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Authors: Kerry Greenwood
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Lucifer is in my apartment and is presently not speaking to me at all. And he’s such a dear little thing,’ she added, watching fondly as Lucifer sprang onto the table, investigated the cheese and butter, and was gently dissuaded from curling up for a brief rest in the salad bowl. Exhausting the possibilities of the table, he dived down again and devoted some time and energy to finding out whether a silk tassel from the curtain would unravel. It held out gamely, even when bounced on and then pinned down under paw and chewed. I was getting tired just watching him.
‘I’ve an idea about Lucifer,’ I told Meroe. ‘I think he needs broader pastures and new challenges,’ I went on.
‘That,’ sighed Meroe, ‘is true.’
‘Therefore I suggest that we pay Trudi to take him around with her, safely secured in his harness, on all her worldly occasions,’ I said. ‘She’s on the move all day, gardening and so on. Get him out into the fresh air. Get his paws dirty.’
‘But Trudi doesn’t like cats,’ objected Meroe, taking a large helping of salad.
‘I bet she’ll fall for Lucifer after a week or two,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it ought to give him something to do. He might even learn sense,’ I added, though not with any real confidence.
‘I’ll go halves,’ she said, as the tassel finally gave way and enveloped the kitten in about a hundred metres of yellow thread. In which he rolled, entangling himself like a fly in a web. Then he lay there, waving his one free paw and waiting for someone to get him out. I was all for leaving him there until we finished lunch but Meroe insisted and eventually we had to cut him out. Then he bounced up onto the couch to try for Horatio’s tail.
Horatio glanced around, glared, and returned to his station. His back conveyed his immovable resolve not to come down until this small detestable beast was gone, and probably not for some time thereafter. Lovers are bad enough, he seemed to be trying to convey. But kittens are the end.
By mutual consent, Meroe and I put off our cup of coffee (me), camomile tea (her) and took Lucifer up to Ceres. Trudi was home, looking through a bulb catalogue. We explained our problem. Lucifer sat on the table, paws together, looking as though he was plotting something dreadful.
Trudi is Dutch, sixty-ish, with short white hair and strong hands. She is responsible for fixing recalcitrant machinery, replacing light bulbs, understanding the cargo lift, maintain ing the garden, harassing tradesmen and letting people in when they have forgotten their keys or their passcodes or, like Andy Holliday, who they are and where they live. Since he got his daughter Cherie back, he has been going easier on the bottle, but he memorably once woke the whole building with his feeling rendition of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. Trudi had hauled him up to his apartment single-handedly. She is formidable.
And she didn’t look very happy about being landed with Lucifer. But she needs the money and after Meroe had explained that Lucifer needed scope for his adventurous nature, agreed to take him for a week.
Before she could change her mind, we provided her with a litter tray and a bag of litter, kitten food and dishes, and instructed her on how to remove and replace his harness. The kitten dived on Trudi and, as we were leaving, was trying the edge of her bulb catalogue for edibility.
Meroe and I retreated to my apartment for our beverage of choice.
‘I hope he’ll be all right with her,’ said Meroe guiltily, as though we had just sold the little ratbag to a furrier.
‘Of course he will be,’ I said bracingly. ‘Now Belladonna may forgive you and Horatio may forgive me, and Lucifer will get to see the wide open spaces. Have a citrus muffin?’
‘Few situations cannot be improved by a muffin,’ she said, and bit. ‘Lovely! One of Jason’s inventions?’
‘He’s working on new ones all the time,’ I said. ‘This is made orangey by candied orange rind. He
‘I’ve an idea about Lucifer,’ I told Meroe. ‘I think he needs broader pastures and new challenges,’ I went on.
‘That,’ sighed Meroe, ‘is true.’
‘Therefore I suggest that we pay Trudi to take him around with her, safely secured in his harness, on all her worldly occasions,’ I said. ‘She’s on the move all day, gardening and so on. Get him out into the fresh air. Get his paws dirty.’
‘But Trudi doesn’t like cats,’ objected Meroe, taking a large helping of salad.
‘I bet she’ll fall for Lucifer after a week or two,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it ought to give him something to do. He might even learn sense,’ I added, though not with any real confidence.
‘I’ll go halves,’ she said, as the tassel finally gave way and enveloped the kitten in about a hundred metres of yellow thread. In which he rolled, entangling himself like a fly in a web. Then he lay there, waving his one free paw and waiting for someone to get him out. I was all for leaving him there until we finished lunch but Meroe insisted and eventually we had to cut him out. Then he bounced up onto the couch to try for Horatio’s tail.
Horatio glanced around, glared, and returned to his station. His back conveyed his immovable resolve not to come down until this small detestable beast was gone, and probably not for some time thereafter. Lovers are bad enough, he seemed to be trying to convey. But kittens are the end.
By mutual consent, Meroe and I put off our cup of coffee (me), camomile tea (her) and took Lucifer up to Ceres. Trudi was home, looking through a bulb catalogue. We explained our problem. Lucifer sat on the table, paws together, looking as though he was plotting something dreadful.
Trudi is Dutch, sixty-ish, with short white hair and strong hands. She is responsible for fixing recalcitrant machinery, replacing light bulbs, understanding the cargo lift, maintain ing the garden, harassing tradesmen and letting people in when they have forgotten their keys or their passcodes or, like Andy Holliday, who they are and where they live. Since he got his daughter Cherie back, he has been going easier on the bottle, but he memorably once woke the whole building with his feeling rendition of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. Trudi had hauled him up to his apartment single-handedly. She is formidable.
And she didn’t look very happy about being landed with Lucifer. But she needs the money and after Meroe had explained that Lucifer needed scope for his adventurous nature, agreed to take him for a week.
Before she could change her mind, we provided her with a litter tray and a bag of litter, kitten food and dishes, and instructed her on how to remove and replace his harness. The kitten dived on Trudi and, as we were leaving, was trying the edge of her bulb catalogue for edibility.
Meroe and I retreated to my apartment for our beverage of choice.
‘I hope he’ll be all right with her,’ said Meroe guiltily, as though we had just sold the little ratbag to a furrier.
‘Of course he will be,’ I said bracingly. ‘Now Belladonna may forgive you and Horatio may forgive me, and Lucifer will get to see the wide open spaces. Have a citrus muffin?’
‘Few situations cannot be improved by a muffin,’ she said, and bit. ‘Lovely! One of Jason’s inventions?’
‘He’s working on new ones all the time,’ I said. ‘This is made orangey by candied orange rind. He
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