“Cannock?” MindReader says through the open window of the car. “We’re driving to Cannock now?”
“Yes.”
“Right,” he says, gesturing for me to move over to the passenger seat. “I’ll drive, I think.”
I nod. MindReader has, on the whole, taken my complete obsession with Benny Bear well, despite not really being party to any of the decisions I have made.
We drive for an hour. It’s pitch black, people’s premature Christmas lights twinkling against the sky. We sing along to the radio, turn the heating up. We get lost, because I only really have a post code to go on, and by the time I realise we need an address we are in the wilderness of Cannock with no internet connection. Eventually we see a sign.
“Common Farm Deluxe Boarding Cattery,” MindReader says, raising an eyebrow at me.
“It has log cabins for some of the cats,” I say, while MindReader snorts.
“There he is,” I shriek, pointing across MindReader and out of the car window. I can see Benny’s round, orange face looking out at us.
We go inside and meet the owner of the cattery (“Dream job,” I say to her). We walk through a dimly-lit corridor, listening to the sounds of tens of cats meowing.
“Do you know much about Benny?” she asks.
“We’ve read up on him,” MindReader says with a smirk. “And we know he’s very confident?”
“Oh yes, he’ll give anyone a bit of love,” she says. We walk past a very old-looking cat lying under an orange lamp and round the corner where there are some bigger rooms.
“And here he is,” the woman says. “He’s the most affectionate rescue cat we’ve ever had. Now – he had dermatitis on his back so we had to shave it – but it’s growing back.”
I can feel MindReader metaphorically putting his head in his hands. A sob story is not really necessary at this stage.
It is – of course – love at first sight. I put my handbag on the floor and the woman hands Benny to me. He is heavy, and long, and he climbs up my coat and sticks his head in my scarf. “Oh,” I say, “ohhhhh!” while MindReader looks humiliated.
“You have to bond with him, too.” I pass Benny to MindReader. “Oh, my two strawberry blond men!” I say, because I have no decorum.
“You like him then,” the lady says, and I nod vigorously, while Benny purrs and rubs his face all over MindReader’s.
“He’s quite, er, affectionate,” MindReader says, handing Benny back to me and trying to brush some of the marmalade-coloured fur from his black work coat.
“Well, someone else is coming to view him tomorrow,” the lady says, tilting her head to the side and watching me stroke Benny.
“And they’re going to want him, once they see him,” I say, shaking one of Benny’s paws. His pads are pink. He regards me seriously. For meeting a soulmate is a serious matter.
“Can we reserve him?” I say to MindReader. I try to say it sotto voce so as to not completely put him on the spot, but fail. At the best of times, I have volume-control issues.
“Of course,” MindReader says.
Reluctantly I put Benny back in his room.
We fill out the paperwork. She tells us to buy an extra-large cat carrier to bring him home in because he doesn’t fit in the normal sized ones.
“So he’s reserved for you subject to you passing the home check.”
MindReader and I exchange a glance. “We do live on a busy road. Is that going to be a problem?” he says.
The woman makes a face. “They’re not keen on re-homing close to busy roads,” she says. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
Keeping my fingers crossed for you!
Thank you. I wonder if I can encourage all my blog readers to stage a sit in on my road to make it look less busy?!
Hope it all works out….for a housecat, why do they care about busy roads? Afraid he’ll escape and meet an untimely end?
[...] Benny, part one, two and three. [...]
[...] ohhhh!” My friend is saying, just like when I first met Benny. MindReader, who is ironing, glances at us and rolls his eyes. “Billygean,” she says, [...]