She strolled over to the litter tray, squatted down and urinated loudly, maintaining extremely assertive eye contact with me throughout.
After the deluge, she lazily kicked over the traces with her back legs, scattering litter all over my freshly cleaned floor.
A woman who knew her own mind and scorned the conventions of polite society. We were going to get along just fine.
Raymond declined all of the biscuits on offer and also the tea. He requested beer or coffee, but I had neither.
Taking care of guests was more challenging than I’d thought. Eventually, he settled for a glass of water, which he didn’t even drink.
Desi, one of his flatmates, had rescued the cat from the back court of his flats last night, he told me.
Someone had put her in a metal dustbin and set it alight—Desi had heard the screams when he was returning home from work.
I stood up and ran toward the bathroom, where I vomited up the pink wafers. Raymond knocked gently on the door, but I shouted at him to leave me alone.
When I came back, both he and the cat were sitting separately on the sofa. I sat down in the chair opposite, and they both watched me carefully.
“Who would do such a thing, Raymond?” I said, when I could finally speak. Both he and the cat looked sad.
“Sick fucks,” said Raymond, shaking his head. “Desi brought her in and we made sure she was OK.
He’s allergic, though, so we can’t keep her. I was going to take her to the Cats Protection, or see if my mum wanted another one, but then...
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