To Be A Cat

An Accurate Description

‘YOUR SON WILL be here shortly,’ Miss Whipmire said, on her return to the office. ‘He’s just, erm, playing an important game of rugby right now.’

‘Really?’ said Mrs Willow, looking out of the window at the girls playing hockey. ‘I didn’t think he had games today.’

The head teacher drew the blinds closed then sat down on her chair, smoothing her back against the sheepskin rug.

‘Well, don’t worry. As I say, he’s on his way.’

They chit-chatted a while, then sat in silence for almost half an hour.

Miss Whipmire sensed Barney’s mum was feeling horribly awkward sitting in that room, which made her happy.

‘Are you a cat person, Mrs Willow?’

‘Erm, no. Not really.’

A condescending smile. ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘I’ve lost my cat.’

‘Really? Oh.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Whipmire, acting every bit the concerned pet owner. ‘He’s called Patch. Because of the white patch of fur around his left eye.’

‘How weird. I’ve just seen a cat like that.’

I bet you have, thought Miss Whipmire. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. But this one belonged to someone else. A woman saw it and claimed it after it came into the library.’

‘Oh?’ Then Miss Whipmire’s face screwed up with false pain. ‘Oh, please, oh, no, don’t tell me it “belonged” to a lady with blonde hair, wearing a bit too much make-up and over-sized earrings.’

Barney’s mum thought, and her face revealed that this was a pretty accurate description. ‘Well, yes.’

‘So my dear little Patch is with her?’

‘She said the cat’s name was Maurice.’

Miss Whipmire wanted to try and make Barney’s mum feel guilty, just for fun, but she decided not to. She had all the information she needed, and making too big a deal out of it would only arouse suspicion. And the suspicion had to wait at least until Barney Willow was dead.

She smiled. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it was a totally different cat.’

And around about then there came a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ said Miss Whipmire.

A boy who looked every bit like Barney entered. Mrs Willow stood up and hugged him. ‘I’ve been so worried about you!’

‘See, I told you he was OK, Mrs Willow. And, look, he’s all red and sweaty from playing rugby.’

Maurice realized this was his cue. ‘Yes, Mum, I’ve been playing rugby.’

‘Now,’ said Miss Whipmire in a rather clipped tone, ‘if you don’t mind, I’ve really got quite a lot of business to attend to. You’ll see Barney later on. Don’t worry.’

And so Mrs Willow left, mildly confused but generally relieved, and headed outside to her car. Inside the office, meanwhile, Miss Whipmire was touching Maurice’s face.

Her son’s face.

‘Oh, my darling, you’ve done it! You’ve done it! My brilliant, brilliant boy!’

And Maurice smiled softly. He was pleased to see his mum, and happy not to belong to the Needles, but he still wasn’t comfortable yet in his new skin. ‘Yeah. I love you, Mum.’

His mother didn’t hear him as his words coincided with the sound of the bell ringing for the final time that day.

‘Now, listen,’ she said. ‘Here’s the plan.’