much so that it was not long before I realized that nothing less
than a full-scale boarding cattery, and kennels for dogs, would
satisfy me.
Sadly, the local council objected to me looking after other
people's cats, as they were of the opinion that it was a business.
Having tried to convince them for over a year that no way was
I making any money, I gave up the fight, and since then I have
been unable to board even the kittens I have bred. All this
made me more determined to find a place in the country where
I could realize my ambition.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
DURING THE TIME I had my limited Utopia-the cattery I
had already built-I sometimes used to think perhaps I was
insane to want that kind of life on an even bigger scale. It could
be freezing, wet, and highly unpleasant cleaning those cathouses
out, even with Susan's help when she came along. Of
course, there were other forms of help (Emma), and, sometimes,
hindrance (Kerensa). Emma is not the sort of dog to sit about
and do nothing. Since my operation, and she was no longer
guiding me, she obviously had to find other responsibilities so
she could still feel an essential part of us. Emma somehow
ensured that everything in the house revolved round her. She
found different roles in life, things she knew she was needed for,
and one of them was waiting outside the cat-runs when I was
feeding the boarders. She clearly felt that it was her place to sit
outside those doors and stay there until I came out again. What
also entered into this, no doubt, was the fact that when I did
come out I usually brought all the food bowls; and, since some
cats never quite finished up their meals, Emma liked to ensure
that every plate was clean even before it went to be washed up.
So perhaps that lay behind the desire for responsibility. But
there was another reason. When Kerensa reached the toddling
stage she always came with me as well. I didn't mind that
because I could keep an eye on her and see (because she had
soon become fond of animals) that she didn't pick up any cats
who weren't used to her. And here Emma, standing guard, was
an extra pair of eyes. She knew she played her part in looking
after Kerensa.
I didn't realize, however, how fast Kerensa was growing:
upwards, that is. But one day it was brought home to me.
I discovered she could undo the bolts on the cat-runs. She
was playing out in the garden, and I was in the kitchen washing
up. I didn't know where Emma was, but I thought she
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was in the garden watching Kerensa. Suddenly I heard her
barking.
Normally she does not bark a great deal-only occasionally
when people come to the door, in order to let us know someone
is there. For the most part the drive is very busy -,s~ith
patients coming to and from Don's surgery. There is an iron
gate between the garden and the surgery so Emma can see all
the patients but she knows they have a right to be there and she
never barks at them. So I wondered why she was barking in the
back garden.
'Emma!' I called. I was answered by more furious barking.
'Emma, what's the matter?' She didn't come to the back door,
but simply barked even more.
I put my tea-towel down and went into the garden. Emma
was standing by the cat-runs.
'What is it Emma?' I said. She barked again. Then I looked.
There was a gate open and Kerensa was standing there with a
kitten clutched in her little hands, giggling, laughing and
dancing about saying, 'Baby kitten, baby kitten.'
'Kerensa! Have you let the mum out?' I looked into the cathouse.
It was empty. Mum had gone. What was I to do? Emma
stood there wagging her tail in front of the open gate. 'Where is
she, Emma? Where's she gone?'
Emma immediately and with a great sense of purpose led me
along the side of the garden. And there, sitting licking her paws
between two rose bushes, was the kitten's mum.
'Oh, Sheena, thank goodness you haven't gone far.' I scooped
her up and put her back in the cat-run with her kitten. Now I
'You're a naughty girl, Kerensa,' I said. But when Emma
bounded up, pushing her nose into my hand and wagging her
tail so her whole backside moved, I said, 'And you're a good
girl.' I knew what had happened. Emma had seen Kerensa
undoing the gate, had known it was not the right thing to do if
I was not there and had barked to let me know.
Some time before this I had a growing preoccupation beyond
the cats, Emma and Kerensa. It was my first book Emma and I,
on which I had been working increasingly hard, putting the
final touches and making revisions. Earlier in the year I had
Q3
been thrilled when it had been accepted for publication. That
had been a tremendous moment in all our lives, but I was not
prepared for the reception it had when it came out in the
autumn of that year. It went to the top of the bestseller listand
immediately I had visions that were more than dreams.
Might we, after all, be able to afford a new and really full-size
boarding cattery and kennels?
Following the publication of the book Emma and I embarked
on a non-stop whirl of tours round the country, making appearances
at bookshops and autographing copies. In addition, we
had all sorts of invitations to speak on radio and appear on
television shows, and in each instance Emma, in her own wayand
very appropriately-nearly always managed in some way
to steal the show.
