Гейл Ханимен - Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

He opened the lid very gently, and I instinctively took a step back.

‘ Come on, darling ,’ he said, in a soft, crooning voice that I’d never heard him use before. ‘ Don’t be frightened …’

He reached in and lifted out the fattest cat I’d ever seen. It was, in theory, jet black, the darkness extending even to its nose and whiskers, but its thick fur was covered in bald patches which looked all the paler by comparison. He held it close to his chest and continued to whisper endearments in its ear. The creature looked distinctly underwhelmed.

‘What do you think?’ he said.

I stared into its green eyes, and it stared back. I took a step forward and he offered her to me. There was a bit of awkwardness as he passed her over, trying to transfer her bulk from his arms into mine, and then, all at once, it was done. I held her like a baby, close against my chest, and felt, rather than heard, her deep, sonorous purring. Oh, the warm weight of her! I buried my face in what remained of her fur and felt her turn her head towards me as she gently sniffed my hairline.

Eventually, I looked up. Raymond was unpacking the other bag, which contained a disposable litter tray, a squishy cushion bed and a small box of kibble. The cat squirmed in my arms and landed on the carpet with a heavy thump. She strolled over to the litter tray, squatted down and urinated loudly, maintaining extremely assertive eye contact with me throughout. After the deluge, she lazily kicked over the traces with her back legs, scattering litter all over my freshly cleaned floor.

A woman who knew her own mind and scorned the conventions of polite society. We were going to get along just fine.

Raymond declined all of the biscuits on offer and also the tea. He requested beer or coffee, but I had neither. Taking care of guests was more challenging than I’d thought. Eventually, he settled for a glass of water, which he didn’t even drink. Desi, one of his flatmates, had rescued the cat from the back court of his flats last night, he told me. Someone had put her in a metal dustbin and set it alight — Desi had heard the screams when he was returning home from work. I stood up and ran towards the bathroom, where I vomited up the pink wafers. Raymond knocked gently on the door, but I shouted at him to leave me alone. When I came back, both he and the cat were sitting separately on the sofa. I sat down in the chair opposite, and they both watched me carefully.

‘Who would do such a thing, Raymond?’ I said, when I could finally speak. Both he and the cat looked sad.

‘Sick fucks,’ said Raymond, shaking his head. ‘Desi brought her in and we made sure she was OK. He’s allergic, though, so we can’t keep her. I was going to take her to the Cats Protection, or see if my mum wanted another one, but then … I dunno, I thought she might be a nice bit of company for you, Eleanor? Just say, if not. It’s a big deal, having a pet — a lot of responsibility …’

This was tricky. On the one hand, I could not deny that I was drawn to her. She had an undeniably rakish, alopecia-based charm and a devil-may-care attitude that would melt the hardest of hearts. I could tell that she was a cat that brooked no nonsense. She was, at the same time, a vulnerable creature, one which needed looking after. Therein lay the rub. Was I up to the task?

I thought back to the counselling sessions, how we’d talked about thinking things through rationally, recognizing unhelpful patterns of behaviour and being brave enough to try doing things differently. Come on, Eleanor, I said to myself. Be brave. This is not the same as before, not even close to it. She’s a cat, and you’re a grown woman. You’re more than capable of doing this.

‘I will assume the mantle of care, Raymond,’ I said, firmly. ‘This creature will be looked after assiduously.’

He smiled.

‘I’m sure she will be. She looks at home here already, right enough,’ he said. The cat was now sprawled across the sofa cushions, to all intents and purposes asleep, although one ear twitched intermittently as she monitored the conversation.

‘What are you going to call her?’ he said.

I put my head on one side while I considered this. After a while, Raymond stood up.

‘I’m going to nip downstairs for a fag. I’ll leave the door on the latch,’ he said.

‘Don’t blow the smoke towards my windows!’ I shouted after him.

When he came back ten minutes later, I told him that her name was Glen. He laughed.

‘Glen? That’s a boy’s name, surely?’

I thought about all of those red labels, all those empty bottles. ‘She’s named after an old friend,’ I said.

The next day I woke with a start to find Glen lying beside me, her head on the pillow and her body under the covers, just like a human. Her huge green eyes were staring intently at me, as though she had willed me awake. She followed me into the kitchen and I gave her some water, which she ignored, and some kibble, which she bolted down and promptly vomited back up onto the kitchen floor. I turned away to get some cleaning materials from under the sink, but when I looked around, she was eating her sick back up again.

‘Good girl, Glen,’ I said. Low maintenance.

Raymond had only brought the bare minimum for her to spend the night, so, while she was snoozing on top of the duvet, I snuck out of the flat and took the bus to the retail park, where I knew that there was a big pet supplies store. I bought her a bigger, comfier bed, a proper litter tray with a covered roof for privacy, four different kinds of wet and dry food, and a sack of organic cat litter. I picked up a bottle of oil that was supposed to be good for her coat — a teaspoon was to be mixed in with her food every day. I didn’t care if her coat grew back or not, because she was fine just as she was, but I felt that she might be more comfortable without the bare patches of skin. She didn’t strike me as the type to enjoy playing with toys, but just in case, I bought a glittery ball and a huge fluffy mouse, the size of an old man’s slipper, which was stuffed with catnip. When I took the trolley to the till, I realized that I was going to have to call a taxi to get it all home. I felt quite proud of myself.

The driver wouldn’t help me carry it upstairs, so it took me a few trips, and I was sweating by the time I got everything indoors. The expedition had taken over two hours, from start to finish. Glen was still asleep on the duvet.

I spent the day pottering around the flat. Glen was good company: quiet, self-contained, mostly asleep. That evening, as I sat with a cup of tea and listened to a play on the radio, she jumped onto my lap and began kneading my thighs with her paws, claws partially unsheathed. It was slightly uncomfortable, but I could tell that she meant it kindly. After doing that for a minute or so, she settled herself carefully onto my lap and went to sleep. I needed to go to the bathroom about twenty minutes later, a necessity exacerbated by the fact that she was far from slender and was lounging with her full body weight directly atop my bladder. I tried to gently shift her to one side; she resisted. I tried again. On the third attempt, she got to her feet slowly, arched her back and then shuddered out a long, judgemental sigh, before dropping down onto the floor and waddling off towards her new bed. Once ensconced there, she glared at me as I left the room, maintaining the expression when I returned, and continued to glower at me throughout the evening. I wasn’t worried. I’d dealt with far, far worse things than an irritated feline.

Raymond paid a visit again a few days later to see how Glen was settling in. I’d invited him and his mother, as he’d mentioned that she was keen and, as a cat obsessive, I imagined she’d enjoy meeting Glen. In any case, there were still plenty of biscuits left over from his previous visit, so it was not as though it was any trouble.