A Stitch in Time Read Free

shrubberies, though, were inviting. They would have to be explored.
    The cat brushed its way into the room, making her jump and stumble against one of the small tables. An ornament fell to the floor. She picked it up and saw guiltily that it was chipped. She put it back on the table.
    â€œFool,” said the cat.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFool, I said. I suppose you think you’ll get away with that.”
    â€œI might,” said Maria.
    The cat yawned. “Possibly,” it said. “And again possibly not.” It licked one paw delicately, sitting in a patch of sunlight.
    â€œI must say you’ve got some very attractive Victorian atmosphere here,” said Maria.
    â€œWe aim to please,” said the cat.
    â€œWhere’s the swing?” Maria asked.
    â€œThere isn’t one.”
    â€œYes, there is. I heard it squeaking.”
    â€œHave it your own way,” said the cat. “You’ll soon find out.” It squinted at her through half-closed eyes and went on, “And don’t maul me about. I can’t stand it. The last lot were forever patting and stroking. ‘Nice pussy, dear pussy.’ Ugh!”
    â€œI don’t like cats,” said Maria.
    â€œAnd I’m not keen on children. How old are you? Nine?”
    â€œEleven,” said Maria coldly.
    â€œBit small, aren’t you?”
    â€œThat’s not my fault.”
    â€œRather on the plain side too, I’d say. Mousy. Not like that Caroline next door to you at home. Her with the long fair hair. And the two sisters she’s always rushing about with. Laughing and pushing each other.”
    â€œYou would know about Caroline,” said Maria.
    The cat inspected its paw, and stretched. “Is your mother a good cook?”
    â€œVery,” said Maria.
    â€œLavish helpings? Plenty of scraps left – that kind of thing?”
    â€œI should think you’ll be all right.”
    â€œGood,” said the cat. “Last week was a bit thin. Big family. Everyone after the pickings. There’s a lot to be said for a small litter.” It eyed Maria thoughtfully, “Or don’t you agree?”
    â€œYou can’t be sure,” said Maria, “when you are. You don’t know what it would be like otherwise. They nearly didn’t have me, you know. I heard my mother say so once to her friend. But they’re glad they did now.”
    â€œIs that so?” said the cat. “Fancy.” It sounded unconvinced. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, no doubt.” It sauntered out of the room and down the stairs, its tail waving elegantly from side to side.
    With their possessions spread around the house – paperback books on the tables in the drawing-room, groceries in the kitchen, coats in the hall – its strong personality began to seem a little diluted. It became slightly more docile, as though it belonged to them instead of being entirely independent. They ate their lunch in the kitchen: somehow the dining-room seemed too forbidding, at least for cold pork pies and salad. The cat came in and fawned for a while against Mrs Foster’s legs, until fed some scraps. Toady, said Maria to it silently, sucker-up… It gave her a baleful stare and settled down to sleep beside the cooker.
    The last tenants of the house had left evidence of themselves in the form of half-emptied packets of cereals on the kitchen shelf (Rice Krispie people they had been, Maria noted, with one family rebel who favoured Frosties), a plastic duck under the bath, a shredded burst balloon and some comics in the waste-paper basket in her room, some bits of Lego down the side of the drawing-room sofa and a battered fork-lift truck behind the cooker. Mrs Foster swept all these objects up and threw them into the dustbin. Maria regretted this: she had been trying to imagine from them what this invisible family might have been like. They seemed to have been of mixed ages andsexes. The house,