Oh, Milly! Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Good Morning

  Chapter Two: Nobody’s Friend

  Chapter Three: Brief Encounter

  Chapter Four: The Sack

  Chapter Five: Unhappy Christmas

  Chapter Six: Recovery & Reflection

  Chapter Seven: Bad Tummies

  Epilogue: Surrender

  Copyright

  For Sunshine

  Much loved and much missed

  by Annette and Roberto xx

  Chapter One

  Good Morning

  “Come on, wake up! You know I’m hungry.”

  As per her usual behaviour, Tom and Jill’s tortoiseshell cat, Milly, trod over the heavy patchwork duvet that covered them on a freezing winter’s morning. The central heating was not due to switch on for another hour and Tom and Jill were not due to rise for another hour after that. With her hair fluffed up, Milly was immune to the cold but her stomach was not immune to hunger. In truth, she was just being greedy. Waiting another couple of hours for her feed would hardly be an imposition but when Milly wanted something she wanted it straightaway and expected her owners to provide it.

  “I’m giving up on him, let me try her instead.”

  Milly climbed onto Jill’s chest and trampled over her. There was still no reaction.

  “Right, you asked for it!”

  She inched forward until her face was directly above Jill’s and patted her cheek, ensuring that she could feel the prick of her claws. At the same time, she dribbled a couple of spots of saliva onto her forehead. This had the desired effect and drew an immediate splutter.

  “Oh, Milly! Stop it, go away, will you? You can be really disgusting sometimes!”

  Raising an eye lid, Jill noted that it was only five o’clock and, after wiping her forehead in a huff, pulled up the duvet to re-cover her shoulders. Milly, however, refused to give up and resumed patting her cheek. This only drew an irritable sigh and a muffled “you’re not a very nice cat” as Jill pulled the duvet fully over her head sending Milly tumbling into the valley that separated her from Tom.

  “So that’s how you want to play it, is it?”

  Leaping off the bed, Milly slinked over to the small armchair that stood in the corner of the room beside the dressing table. She went behind it, raised herself up on her hind legs and dug her claws into the sage green fabric. She made repeated digs and, as so many times before, heard a sudden commotion coming from the bed. Nothing upset her owners more than the destruction of their precious furniture.

  “Milly! Stop that!”

  Tom and Jill were now fully awake and an annoyed Tom jumped smartly out of bed. Milly scampered across the room, past the antique trunk upon which Milly had inflicted more scratches and scars in its one year in the bedroom than in its previous two hundred years of existence, out the door and down the stairs towards the kitchen. Tom hastily inspected the armchair, cursed when he observed some tiny white tufts of wadding protruding through the fabric and bolted after her. As ever, Milly was too fast for him and adept at avoiding his grasp by detouring under tables and chairs. Reaching the kitchen, she settled by her empty food bowl and watched him enter stern-faced. However, Milly knew that when she gazed up at him with her head tilted slightly to one side, accentuating her button pink nose and saucer-shaped emerald eyes, his heart would melt and he would give her whatever she wanted. To reinforce the point, she rubbed against his legs in such an appreciative and loving way that it warmed his heart. Milly knew her owners better than they knew themselves.

  “What a couple of suckers!”

  Tom reached into a cupboard and grabbed a tin of cat food. He pulled back the lid and filled her red bowl with Mickey Mouse fascia to the brim. However, her nostrils flaring, Milly was unimpressed. The smell was familiar but unappealing. She peered into the bowl and drew away, looking back up at him disdainfully.

  “I’ve warned you enough times that I don’t like this brand. Why do you keep trying? I’m not eating that.”

  “Come on, Milly, why won’t you eat it? This is the most expensive cat food there is, packed full of goodies.”

  “I’m not having that muck; I want my usual, please. You keep moaning about how tight money is so why spend it on this?”

