And Then Came Paulette Read Free

daily mouse: a present from his cat. Or to be more precise, the kitten belonging to his beloved grandchildren. Mireille had developed an allergy to its fur just two days before they moved out, so he had been forced to agree to look after it. Yes, it was all figured out, their papi, Ferdinand, would takecare of the darling cat. Don’t you worry. And you can come see him whenever you want. OK? Now run along, my Lulus, please don’t cry.
    He would have preferred a dog. Even though six months earlier he had sworn he would never have another. Velcro was utterly stupid, totally disobedient and a pretty average guard dog. But he was so affectionate and that made up for everything. Oh he really missed that dog. With cats it was straightforward; he didn’t like them. Deceitful, sly, thieves and all that. All right for catching mice and rats. If you found a good one . . . But as for doing what they were told, no chance. They chose when they wanted to be affectionate, and that might be never.
    So the very same evening that they all moved out the bundle of fur made itself at home on his bed. He didn’t have the heart to shoo it away, it was so tiny . . . The following day it was under the comforter, huddling up close to him, its nose nestling in his ear, sweet as anything. By the fourth evening it was sharpening its claws on the legs of the armchair, without feeling the slightest emotion or pang of conscience. And come the end of the week it was eating at the table from a bowl with its name on it. The only thing missing: a napkin ring.
    Soon it would be two months since his son Roland, Mireille and their two children had moved out of the farmhouse. Two months that Ferdinand had been living on his own with the cat. And there were days when he wondered—not without some surprise—whether he could have lived through the upheaval, the sadness, without little Chamalo there at his side.
    Another huge source of surprise had been the changes in his character. He had always been rather a cold man, unshakeable, solid as a rock. No more. From one day to the next he became vulnerable. Capable of crying over nothing, worrying about everything. A chink in his armor. Gaping hole, more like. That he did everything he could to seal.
    He didn’t, of course, want to talk to anyone about any of this. He had never been much good at expressing himself, still less at talkingabout his emotions. To him it felt like stripping off in the main square on market day. No thanks! He preferred to keep everything buried deep inside. It was easier that way.
    So nobody knew about the terrible wrench caused by the children’s departure, the void they had left. A deep wound inside him that would take months or years to heal. Perhaps it never would. Quite possible.
    After the dead mouse episode, he found his slipper under the chest of drawers. He took the tiny corpse by its tail and went outside to chuck it on the trash heap.
    And standing there in the middle of the yard in his pajamas, the seat of his pants still wet, he asked himself, in all seriousness, how he was going to put it to the little kitten that it would be better, so much better, if it ate what it caught. Such a waste to kill something for no reason. Too much like human beings. What was the point? Not a good idea to imitate, puss.
    But how could you explain something like that to a cat? And a little one at that. Barely four months. What did that make it in human terms—a seven-year-old?
    And how did you know it had understood?
    No, Ferdinand, was no longer the man he used to be. And hadn’t been for some time now. He would have to pull himself together.
    By the end of the morning the sky had cleared. He took the opportunity to put in a load of laundry.
    It was a matter of some urgency. After the same dream three nights running, he no longer had any clean sheets. And no pajama bottoms either.
    And by the way, if one day he had to tell someone what he felt after the children left, he would surely