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marnanelA long day it had been without James, longer with the weather as bad as it was. Vicky stared into the unending droplets running down the windowpane and hoped that he would be home soon. In the empty kitchen behind her, the radio blared its mix of classic rock, predictable as the raindrops, keeping her mind steady, keeping it from worrying about what might happen to James on a night like this. It was closer for him to commute now that they had moved, but he had only travelled from work to the new house only twice now, and something deep inside her brain nagged at her that he might get lost, might take a wrong turn somewhere, might get into an accident on an unfamiliar road. Once more, she tried to hush the small voice; she walked back into the kitchen and turned up the stereo. The rock music was helping.
Their black cat, Storm, stalked into the room and glowered at Vicky. Storm, who had grown into a fair-sized moggy since they had found him as an abandoned kitten at an animal rescue centre, was the colour of a great thundercloud with a temperament to match. Still, he had been happy at their old house-- or if not happy, at least content with the run of the neighbourhood and the society of the cats around. He had clearly resented being uprooted and transplanted into the new house, however much more convenient it might be for his humans. Vicky reached over to pet him, but he leapt from her grasp into the darkening window, his green eyes reflected dimly against the rainy glass. His tail lay still but for the twitching end.
"I can't let you out, you know," said Vicky. "You'll only get drenched. Five minutes and you'll be clawing on the door wanting back in-- then you'll just be angrier than you started, and it'll be all my fault again."
Storm sneezed, as if in contemptuous answer. Vicky looked at him, and then out of the window at the downpour, and tried not to imagine James in their car aquaplaning across the road. A song on the radio faded out, and the news came on. It seemed full of transport bulletins: crashes and diversions and flooded roads. Vicky sighed.
"Storm, puss, puss," she said. "You want some cheese?" Cheddar had been Storm's favourite delicacy since kittenhood. She opened the fridge and he leapt down from the windowsill, all anger dissolved, twisting around her legs and mewing. Strange how easily cats' attention can be diverted, thought Vicky. I wish I knew how to divert my own.
She cut a sliver of cheese and fed it to the cat, who ate it delicately, then nuzzled her in thanks. For the first time since they had brought him to the new house, she heard him purring. Vicky closed the fridge and walked back to the window: the rain had stopped, and the clouds had already begun to clear.
Their black cat, Storm, stalked into the room and glowered at Vicky. Storm, who had grown into a fair-sized moggy since they had found him as an abandoned kitten at an animal rescue centre, was the colour of a great thundercloud with a temperament to match. Still, he had been happy at their old house-- or if not happy, at least content with the run of the neighbourhood and the society of the cats around. He had clearly resented being uprooted and transplanted into the new house, however much more convenient it might be for his humans. Vicky reached over to pet him, but he leapt from her grasp into the darkening window, his green eyes reflected dimly against the rainy glass. His tail lay still but for the twitching end.
"I can't let you out, you know," said Vicky. "You'll only get drenched. Five minutes and you'll be clawing on the door wanting back in-- then you'll just be angrier than you started, and it'll be all my fault again."
Storm sneezed, as if in contemptuous answer. Vicky looked at him, and then out of the window at the downpour, and tried not to imagine James in their car aquaplaning across the road. A song on the radio faded out, and the news came on. It seemed full of transport bulletins: crashes and diversions and flooded roads. Vicky sighed.
"Storm, puss, puss," she said. "You want some cheese?" Cheddar had been Storm's favourite delicacy since kittenhood. She opened the fridge and he leapt down from the windowsill, all anger dissolved, twisting around her legs and mewing. Strange how easily cats' attention can be diverted, thought Vicky. I wish I knew how to divert my own.
She cut a sliver of cheese and fed it to the cat, who ate it delicately, then nuzzled her in thanks. For the first time since they had brought him to the new house, she heard him purring. Vicky closed the fridge and walked back to the window: the rain had stopped, and the clouds had already begun to clear.
