Angelica Lost and Found

Chapter 36. A Sudden Kind of Thing

There’s been a Mehitabel-looking cat hanging around the entrance to my building. I don’t know what she does for a living. Raids the garbage cans, maybe. Only one eye — she looks as if she’s knocked about a bit and been knocked about more than a bit. When I came home today she looked at me with a look that said, ‘Well?’

‘You talking to me?’ I said.

‘I don’t see nobody else here, do you?’

‘So?’

‘So are you taking me in or what?’

‘This is kind of sudden.’

‘Life’s a sudden kind of thing, baby.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you know what I’m saying, OK?’

When I’d been thinking cat I’d been thinking Persian maybe or Siamese, strictly upmarket felines. Now here was this upstart vagrant from nowhere with ideas beyond her station. A hardcore optimist.

‘OK, Cunégonde,’ I said. ‘We’ll give it a try.’

‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘You have to read Voltaire.’

‘Whatever you say, Boss.’ She rubbed against my leg, purring like an outboard motor with a bad cold.

‘You’ve got fleas, right?’

‘Gimme a break, I come from a broken home.’

‘What other kind is there? Wait a minute.’ I found an empty Napa Valley carton and put it in front of her.

‘I can take a hint,’ she said, and jumped into it.

I didn’t want to be seen in the elevator with my Napa Valley cast, so I carried her up the three flights to my apartment. When Cunégonde jumped out of the box I tore up Sunday’s Chronicle into strips, filled the box with my improvised cat litter, primed it and put it in a corner of the kitchen.

‘Your temporary bathroom,’ I said.

She sniffed it and said, ‘Roger that, Boss. Is it chow time yet?’

I spread the ‘Datebook’ of the paper on the floor, filled a bowl with milk, opened a can of sardines, put them in a dish, and said, ‘Your table is ready, Madame. I’m going out for supplies. If the phone rings, don’t answer it. Back soon.’

I went to Noe Valley Pet where I consulted with Annie and bought Frontline for the fleas, cat litter, a litter tray, a basket and blanket for my new friend’s bed, and some catnip for recreational use. I had briefly considered a rubber mouse but rejected it as being an insult to a cat who had probably dined on rats or indeed anything that couldn’t dine on her. I stopped off at Decamere for six cans of Whiskas, and thus laden arrived at my apartment.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ I called as I opened the door.