I was brushing my teeth when there was a mewling at the bedroom door. “That’s Fuzz,” said Shannon. “He’s very shy, so I’m surprised he wants in if he knows you’re here.” She went to the door and let the cat in. He was the only one of her pets I’d not met — an old cat with a tail as thick as one of Ken Dodd’s tickling sticks.
Fuzz made his way over to me and sniffed my ankle. Then he leapt onto the washbasin counter and began rubbing my arm as I continued to brush my teeth. “He never does that with anyone else,” said Shannon. I shrugged and rinsed my mouth out before getting into bed. Fuzz joined me and let me stroke him as Shannon got under the covers.
“First you stole my dog,” she wailed. “And my ten-year-old daughter thinks you’re fantastic. Now you’ve stolen my damned cat.”
“They say kids and animals just know when to trust someone,” I tell her. I use my other hand to stroke her head and we both laugh.