with that and your mongrel.’
Muriel threw the remains of her coffee into Sonia’s face. She knew it to be a mistake but she’d put up withrudeness, bolshiness, unwillingness and poisoned atmosphere for too long and loathed cats.
As Sonia, shrivelled and doused in coffee, cowered behind a chair, Muriel said, ‘The cats will have to go. Joint ownership doesn’t work. I know that Corin belongs half to you and half to Dulcie but I must have freedom. It’s my home. I’d been looking forward to the afternoon and showing my visitors the donkeys.’
‘I’m sure you had.’
‘I’ll find a good home for Corin if you won’t take her yourself. That, of course, would be the best solution.’
‘I couldn’t. Not living on my busy road.’
‘Sorry, Sonia, but you seem to think she’s (Corin was a female cat) equally unsafe here. Lots of dogs visit; strays, village dogs, friends’ dogs. We can’t watch her round the clock as you can and Dulcie doesn’t worry.’
Then, down on her knees, went Sonia – tears streaming. ‘Spare Corin. Please spare Corin. I can’t be responsible for her losing her home. Spare her. Spare her.’
Muriel, wishing she hadn’t thrown the coffee, told Sonia to go home.
‘I’m never coming back. They’ll believe you. Nobody will believe me.’ It sounded as if she planned to report the coffee incident.
The number of people planning to show Mummy the donkeys had increased. Marco (but not Flavia whose facewas flushed) decided to join in. Cunty and Farty were sent for, also Moggan – who had been keeping the kitchen in fits with imitations of Prince Charles.
Hugh was the established leader and gave Mummy his arm as they walked, extremely slowly, across gravel and wet grass to the gate of the paddock where not only the donkeys but also Dulcie lived.
Dulcie stood on the top step of her van. A cat (called Plod but known as Irene) clung around her neck and bowed with her as the party stopped at a good viewing point. No sign of Corin suffering a near heart attack.
A terrible noise was the first thing to catch the attention of the onlookers; a noise like the labour pains of giants. A rasping, groaning, throaty bellow that came from a large grey mass that moved. Neddy was humping his son, Ryan. Heaving – up, down, up, over, down and even under. Dulcie, her rasping near to drowning incestuous noises, addressed herself to the house party.
‘You’ve chosen a bloody awful day to show Her Grace a bit of country life. That’ll teach you to hobnob with Hanoverians.’
Cunty and Farty ran to protect their mistresses’ eyes. Her sight was poor and she didn’t understand why they crowded in on her. ‘Cunty. Farty. Go away. I’ve come to see the donkeys. I used to ride on one when I was a child in Angus.’
The heaving and humping became louder and louder – as did Dulcie’s expletives. Hugh rounded the group together and said something soothing in explanation.
Mummy muttered words that sounded like ‘the beasts of the field’ as Dulcie, well pleased, shouted, ‘Entertainment over for the day, I trust.’
Muriel stayed behind in the paddock. She needed to have a word with Dulcie about Corin and Sonia’s explosion. Dreaded it but felt it must be tackled. Dulcie stuck her stomach out, ‘She’s not having Corin and that’s flat. I can keep her safe from a bunch of miserable little town-mouse dogs if anyone can.’
‘You will have to sort it out with Sonia but she is no longer to be involved with the welfare of cats on my land.’ Muriel became masterful for a moment. She took a step backwards and crunched the empty shell of a snail with her wellington boot. It had been taught to her in a biology class that snails were hermaphrodites, hibernated and were, if such a thing was feasible in a snail, right-handed. Dulcie showed no will to hibernate and shook her right fist.
Muriel, standing still for many minutes, said ‘Hibernate. Hermaphrodite’ to herself over and over again
Muriel threw the remains of her coffee into Sonia’s face. She knew it to be a mistake but she’d put up withrudeness, bolshiness, unwillingness and poisoned atmosphere for too long and loathed cats.
As Sonia, shrivelled and doused in coffee, cowered behind a chair, Muriel said, ‘The cats will have to go. Joint ownership doesn’t work. I know that Corin belongs half to you and half to Dulcie but I must have freedom. It’s my home. I’d been looking forward to the afternoon and showing my visitors the donkeys.’
‘I’m sure you had.’
‘I’ll find a good home for Corin if you won’t take her yourself. That, of course, would be the best solution.’
‘I couldn’t. Not living on my busy road.’
‘Sorry, Sonia, but you seem to think she’s (Corin was a female cat) equally unsafe here. Lots of dogs visit; strays, village dogs, friends’ dogs. We can’t watch her round the clock as you can and Dulcie doesn’t worry.’
Then, down on her knees, went Sonia – tears streaming. ‘Spare Corin. Please spare Corin. I can’t be responsible for her losing her home. Spare her. Spare her.’
Muriel, wishing she hadn’t thrown the coffee, told Sonia to go home.
‘I’m never coming back. They’ll believe you. Nobody will believe me.’ It sounded as if she planned to report the coffee incident.
The number of people planning to show Mummy the donkeys had increased. Marco (but not Flavia whose facewas flushed) decided to join in. Cunty and Farty were sent for, also Moggan – who had been keeping the kitchen in fits with imitations of Prince Charles.
Hugh was the established leader and gave Mummy his arm as they walked, extremely slowly, across gravel and wet grass to the gate of the paddock where not only the donkeys but also Dulcie lived.
Dulcie stood on the top step of her van. A cat (called Plod but known as Irene) clung around her neck and bowed with her as the party stopped at a good viewing point. No sign of Corin suffering a near heart attack.
A terrible noise was the first thing to catch the attention of the onlookers; a noise like the labour pains of giants. A rasping, groaning, throaty bellow that came from a large grey mass that moved. Neddy was humping his son, Ryan. Heaving – up, down, up, over, down and even under. Dulcie, her rasping near to drowning incestuous noises, addressed herself to the house party.
‘You’ve chosen a bloody awful day to show Her Grace a bit of country life. That’ll teach you to hobnob with Hanoverians.’
Cunty and Farty ran to protect their mistresses’ eyes. Her sight was poor and she didn’t understand why they crowded in on her. ‘Cunty. Farty. Go away. I’ve come to see the donkeys. I used to ride on one when I was a child in Angus.’
The heaving and humping became louder and louder – as did Dulcie’s expletives. Hugh rounded the group together and said something soothing in explanation.
Mummy muttered words that sounded like ‘the beasts of the field’ as Dulcie, well pleased, shouted, ‘Entertainment over for the day, I trust.’
Muriel stayed behind in the paddock. She needed to have a word with Dulcie about Corin and Sonia’s explosion. Dreaded it but felt it must be tackled. Dulcie stuck her stomach out, ‘She’s not having Corin and that’s flat. I can keep her safe from a bunch of miserable little town-mouse dogs if anyone can.’
‘You will have to sort it out with Sonia but she is no longer to be involved with the welfare of cats on my land.’ Muriel became masterful for a moment. She took a step backwards and crunched the empty shell of a snail with her wellington boot. It had been taught to her in a biology class that snails were hermaphrodites, hibernated and were, if such a thing was feasible in a snail, right-handed. Dulcie showed no will to hibernate and shook her right fist.
Muriel, standing still for many minutes, said ‘Hibernate. Hermaphrodite’ to herself over and over again
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