Hi there. Gorgeous George (aka Marvellous Marmalade or Marmie the Magnificent) here. For about ten days I endured my incarceration at my proper people’s house and when Rachel went away for a few days, and when the other human wasn’t looking, I snuck out through a tiny hole in the garage. I hadn’t seen Mrs Mews and Casey in all that time and I was missing them bad. I was surprised that there wasn’t a welcome banquet laid on for me when I reached the kitchen via the cat flap. But Mrs Mews was in the other room watching that box thing in the corner of the room. The kid, Casey, was lying on one of the dining chairs asleep.

So I ran into the front room and Mrs Mews was smiling at seeing me again. How could she not? I am, after all, George the Gorgeous and dozens of other superlatives which suit me well! I leapt onto her lap and padded those thighs of hers until I was fit to burst. Then I went up to the neck; gentlemen, let me give you a hint – the neck area on a lady is a special spot and I gave her lots of nudges and licks which were guaranteed to make her purr. I thought she would be putty in my hands but she said those awful words which wounded my heart:

‘I’m sorry, George, I mean, Marmie, I must not feed you. Your Mummy Rachel asked me not to so it wouldn’t be fair to her now, would it?’

‘But she won’t know!’ I exploded. ‘It can be our little secret.’

‘Marmie, Mummy Rachel told me that the vet said you had lost your definition and shape and that you’re rather round.’ Mrs Mews was trying to be diplomatic, I could tell.

‘But round IS a shape!’ I exploded again. ‘Anyway what does the vet know?’

‘I’m sorry Marmie, but rules are rules and I’m not going against your Mummy Rachel’s wishes,’ she explained gently.

I carried on nudging and licking her neck hoping she’d cave in after a while. It seems to work on some women but obviously Mrs Mews is lacking in sensitivity or something. I could see I was flogging a dead horse – so to speak – so I thought I’d check the kid out, see how he was doing.

‘Hi kid, how’s it hanging?’ I asked him.

Casey opened one eye and sighed.

‘That good, huh?’ I asked. ‘What’s up kid? You look a little green around the gills.’  

CaseyHe didn’t reply. I noticed a litter tray under the dining table and as Nature was calling me right that very second, I decided to take advantage of it, rather than going out in the rain. I thought I’d cheer the kid up so I did a pirouette first before I got down to the business in paw but he didn’t even open his eyes.  I did what I had to do and then with a final flourish I sent the litter all over the dining room floor. I’ve been known to be over-exuberant in my toileting but I overdid it on purpose to see if I’d raise a chuckle out of the kid. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I went back to the front room and leapt on Mrs Mews’ lap.

‘Hey, that kid needs to see someone. He’s definitely not well.’ I told her, thinking my litter antics would have made even grown men cry and if memory serves me right, it has. ‘He didn’t even smile when I did some silly things with the litter.’

‘It’s OK, Marmie, it’s all in hand.’ Mrs Mews explained. ‘He’s going to see someone tomorrow.  Just let him rest, there’s a good boy.’

Well, tomorrow came and I hung around the place in case I was needed – or in case the kid donated his dinner to me (I live in hope) – and I was rewarded. Casey didn’t even acknowledge his dinner was there so I looked at him before I dived in to ask if I could taste it for him, to make sure it was safe for him to eat, you understand, and he just said ‘whatever’ in a very nonchalant way with his eyes shut.

So I tasted a little bit and I wasn’t sure, so I thought I ought to taste a little bit more. Nope, I still wasn’t getting it, so I tasted a bit more. You’ve guessed it – I darn near ate the whole of his dinner. I think he donated it to me anyways so I didn’t feel too bad.

I did get some breakfast off Mrs Mews. She realised that I had nursed the kid overnight for her and kept an eye on him, which as every carer knows, is hungry work. He didn’t want his breakfast so I asked him again if I could taste it for him.

‘Whatever’ was the reply, again, the eyes still closed.

I heard Mrs Mews making some phone calls and her face looked kind of worried. I’d be worried about me too, if I was constantly donating my food out without eating any of it. There would have to be something seriously wrong for me to give up my food. Anyway in the afternoon a guy that Casey calls ‘Dad’ showed up and Mrs Mews put Casey in the basket that she took me to see the vet in the other week. Casey didn’t put up a fight. He just got in and closed his eyes again.

I thought I’d better stick around and keep an eye on the place for her. Didn’t want any strange cats coming in through the cat flap polishing up my leftovers – I mean, the kid’s dinners. It seemed a long while before they returned but when the kid got out of the carrying basket he looked a little less ghostly and his eyes looked a little brighter.

‘Did you get the magic shot?’ I asked him when we were alone.

‘I had two things put up my back bottom!’ he said, indignantly.

‘What, at the same time?’ I wanted to know.

‘No, silly, separately. I had to see a nurse first and she was very worried because something called my temperature was really high. So then I had to see a vet and she did it as well.’ Casey explained.

‘Rotten bad luck, kid.’ I said.

‘But I was given a couple of shots and my Mum – the one you call Mrs Mews – has also got some tablets for me which I have to start taking tomorrow. That should be fun.’  Casey actually smiled as if Mrs Mews and him were in for a good time playing the ‘swallow the darned tablet before I take myself off to ER’ game.

Casey sat in front of the little table where he likes to have his meals. Mrs Mews put down some food for him and surprise, surprise he ate some. Encouraged by his sudden new found appetite she put more food down for him and a different one for me – which, of course I gobbled down in about three slurps flat. Casey was still nibbling around the edges of his and I hovered nearby ready to help out if needed.

‘Marmie! Marmie! Are you in there?’ I recognised the voice. It was Mummy Rachel’s other half.

‘See you later!’ I called as I hurled myself through the cat flap.

‘Thanks for stopping by George, I mean, Marmie’ Mrs Mews called out after me – but I didn’t hear. I was three gardens away trying to hide.




















One Cat is Company

"One cat is company.
Two cats are a conspiracy. 
Three cats is an attempted takeover.
Four or more cats is a complete coup!"

Shona Steele (Australia)

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