about fifty cats, all looking at me from these tiny pens, I could
have wept. To think that the owners would leave them here, all
cooped up, while they went on holidayl I resolved there and
then that a cat I had bred would never, if it could be avoided,
have to go to such a nightmarish place.
This led me on to consider how to be independent of other
catteries, and I thought a good deal about what would be ideal
surroundings for a cat coming to stay. And eventually I
designed, with loving care, a cattery to occupy the space in the
garden behind the surgery where there was plenty of room, and
work began on building it. My cat-houses were cabins on legs,
about six foot by six, with ladders up to them and a little catdoor,
a shelf for the cats to stretch out on and sun themselves, a
heated bed and their own light. I had all the houses doubleglazed
and fibreglass lined. Possibly the cats might even think
themselves more comfortable in one of those than our own
house, which is certainly not fibreglass lined and double-glazed.
And each cat, with its own house, has a run which is quite large
so that they don't feel hemmed in; they have lots of room in
which to move about, and feel free. I think this is very important
when a cat moves to a strange place as it won't be so scared if it
has plenty of space around it for its own use.
One day, soon after we had our first boarders, Don came out
of the surgery. 'I've got a patient in and her daughter can't see,'
he said. 'She goes away to that special school in Coventry.
Apparently the lass loves animals and the mother wants to know
if she could bring her round to look at the cats and have a look
at the cattery-and she wants to meet Emma as well.'
84
'Yes, fine,' I said. 'Tell her to give us a ring and let us know
when she's coming.'
Susan, who was fourteen, came round about a week later.
She was not totally blind as Don had thought, but she couldn't
see very much.
'Come up the garden,' I told her. 'I'll show you the cathouses.'
I turned round to make sure that she could find her own way.
She was managing. She was a nice-looking girl with glasses, in a
blazer covered with all sorts of badges. I could see her peering,
trying to identify the vague visual images in front of her to
make sure that she wouldn't bump into anything or fall over. I
didn't want to fuss round her. I knew all too well what it was
like to be fourteen and not to be able to see much, with people
trying to drag you and push you and making everything
worse.
My mind went back to when I was fourteen, quite obsessed
then, as now, with animals and particularly dogs, and how I
managed to get a weekend job at a local boarding kennels. But,
unlike Susan, I had covered up the fact that I couldn't see
properly. One Saturday I was exercising a big Alsatian in the
field and he slipped his lead. I had no idea where he had gone
and was panic-stricken. In my mind I could hear the screech of
brakes as he got out on to the road and was run over-all
because I wouldn't admit I couldn't see. I waved his lead and
collar-chain and shouted myself hoarse-and to my astonishment
I at last heard him galumphing back towards me and I
had him safely into his collar again, just hoping no one had
witnessed me in my secret near-blindness trying to cope.
'Have you any pets?' I asked. I was trying to guide her by my
voice as well as being interested in her pets.
'I've got a rabbit,' she said, 'but I love dogs and cats.'
'Have you seen Siamese before? Oh, mind the gate. That's
right, this way.'
'Thanks,' she said. I shut the gate behind us. 'No, I haven't
seen Siamese, but I've heard about them. They're nice cats
aren't they?'
'Well, I think so,' I said.
'Have you got any in at the moment?'
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'Only my own Siamese up at the top here, Zimba.'
'Have you got only one?'
'No, I've got four,' I said, 'but the other three are females
and they live in their own place in the house. I'm afraid Zimba
has to live outside, because he's a stud cat.'
'Well, yes, it does rather. If I let him in the house he would
be trying to mate everything in sight. Anyway, come and look
at his outside house. It's not as bad as it seems when I say he
lives outside. This way, in this gate,' I told her. I opened the
gate. 'Here he is, in here.'
Zimba came dashing out, miaowing and climbing up Susan's
legs.
'0w! He's got sharp claws.'
'Yes, you'll have to watch him. Pick him up. He's all right.
He's quite friendly.'
I watched her putting her hands down to make sure that
she'd got hold of him properly. And all this time, looking at
Susan, I could see myself, the self of years ago. It was unnerving.
But I know that if I had been Susan, I would have liked somebody
to treat me as an equal and a normal human being, and
I'd got to keep remembering that, because I was on the other
side of the fence now. Zimba had curled himself round Susan's
neck, and was purring in her ear.
'I wish we could have some more animals,' she said, 'but we
haven't room. Do you think I could come up and help you
sometimes with the cats?'
When she asked that, a lot of thoughts rushed through my
mind all at once. I thought: She can't see. I can't let her help
me with the cats. She wouldn't know if they got out of the gate.