  Tom knew he was beaten; Milly was not for budging. He sighed at the sight of the twelve cans in the cupboard and at the knowledge that two unopened cases remained in the shed. It was a waste of money they could ill afford. Rummaging in another cupboard, Tom fortunately found a can of her favourite brand at the back. He grasped it and peeled back the lid.

  Milly sniffed the aroma and licked her lips.

  “Mmm, that’s better.”

  As Tom cleaned out her bowl and washed it in the Butler sink, his feet freezing on the terracotta-tiled floor, Milly stepped into her navy-blue litter tray. As ever, she failed to keep all her business within its borders and sent the cream-coloured pellets flying around the kitchen in her half-hearted attempt to bury it. Tom sighed, his shoulders slumping. Milly then took a couple of paces to her blue bowl with Minnie Mouse fascia, slurped some water and waited for her food. In the meantime, she looked over to her litter tray and then up to her owner.

  “Oh, by the way, I expect you to clean that up before you go back to bed.”

  Unsurprisingly, Milly got her way. After refilling her bowl and placing it next to the blue one on the laminated mat showing an image of Disney’s Magic Kingdom, Tom cleaned up the mess and swept up the pellets. Chilled to the bone, he finally returned to the bedroom.

  After a satisfactory feed, which was followed by a series of tiny burps, Milly licked her chops and thought long and hard about joining him. She could return to her usual spot at the foot of the bed which was strewn with her brown, black, white and ginger hair, stretch herself out and purr to her heart’s content. Milly was aware that her owners experienced an inner warmth when she conveyed her contentment and became enchanted whenever she rolled onto her back. For a few minutes before getting up, they would stroke her white-haired belly and tickle her chin but Milly was not in the mood to be stroked or tickled this morning and couldn’t care less what her owners felt. Instead, she went into the living room and, after having a good scratch of the worn and torn corner of the seagrass carpet she had ruined despite her owners’ protestations, snuggled down on the brown, white and beige check blanket which was draped over a corner of the chocolate-brown leather sofa. For Milly, love and affection were always on her terms.

  A couple of hours later, Milly woke with a start when disturbed by Tom and Jill’s customary flustered preparations before leaving the house for work. As ever, they barely allowed themselves enough time to catch their trains and their activity was all hustle and bustle.

  “Keep the racket down, will you? Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”

  Milly huffed and shut her eyes. Jill passed by her and instinctively stroked her flank which only elicited a spit and a hiss, her tail thumping hard on the blanket.

  “Go away! I’m not interested. Isn’t it obvious I’m trying to sleep, you idiot?”

  “Oh, Milly! You can be really nasty sometimes. It’s no wonder our friends don’t like you and all the neighbourhood cats avoid you.”

  “That’s their problem. Shut up and go away.”

  Jill walked off in a mood.

  “Of all the cats we could have chosen we ended up with her. She can be so grouchy,” Jill moaned.

  “I told you we should have gone for that lovely white Siamese. The guy at the centre warned us that Milly’s breed can be pretty lively.”

  “Oh, it’s my fault now! If I remember, you were pretty keen on her, too.”

  “Well, she did look sweet and gentle in her cage clambering over her broth
ers and sisters.”

  “All kittens look sweet and gentle. It’s when they grow up, that’s the problem!”

  “Not always.”

  “Yeah, but with Milly, definitely!”

  “Is your sister coming round this evening? I can get a bottle of wine on the way home.”

  “Not now. She was going to, but she’s not keen on Milly, especially after that scram she gave her the other day. She really hurt her. I said we’d meet in the pub instead.”

  “Another one bites the dust!”

  “If we don’t get rid of Milly I’m not sure we’ll ever get anyone to visit us again.”

  Tom smiled and nodded.

  With her ear scanning like an antenna, Milly listened in to a conversation she had heard a hundred times before without concern. She knew they loved her dearly and would never get rid of her. A soppy gaze, a rub against their legs, a roll onto her back and a long hearty purr was all it took to change their moods. They were so soft.

  “Oh, Milly!”

  “What’s she done now, Jill?”