The very first appearance we made was with Russell Harty
for London Weekend Television. Lynn Silver, the programme
organizer, rang up to confirm details.
'You will be bringing Emma, won't you?' she said.
'Oh yes, of course. I never go anywhere without her.'
'Oh, that's splendid.'
I voiced her thoughts for her: 'You mean if I didn't bring
Emma, you really wouldn't want me, would you?'
She laughed, but I knew there was some truth in this.
Don, Susan (Don's daughter from his first marriage), Emma
and I set off for London for the show. We were all immensely
excited. I was so excited, in fact, that when we got to Nottingham
Midland Station and the train came in, Emma and I were
first on it and it was not until I was actually in my scat that I
suddenly realized that I had not got the dress I had bought
specially for the show. I had spent hours going round the
Nottingham shops before I found what I wanted: a long dark
green velvet dress-actually a two-picce-with a blouse under
the top. And, just as the train was about to pull out with only
one stop between there and St Pancras, that dress was lying in
a carrier-bag on a seat on the platform.
'Don!' I said. 'I've left the carrier with the dress in it on the
seat.'
He dashed off the train, colliding with people still stowing
their luggage and settling in their seats, sprinted down the
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platform, and just got back aboard as the whistle was blowing.
'What on earth made you do that?' he said breathlessly.
'What would you have done?'
I had no answer to that one, but I spent the rest of the t~vo
hours going down to London permutating a small nightmare
of arriving without anything to wear beyond what I had
travelled in.
London Weekend Television turned out to be a skyscraper
building: something which I still have not got used to. To look
up at a skyscraper, with the clouds going past and making it
seem to move, makes me feel dizzy. We walked in through the
main doors, and I had to close my eyes and pretend I was
walking into an ordinary building.
Lynn Silver met us and we were taken up in the lift, with me,
once again, trying not to think of how many storeys high we
were. We arrived in her office and I didn't dare look out of the
window.
I met Russell Harty only very briefly before the show. He
said that he had read the book and would be asking me questions
going through the book chronologically. Then he sprang
rather a surprise.
'I don't want you to come on with Emma,' he said.
'Oh, why not? I don't think I could come on without her.
After all she's at least the other half of the book.'
'No,' he said, 'it's not that. I'd like her to sit with your husband
in the audience. Then, about halfway through, I'll get
you to call Emma to come on and sit by your chair. Do you
think she'd do that?'
I didn't much like the idea. 'Oh, she'll come all right. But I
must tell you I don't fancy the idea of walking on by myself.' It
was strange, but in moments like that, sighted as I was, I still
very much needed Emma to give me confidence. I felt that if
she was there by my side nothing could go wrong.
Then I asked: 'Are there any stairs to come down?'
'Yes, you have to come down a flight of stairs, but don't
worry-ive'll show you them before the show starts and you
can see how you go.' I felt I needed Emma even more when he
told me that. This was something I had still not become
accustomed to with sight: negotiating steps I didn't know.
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Although I didn't get Emma's guidance as strongly through a
lead as I used to through the harness, she had always helped
me with unfamiliar steps back in Nottingham. I still judged
from her pace how far up or down we had to go and I relied on
that, rather than trust the message from my eyes to my brain
which did not always give the right distance.
So I immediately dreaded the idea of going on alone, down
stairs.
Lynn took me behind the set. 'Now don't worry about the
stairs,' she said. 'They're not rickety or anything, and they're
all level.'
We had a little rehearsal, and it was not very successful. The
steps were curved down from the back of the set on to a carpeted
plinth where there were two seats and a table. I tried to
memorize how many steps there were, and that there was a
turning halfway down. With lights glaring at me and an
audience looking at me, to say nothing of unseen but watching
eyes at their television screens, I knew it was not going to be
easy. I thought: Well, you're just going to have to go back to
the old times when you didn't have Emma. You'll just have to
feel with your feet.
As the show started, I sat alone at the back of the set. Emma
had gone into the audience and was curled up under the seat
between Don and Susan. I was due to appear last. I was very
nervous. I saw on a monitor what was happening on the show
and a few seconds before my entrance Lynn took me to the top
of the steps behind the set. I don't know how a paratrooper
feels before he jumps from the aircraft, but I think I have a good
idea.
