with interest as the little chase unfurled, posing all the while like the Sphinx in Trafalgar Square.
The cause of the chaos, now lingering in the bedroom doorway, perked up, and Clara smiled:
– Up, are you? Come on! Im getting up too!
And so the great ginger cat would pad with dignified importance into the nursery, nudge the door open wider, and the house would ring with his gravelly yowl, echoed by two young voices.
– Good morning! Clara would sweep into the room, ruffle the cats ears, and beam at her sons.