And if I'd got somebody's kitten in for boarding, what would
I do if she lost it? I couldn't take the risk. And even if I asked
her to sweep a cat-house out, she wouldn't see if it was clean.
What can I say to her?
And then I remembered myself again, years ago, as a schoolgirl.
I remembered what it was like to be nearly blind, what it
was like when I went for weekend jobs at kennels, desperately
hoping they wouldn't know I couldn't see and desperately
wanting to help with the animals. How could I think critically
86
of Susan after all those years of being on the other side myself?
And of complaining that sighted people would not accept me?
'Yes, of course you can help me,' I said. 'I'd be very glad of
some help from somebody. Come round whenever you like.
Are you going to come in and see the other cats?-you'd better
get to know them if you're coming to help.'
'Oh, can I? Please,' she said. She followed me down the
garden and into the house. She was thrilled to see the rest of the
cats, and Emma as well. 'You're Emma are you? I've heard
about you. Did you say she was chocolate brown?'
'That's right.'
'She just looks dark to me ... by the way I shan't be able to
come for a bit because I'm away at school. But I'll come at half
term which is in five weeks' time.
'Fine,' I said. 'I'll look forward to seeing you. Where do you
go to school?'
'In
Coventry.'
'Do you like it?'
'Oh, it's all right I suppose.
5
And that brought back more memories to me: how unjust it
seemed to take children from their parents and put them in a
special school because they had a handicap. And how lucky I
had been that my mother insisted on me trying my best at an
ordinary sighted school where I could live at home and not have
to leave friends behind at the beginning of every term.
I am glad that I asked Susan to come and help me. It proved
a lucky stroke. She is still with me and very happy. She has
become a tremendous help, and she is, I am certain, more
trustworthy than any sighted child of her age, because from the
very beginning she took things responsibly. I think she knew she
had to do a good job-just as I did at her age-and always aim
to do better than a sighted person. If you are blind, you have to
do that in order to win: the. world, which wants to ignore you
anyway, will forget you soon enough if you ever stop competing.
So my private cattery went along fairly smoothly. There were
occasional problems with the cats but, on the whole, I found the
owners more of a headache than their pets. Two of my regular
visitors were Siamese from my friend Ann. The first time they
arrived she had already inspected where they would be living
87
for a fortnight while she was on holiday. We put them in their
pen, settled them down, and I thought that was the end of it.
I was wrong.
Ann came back with me into the house. 'Now then,' she said,
'I've brought all their instructions for you.'
'Instructions? What instructions?' I said. 'They're Siamese,
and, after all, I bred them. I think I know what they'll eat and
everything.'
'Well, yes, I'm sure you do Sheila, but I thought I would just
leave the odd instruction to make sure you wouldn't have any
worries while I'm away.'
The 'odd instruction' turned out to be four sheets of foolscap
typed paper, carefully filed in a perspex cover. She took it out
of her bag.
'And,' she said, as if that was not enough for me to study over
the next fortnight, 'there are two ointments. One's for Tiger and
the other's for Whisky. Then there are two sets of pills. It tells
you about these on my instructions, but Whisky has to have one
pill in the morning and one pill after her supper at night. And
Tiger should have a pill every third day-unless he sneezesand
then I give him two a day ... oh, and I forgot. Here are
the eardrops . . .'
'Eardrops?' I said in astonishment. 'What's the matter with
their ears?'
'Oh, well, nothing actually. But it's just in case.' She leaned
forward earnestly. 'I always like to take precautions. You never
know, do you?'
' Well, they're not going to catch anything here,' I said.
'Oh, I wouldn't suggest for a moment that I thought they
might, but it's just in case . . . and I'd be so grateful if you'd
follow the instruction on sheet number three. Paragraph two.'
'Oh, I will,' I assured her, by now quite bemused. 'I will.'
'Now. Would you take special note of this little bit about
Whisky. Page one, top of the page. Paragraph one.'
I looked at the typewritten sheet, as directed.
'Whisky is a very strange Siamese,' said Ann, while I was
thinking that it was not Whisky that was a little bit odd. 'She
likes to be made a fuss of, but she must have four feet on the
ground.'
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'What do you mean, "four feet on the ground"?'
'Well, she doesn't like to be picked up. Not at all. But she
does like to be made a fuss of, as long as you leave all her feet on
the ground.'
'Oh, all right. I'll make sure I do that. What about Tiger?
Does he like fussing with four feet on the ground?'
'No. No, he doesn't. Tiger's very different. It's all in my notes.