'Don't worry,' said Lynn, 'you'll be all right.'
'I'll have to be,' I said.
I heard Russell Harty say my name-which was my cueand
the applause, and out I went into the dazzling light. I just
couldn't see the steps at all. I was also conscious of how nervous
I was. I had to feel with my feet: no, there was not a step yet.
Then, there it was. Help! I nearly missed that one. The viewers
might not have seen it, but I was shaking. But I managed to get
down that flight of stairs, on to the plinth, and once I had sat
down I breathed the most enormous sigh of relief.
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Russell Harty commented on the book, and as soon as we
started talking I forgot my nerves and then felt encouraged as
the audience laughed at the little things I told them about
Emma.
Suddenly, Russell said that Emma was in the audience, and
would she come if I called her? I stood and called, 'Emma!
Come on, there's a good girl!' And she immediately came running
on to the stage and wagged her tail excitedly round me
before settling down beside my chair. Russell went on asking
questions, and I noticed after a time that Emma had disap
peared. I looked on the other side of my chair and there she
was. I had no idea why she had done that. Perhaps she had not
been comfortable.
But as soon as the show finished, one of the cameramen came
up to me.
'I must tell you,' he said, 'I'd already heard a lot about
Emma and what a fabulous dog she is, and I must admit I
really didn't believe that a dog could be so clever. But I believe
it all now, I really do.'
'Why's that?' I asked.
'We-Il,' he said, 'when you called her up on to the set, she
went round one side of your chair and she was completely out
of camera-I couldn't get her at all, and I forgot she was just a
dog and started waving her over to the other side. And do you
know what? She got up and went round the chair and sat just
where I wanted her to.'
I laughed. 'Well, I told you Emma was exceptional.'
'My word, you're right,' he said, patting Emma, who looked
up at him with an expression that said: 'Well, of course, you
should never have doubted my intelligence in the first place.'
Later, Emma became very tired of the whole business of
radio and television studios. Certainly she took everything in
her stride. When everyone used to come up and pat and stroke
her, she wagged her tail at them and then just settled down. It
didn't matter what the programme was, or how importantshe
simply lay down by my feet and went off to sleep. Most of
the interviewers assumed this was Emma's way, but one was
not suited at all, or at least his producer didn't seem to be. One
reason for Emma going to sleep in front of the cameras was, of
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course, the studio lighting: hot even for humans, but doubly so
for a dog.
We had been asked to appear on Anglia Television, and
Emma curled up as soon as the programme was tinder way and
took no fur
ther interest in the proceedings. ~Ve did the interview,
which lasted about four minutes, and I answered all the
questions. We finished and the interviewer said, 'Right. Tliat's
fine. Thank you.' Emma roused herself and ~ve were just walking
out of the studio when he called me back.
'The producer wants us to do it again,' he said.
'Why?' I asked. 'What did I say wrong? Didn't I give the
right answers?'
'No, that was OK. You were perfectly all right. But he didn't
like the look of the dog.'
'Didn't like the look of the dog? What do you mean?'
'Well, she didn't do anything, did she? She was just lying
there.'
'What does he expect? Somersaults?'
'No, I don't think so . By this time I was rather cross on
Emma's behalf.
'Well, ask the producer what he wants,' I said.
The interviewer disappeared and came back a minute later.
'I think what he would like is for her to sort of sit up and look
round or do something.'
I decided there and then that Emma was not going under the
lights again. She was getting on in years, and going on tour
wasn't a strain for her only because I made sure it wasn't. I
made certain she had her meals and water at the proper times
and that she got lots of comforts, and I was certainly not going
to allow her to do cartwheels or sit up and look interesting for
any producer anywhere.
And whether the viewers liked it or not, Emma was fast
asleep when that interview finally appeared on the screen.
One morning a letter arrived and I really could not believe my
eyes when I opened it. Inside was an invitation for me to speak
at the Woman of the Year luncheon at the Savoy Hotel in
London. just to have been invited to be there would have been
beyond my wildest dreams, but to be invited to speak as well!
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I called upstairs to Don, and ran up to the bathroom where he
was shaving. 'Don! Don! Look at this!' I pushed the letter in
front of his nose, and he said, 'Steady. You'll get shaving cream
all over it.'
I was too excited to tell him about it, and I wanted him to
read it for himself. So, with his face still lathered, he read the