  “My grey skirt’s covered in hair and all creased.”

  “What, the expensive one you bought at Ted Baker’s last week? Did she sleep on it or something?”

  “My fault for laying it over the stool of the dressing table last night. I know she likes to sleep there sometimes. Oh, no, it’s snagged as well, ruined basically. I can’t believe it. I could throttle her, you know, I really could.”

  “Keep your voice down, will you? I can’t sleep with you wailing like a banshee.”

  Giving up, Milly jumped down from the sofa in a huff and made straight for the kitchen. Seeing that the back door which gave access to the garden was ajar, she exited onto the patio, stopping briefly to survey whether any other cat was around, the glacial temperature turning her nose bright red, Rudolph-like. A pigeon was pecking at some seed in the centre of the beer mat size of a lawn which twinkled silver and white as frosty crystals scintillated like a carpet of diamond dust in the early morning sun. Milly, however, left it alone. Having already had a good feed, Milly was in no mood to catch some prey. Nevertheless, the pigeon fluttered away in a panic at the sight of the little terror.

  Tom and Jill were readying to leave when Jill noticed that Milly was no longer on the sofa.

  “Where’s Milly? She’s in, I hope. You didn’t leave the back door open again, did you?”

  Tom’s silence answered Jill’s question. He strode into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Tom! How many times do I have to tell you? You know you can’t let her out in the morning; she never wants to come in and makes us late. And besides, the road’s busy at this time and she often rushes across to Beverley’s garden. She’ll get run over one of these days, you watch.”

  A chastened Tom muttered his agreement and entered the garden.

  “Milly, Milly, where are you?”

  Tom scanned the garden, hands on hips, and wondered where she had got to, fearing that she had clambered over the walnut-stained gate and accessed the road in front of the house via the passageway to the side. Stepping onto the lawn, he glanced under the bushes and into the bare branches of the cherry blossom tree at the back but she was nowhere to be seen. He shook his head, looked at his watch, grimaced and returned to the kitchen, his polished shoes now soaking and speckled with mud.

  “Come on, you stupid cat. Where are you?”

  Tom’s tone reflected his frustration and annoyance as he wiped his shoes.

  “Any luck?”

  “Not a sausage. I don’t know where she is. She’s not in the garden so I suspect she’s round Beverley’s.”

  “I told you we should have got a cat flap.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Tom replied sheepishly.

  “We wouldn’t have any of these problems if we did.”

  “But they’re ugly and wouldn’t stop other cats from coming into the kitchen. There’d be mayhem if Milly caught one by her bowls.”

  “They wouldn’t come back once Milly confronted them, that’s for sure. And anyway, we can get one of those with magnetic entry, you know with Milly wearing a collar with a magnet as a tag so that only she can gain access.”

  “You’ve got to be joking. Milly in a collar? She’d go berserk, not a chance.”

  Jill did not reply, clearly in a mood, but conceding that Tom was probably right.

  The kitchen clock alerted them that time was pressing. Tom was on the point of panic. They knew that Milly would return at some stage, but when was anybody’s guess. If they did not leave soon, they would miss their trains and be late for work. Tom had already been spoken to by his boss on a couple of occasions and could not afford a third time.

  In the meantime, Milly was nosing around in the shed at the back of the garden next to the tree, having squeezed inside via a tight gap left by the rotted bottom of its door. She was aware that her owners were fretting but that they would never leave her outside for the whole of such a cold day. She carried on exploring, sensing that Henry, the timid, amber-eyed, ginger British Shorthair from across the road had visited. Milly marked her territory over his.

  “He may be bigger than me but if Henry turns up here again I’ll show him who’s boss.”

  “Milly! For crying out loud, where are you? Tom, I think you should go over to Beverley’s and see if she’s there.”

  Standing just inside the back door, looking out, Jill glanced at her watch. She would never have believed owning a cat could be so stressful.

  Milly heard her voice and thought it time to return, not out of any consideration for her owners but because she was starting to feel chilly. She squeezed back under the door and padded across the lawn.

