for mechanic Billie, fixing cars is easier than perking up her love life
In my childhood home, we had a much-loved ginger cat who thought he ruled his people. We bought him as a kitten from a farm where we had gone to buy eggs. My sister, then aged about five, noticed a cat and kittens. She insisted she wanted a kitten, and refused to get back into the car until our parents gave in, probably embarrassed by her temper tantrum. The farm was only too pleased to give us a ginger tom, weaned but not house-trained. This task was beyond a five year old, so it fell to me and our mother, Luckily for us, the animal learned quickly, and in spite of our parents' misgivings, this smart puss settled into a routine.
When all the family went out together, on return we always found him sitting on the roof of our single-storey house. I imagined him looking up and down the street, waiting for us.As soon as we arrived, he would jump off the roof onto the garden wall and then onto the driveway, circling our legs and purring, as if telling us how pleased he was that we were home. At the back of my writing mind, I always had the thought that one day I would put him into a story. As I drafted Billie's contemporary romance, she told me she wanted a cat, so I gave her my fictional ginger tom. The inclusion of this feisty feline who purrs with most humans but spits at any who are not nice to his owner rounds out the household of only herself and teenager Tim.
As an adult, I've never owned a pet. I like to claim part ownership of two cats belonging to friends. One friend's large super-friendly tabby will give up his place on the sofa under a sunny window if I let him settle on my lap. In contrast, the other is a snooty white female who possibly dreams of catching birds as she sits on the windowsill, and whose only interest in people is where the food comes from since eating birds is forbidden.
Best wishes, Priscilla
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