By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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fetched a blanket from her little airing cupboard and they made a bed for the cat in her plastic laundry basket. They fed it more milk and chicken before Forde gently extracted it from his coat and laid it in the basket, whereupon it went straight to sleep again. Melanie had placed the basket next to the radiator in the kitchen and it was as warm as toast.
‘It’s still a very young cat,’ said Forde as they stood looking down at the little scrap, ‘but those are definitely kittens in there and if I’m not much mistaken she’s due pretty soon.’
‘How soon?’ Melanie showed her alarm. She liked animals but she had never had much to do with any while growing up. As for the mechanics of a cat giving birth …
‘Hard to tell. Could be hours, could be days.’
‘But time enough to get her to a vet?’
‘That might freak her out.’ Forde was thinking. ‘How far is your nearest vet?’
Melanie stared at him blankly. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
‘OK. Look in the telephone directory while I get the stuff in from the car and find a local vet. It’s—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—getting on for five o’clock but they should still be working. I’ll give them a ring and ask if someone can come and make a house call.’
‘Would they do that if they don’t know us?’ Melanie asked doubtfully. ‘It’s not as if we’re clients, is it?’
‘We won’t know that till we ask.’
Without thinking about it she reached up and looped her arms round his neck, kissing him hard and then stepping back a pace before he could respond.
He stared at her, clearly taken aback. ‘What was that for?’
‘For caring.’
‘About the moggy?’
‘No, not just the cat,’ she said softly.
Something told him not to push it at this stage. ‘I’ll get the food in. You find that number.’
When he called the veterinary surgery, which was situated some fifteen miles away in the nearest small market town, the receptionist was less than helpful, although she did eventually let him speak to one of the vets after Forde wouldn’t take no for an answer. As luck would have it, the woman was young, newly qualified and enthusiastic, added to which Forde used his considerable charm along with offering to pay the call-out fee with his credit card over the telephone and any further costs with cash before she left the cottage.
But Melanie, listening to Forde’s end of the exchange, was quite convinced it was the charm that had swung it when the vet said she would be with them within the hour.
Once she began to unpack the bags Forde had brought in she could hardly believe the amount of food he’d bought. A whole cooked ham, a small turkey, a tray of delicious looking canapés, a mulled-cranberry-and-apple-chutney-topped pork pie, cheese of all descriptions, jars of preserves, a Santa-topped Christmas cake and a box of chocolate cup cakes, mince pies, vegetables, nuts, fruit, and still the list went on.
‘Forde, this would feed a family of four for a week,’ she said weakly when the last bag was empty. ‘There’s only me. Whatever possessed you?’
‘I must have known you’d have a visitor.’ He smiled at her over the heaped breakfast bar as she began to stuff what she could in her fridge.
‘A visitor?’ She glanced at him, colour in her cheeks.
He nodded towards the sleeping cat.
‘Oh, yes, of course, but she’s hardly going to eat much,’ she said flusteredly. For a minute she’d thought… But no, he wouldn’t invite himself to stay, not after the rules she’d made. If she wanted him to spend Christmas with her she would have to ask him. But did she want that? Or, more precisely, did she want what that would mean in the days after Christmas and beyond? Because one thing was for sure: she couldn’t play fast and loose with his heart any more. She had to be sure. And she wasn’t; she wasn’t sure. Was she?
‘You’d be surprised. She’s going to have kittens to feed and she’s got lost time to make up for.’
And as though on cue the cat woke up, stretching as she opened big amber eyes and then stood up amid the folds of the blanket. When Forde lifted her out of the laundry basket she didn’t struggle but gave a small miaow. Melanie quickly warmed more milk and cut more chicken, and this time Forde set the little animal on its feet to eat. She cleared both saucers, stretched again and then walked over to her makeshift bed and jumped in, settling herself down by kneading the blanket how she wanted it. Then she looked at them.
Melanie knelt down beside her, stroking the brindled fur beneath which she could feel every bone. ‘She’s so beautiful,’ she murmured softly, ‘and so brave. She must have been desperate, knowing her babies are going to be born and she had no shelter, no food. It’s a wonder she’s survived this long.’
A steady, rhythmic vibration began under her fingers as the little cat began to purr; it made her want to cry. How could anyone treat this friendly little creature so cruelly? To throw her out in the winter when they must have known her chances of survival and those of the kittens was poor?
‘But now she’s found you,’ Forde said quietly. ‘And she knows she can trust you to look after her.’
Flooded by emotions as turbulent as the weather outside, Melanie looked up at him. She felt as though she were standing at the brink of something profound. ‘Do you think I should keep her?’
He didn’t prevaricate or throw the ball back in her court. ‘Yes, I do. She needs someone to love her unconditionally.’
Melanie blinked back tears. ‘But she’s so fragile and thin. I can’t see her surviving giving birth, Forde. And what of the kittens? If their mother’s been starving, what shape will they be in when they’re born?’
‘Take it a moment by moment, hour by hour. She might surprise you. I think she’s a tougher little cookie than she looks. Don’t give up on her yet.’
‘I’m not about to give up on her,’ said Melanie, a trifle indignantly. ‘That’s the last thing I would do.’
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘In that case she has a fighting chance.’
The ringing of the doorbell ended further conversation. The vet turned out to be a big, buxom woman with rosy cheeks and large hands, but she was gentleness itself with her small patient. The cat submitted to her ministrations with surprising docility and when she had finished examining her, the vet shook her head. ‘I’d be surprised if she’s more than a year or so old. She’s little more than a kitten herself. That’s not good for a number of reasons. She might find it difficult giving birth and in her state she hasn’t got any physical strength to fall back on. Being so malnourished I don’t know if she would be able to produce a good quality of milk for the kittens, should she or them survive the birth. But—’ she looked at them both ‘—she’s a dear little cat, isn’t she?’
‘What can you do to help in the short term?’ Forde asked quietly. ‘We want to give her every chance.’
‘The main thing she needs is rest and food and food and rest. Have you got a litter tray so she doesn’t need to go outside? It’s important to keep her warm.’
Forde shook his head. ‘But I can get one.’
‘Not at this time of night. Follow me back to the surgery and I’ll give you one of ours, along with a food made specially for pregnant females and feeding mothers. I’ll give her a vitamin injection now and once she’s a little stronger she’ll need various vaccinations for cat flu and other diseases. I don’t want to tax her system by doing that now, and as long as you keep her confined to the house for the time being she won’t come into contact with other felines who might be carrying diseases. I think she’s due very soon, although it’s difficult to tell in a case like this. If she does begin