  “Milly, there you are. Come on, quick! Tom, leave Beverley, Milly’s here.”

  “I’ll move at my own pace thank you very much.”

  Milly deliberately slowed her gait and stopped momentarily where the lawn met the patio to groom herself, letting her owners know in no uncertain terms who really ran the roost in this household.

  Sensing Jill was about to stomp out and grab her, Milly moved forward and finally stepped into the kitchen. Jill closed the door and locked it in virtually the same movement. With the air of royalty and leaving a wet and muddy trail in her wake, Milly passed her bowls, approved of what she saw inside them, and made for her blanket on the sofa. Tom and Jill were at the front door about to leave when they heard the sound of retching. They stared at each other and hurried back into the living room where, as they feared, Milly had vomited all over their newly acquired multi-coloured and -patterned oriental rug at the base of the sofa.

  “Ah, that’s better.”

  Licking her lips, Milly promptly jumped onto the blanket and snuggled down for the day. On the edge of sleep, she let herself slide down the soft, easy slope.

  “Oh, Milly!” Tom and Jill cried in unison.

  “Did you have to do that at this precise moment? You can be a right horror sometimes. And why do you have to nibble at the grass? You know it makes you sick,” Jill ranted, standing over her, her right hand flailing, leering with rage. “Come on, Tom, we have to go; there’s no time to clean it up. We’ll just have to do it tonight.”

  With a slam of the door, Milly’s hot, bothered, frustrated, angry, stressed and late owners finally left for work.

  Chapter Two

  Nobody’s Friend

  Standing as still as a tailor’s dummy in the hallway of their house, Tom replaced the phone receiver in its cradle, puffed out his cheeks and gazed at his reflection in the oval, silver-framed mirror on the wall above the console table. Milly was ageing him, he ruminated. Jill was at his side in the blink of an eye, looking apprehensive. She was wearing an apron and holding a tea towel and plate.

  “What did Beverley have to say this time?”

  “Oh, just the same old stuff. Milly’s been doing her business in her garden again and terrifying Henry. She had to throw a glass of water over her a few days ago to shoo her away. Henry was cowering
under a bush at the time.”

  Jill sighed.

  “It’s getting embarrassing now but what can we do? We can’t keep Milly in all day and when she’s out we can’t control where she goes or what she does. He’s a right wimp, that Henry. He’s twice her size and I thought gingers were meant to be feisty.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too, but Henry’s really timid for some reason. I do feel sorry for Beverley, though, ’cos she’s so sweet and I know she finds it hard to moan at us. I promised I’d try and do something but, to be honest, I haven’t a clue what.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Anyway, let’s help you in the kitchen and think about it. Where is Milly, by the way?”

  A sudden commotion and series of snarls from the living room provided the answer. Dexter, the Russian Blue from a few houses along their street, had jumped onto the outside windowsill just as Milly was bounding down the stairs. She saw him the second she entered the room and charged at him as if in a cavalry attack, flying onto the small table beneath the window as if shot from a canon and tipping a small vase of daffodils onto the carpet. Dexter recoiled, his ears flat against his head, but stood his ground as Milly snarled and spat at him, scramming the glass in frustration that she could not dig her claws into him. As Tom and Jill entered the room, Dexter jumped down and ran away. Milly surveyed the shallow front garden for a few seconds before leaping off the table.

  “Milly, stop it! Did you have to do that? Dexter’s a lovely cat. You’ll never make any friends and stop doing your business in Beverley’s garden, will you? That’s what your litter tray is for.”

  Milly ignored Tom and jumped onto the blanket on the sofa, content in the knowledge that she had seen off another intruder, leaving Jill to pick up the vase and daffodils. She returned them to the table and patted the damp carpet with the tea towel. Milly had lost count of the number of intruders she had repelled and as she closed her eyes she felt indestructible. She knew that no cat could defeat her on her territory and that she was truly the queen of this particular jungle.