He likes to sit on your shoulder. So if you'd go in, in the morning
when you give them their breakfast, and just let him sit on your
shoulder for a few minutes, that will make him content for the
rest of the day.'
She began fastening her bag and doing up her coat. 'Well, I'll
leave you to it, but with my instructions' (she tapped them
meaningfully and fixed me with a beady look), 'I'm sure there's
nothing you won't know how to cope with.'
'I'm sure,' I said rather weakly, and then: 'By the way, have
you a phone number, just in case?'
'No,' she said, 'I am going off to Spain.'
'Are you sure you're quite happy about them?' I said,
expecting her to ring every night even if she had been off to
Australia.
'Oh, quite sure,' she said, sweeping to the front door. She
paused on the step. 'You won't forget the eye ointment, will
you,' she said as a parting shot.
Simon was another interesting visitor, and 'interesting' is only
one adjective he deserved. Simon belonged to another friend,
Mrs Blake, a slightly overpowering lady with a voice that
boomed out at you. Her Simon was just about the most spoilt
of all the spoilt Siamese I had ever met.
'Ooh, my poor darling!' said Mrs Blake in reverberating
tones as she brought Simon in and saw where he was going to
live. 'I don't know how you're going to manage without
Mummy.' Somehow the line was given the kind of treatment
Shakespeare would have approved of. She followed up by
kissing him lavishly, all over his nose. Simon, to give him his
due, didn't seem to be too appreciative of that. Cats don't much
like being kissed-certainly not by humans, although perhaps
another cat is OK.
89
I
'Don't worry, Mrs Blake,' I assured her. 'I'll look after him.
He's got his heated bed on and there's plenty of food ready for
him. I don't think you need worry. I'm sure he'll settle-all
the others do.'
She turned to me. 'Ooh ... but you haven't had my little
poppet before!' she boomed. 'He'll miss Mummy taking him to
bed. Oh, you poor darling, you'll have to sleep all on your own!
Where will he have his food?'
'In his house,' I said. 'They all have their food bowls in their
houses.'
'Ooh, I'm not sure he'll approve of that. He always sits at the
table with me. He likes to eat his dinner off a china plate. I
personally use Dresden. Oh, he will miss that. Now, he likes
lightly-poached fish for breakfast. Won't touch anything else.
I've tried him with bacon, but he doesn't seem to like the rind,
you know. And for dinner, I might boil him a kidney. And he
always has fresh rabbit for tea. Then, depending what Mummy
has for supper, he shares it with me.'
'Don't worry,' I said. 'I've got all that down.' At the same
time I didn't bother to tell her that Simon would be getting
used to chicken for breakfast not fish, lightly-poached or otherwise,
and was also in for other amendments to his diet.
After Mrs Blake had departed, I realized that her influe
nce
over Simon had gone a little too far. Nothing I could do would
make him come round to my way of thinking. I don't normally
mind if cats spit at me, or growl, because at least I know where I
am with them. Cats only behave like that out of fear. As soon as
they are used to you walking round their run and become
accustomed to your voice, they come to you for affection.
But Simon wouldn't come anywhere near me. He sat on the
roof of his cabin all day, and every time I opened his front gate
I felt his open hostility. He hated me. The look in his eyes
appeared full of a baleful hope that I would drop dead. But at
least he ate everything I put in front of him and, in fact, he put
on weight while he was with me. The diet was obviously better
for him than the lightly-poached fish, etc.
Simon was with me for a fortnight and never, ever could I
actually touch him. But one day I went into the run to serve his
evening meal and I was not as careful as usual. I normally
go
ducked to be out of reach of his perch on the top of the roof, and
put his dinner down in his house. Only this time I felt the hate
was not quite as strong as it had been previously.
How wrong I was. I walked in, my head level with the roof,
within about six inches of Simon. He lashed out at my face, just
missing my eye and scratching skin off my cheek. I was so
furious I just stood there and stamped my feet. I hardly knew
what to do with him. In what Simon obviously saw as a com
petition between us, I had lost, and I had never encountered
that sort of thing before. After a few days I have always been on
the best terms with the cats I've promised to look after.
I took Simon in when Mrs Blake went away again. The only
thing that made me take him was the thought that if I didn't, he
might go to a commercial cattery where they simply wouldn't
understand his ways-which are worse than those of a spoilt
child.
Yet, despite occasional characters such as Simon and despite
the fact that running even a little private cattery is hard and
often dirty work, I loved every minute of it. I knew from the
beginning that I loved being outside and being with animals, so