Helen Brown - After Cleo

No ‘cute’ Siamese kitten was going to wrap me around its little paw. Immunity was guaranteed. On the other hand, I’d just started feeling strong enough for a proper outing. A quick trip to a pet shop would be fun, and about all I could manage before crawling back into bed.

I climbed painfully into my clothes, packed the drainage bottle into my coat pocket, slapped a homemade beanie on my head and creaked down the path. Lydia loaded me carefully into the front passenger’s seat and drove the three of us across the river. A parking space was waiting right outside the pet |shop. Hunched over my stitches, I hobbled through the doors with sister and daughter on either side.

If there’s an opposite of a cancer ward, it must surely be a pet store. In this restless nursery of life the smell of damp news paper and sawdust mingled with birdseed and something vaguely meaty. Budgies squawked, canaries whistled, puppies whined. Neon stripes of tropical fish flashed from inside their tanks.

A large cage about two metres high in the centre of the shop soon drew us into its orbit. A handwritten notice on the cage door said ‘Burmese and Siamese Kittens. Please Do Not put Finger’s through the Wire. It Spreads Disease.’

I’m a fully paid-up apostrophe bore. So much so, Katharine reckoned I should have my own television show travelling the world striking out rogue apostrophes and restoring omitted ones on public signs. I was on the verge of protesting about the creative punctuation of ‘Finger’s’ before my attention was swiftly diverted.

About a dozen tiny kittens were curled up in bunches, some on the floor, others on a ledge halfway up the cage. They were all fast asleep – except for one. A pale kitten, considerably larger than the others, was scrambling up the inside of the cage wire with the aptitude of a world-class mountaineer. One paw after another he scaled the wall, trusting his entire body weight to the strength of the claws on his front feet. Higher and higher he climbed, until he was almost at the summit. Deeply engrossed in his challenge, every muscle in his body was focused on conquering the cage – and gravity.

Even from several feet away I could see he was beautiful – sleek and long limbed. Milk white, his faced was tinged with shadowy brown with matching ears, tail and feet. Intrigued by his looks and daredevil personality, I took a step forward. The kitten suddenly froze and, spread-eagled against the wire, fixed me with a sapphire gaze. The intensity of his stare shot straight through to my heart. The clamour and noise of the pet shop faded to nothing. I was transfixed.

The kitten refused to unlock his gaze. I couldn’t look away. We were caught in a mutual stare. A strange interaction seemed to be happening. Admittedly, hallucinogens were still pumping through me after seven hours of anaesthetic ten days earlier. Yet as the kitten bored his electric blue eyes through me, I could feel him insisting, no demanding , we become part of each other’s lives.

I’d experienced love at first sight once before. When I’d first clapped eyes on Philip, I’d practically turned to pancake mixture. But he was – still is – an incredibly handsome man. That magic evening, standing at the top of the museum steps in an impeccably cut suit, he’d resembled an action hero on his day off. Who wouldn’t have fallen for him?

I’d always assumed love at first sight was a human-to-human thing, and not something that could occur between a middle-aged woman and a Siamese kitten. But in those few seconds I’d become enraptured. At some sub-cellular level that kitten and I belonged together.

‘See? I told you he’s cute,’ Mary said. ‘Shall we get you home now?’ she added, probably sensing the danger and trying to get me out of the place.

When I tried to turn away the kitten slid his paw between the wire, reached out to me, opened his mouth and emitted an adorable squeak. I’d always thought Siamese had loud, ugly voices. This little fellow had just proved me wrong. Despite the warning notice with its ridiculous apostrophe, I couldn’t resist. I took the kitten’s paw and rested it between my fingers and thumb.

The kitten gazed into my eyes and purred ecstatically. All resistance crumbled.

‘Look at that!’ said Lydia. ‘He wants to come home with us.’

‘Didn’t you read the sign?’ came a disapproving voice, slicing through our romantic tableau.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, tearing my eyes away from the kitten to address a spotty young man in tortoiseshell glasses. My first reaction was to dislike this pet shop policeman. Yet behind the tortoiseshell glasses his expression was protective. Thin and shabbily dressed, the youth was almost certainly underpaid. He was probably trying to look after the animals as best he could.

‘The kitten reached out to me and I . . .’

The kitten withdrew his paw and continued scaling the cage wall.

‘If you knew how many people come in this shop every day,’ the youth continued. ‘They all want to touch the animals and every one of them has germs on their hands. They pass on all sorts of diseases to the animals.’

I nodded reluctantly and put my hand in my pocket.

As the kitten reached the top of the cage wall I wondered what would happen next. Climbing down back feet first would’ve been the most sensible option, but the kitten had no interest in predictability. Like Tarzan, he swung himself sideways, gripping the wire ceiling with one set of claws after the other. In an instant he was hanging upside down from all fours and, after making sure his audience was still enthralled, let out a triumphant mew. He was more circus performer than feline.

‘Is this kitten available?’ I asked, hardly able to believe the words bouncing off my lips. The kitten’s upside-down gaze swivelled from me to the shop assistant, as if waiting for the answer.

‘Oh, that one,’ he said with the slightest ripple on his lips. ‘He’s had conjunctivitis so he was in isolation at the back of the shop for a few weeks. That’s why he’s so much older than the other kittens.’

‘Older? I’d thought he was just bigger,’ I gabbled. ‘But of course bigger means older . . .’

‘Shouldn’t we go home and think about it?’ Mary asked. ‘You’ll blame me if it turns out a disaster.’

Once a big sister, always a big sister. The kitten released its grip from the cage ceiling and dropped rapidly earthwards. Lydia, Mary and I drew a breath in unison as he sailed past us only to land safely on top of a ball of brown fluff curled up beside the feeding bowls.

‘He always does that,’ said the shop assistant. ‘Uses that other kitten for a landing pad. Sleeps on her, too. I don’t know how she puts up with it.’

Unhurt, the brown kitten seemed almost grateful to have provided a mattress for her hyperactive friend. The Siamese shook himself, and after a few quick licks to check his legs and spine were still in place, swaggered over to the wire again to continue his charm offensive.

Even in my infatuated condition, I could hear faint warning bells. This kitten had so much personality he was on the verge of egotistical. He had potential to be a handful, possibly even a little dysfunctional. That only made me love him more. Like every woman who’s been a sucker for a charmer, I didn’t care. They weren’t warning bells, they were wedding bells! Whatever erratic behaviour he didn’t grow out of, I’d cure. Hadn’t I raised three children successfully, more or less? A four-legged animal would be a pushover.

‘Would you like to hold him?’ the youth asked.

I nodded vigorously. It felt uncomfortable having my future happiness dependent on a spotty young man who was so offhand about my attachment to the kitten. He hadn’t even answered my question properly about whether the little thing was available or not. He seemed quite fond of the creature. Maybe he was planning to keep the kitten for himself.