Mittens

I vividly remember the morning Mittens shredded the household’s hard-won domestic tranquillity, ripping it apart with the same focused venom she attacked a scratching post.

Pete angrily stomped into the kitchen, his visible tetchiness disturbing the breakfast feeding frenzy.

“Okay Derek, can I ask why you thought it was a good idea to teach Mittens how to speak English?” he snapped at his brother.

Derek was surprised enough by the query and its sting, that he paused briefly, before finishing his slice of toast. Grinning broadly, he radiated vindicated pride. Most of his experiments were unmitigated disasters, so it was a rare moment for him to be able to celebrate a success.

“Had a nice chat, did you? I must confess Mittens has proven to be a most excellent student,” Derek answered.

“Perhaps, but I have to say she is very rude,” Pete growled, helping himself to Derek’s freshly poured cup of tea.

The object of this sudden domestic dispute sauntered into the room, languidly stretched, and then slowly yawned, closing her jaw with an audible snap. She found a sun beam warmed patch of floor and settled there, neatly tucking her paws underneath her. Once comfortable, she surveyed the humans with a piercing, unflinching gaze that would have made the Medusa proud. There was an unfamiliar awkwardness amongst the group, something they had never previously encountered when Mittens honoured them with her presence.

Keen to show off the successful fruition of years of research, Derek ignored the suddenly expectant audience and spoke directly to the cat.

“Hello there Mittens, been out on your adventures then?” he said.

Mittens made them wait, before troubling herself to respond.

“Just perusing the garden for mice, as no-one else bothers,” Mittens replied.

Perhaps it was something to do with feline anatomy, or maybe Derek’s teaching process, but Mitten’s speaking voice resembled that of an ancient aristocratic. Imperious, dignified and vaguely scornful, it suited her perfectly.

There was a gasp of appreciation from the breakfasters, as if they were spectators at a first-rate fireworks display. They hadn’t really expected Mittens to be able to converse with them, let alone have a much better vocabulary than most of the people at the table.

“I must say Mittens, I am very impressed with the way you’ve mastered human speech,” said Jenny, Pete’s wife.

“Well, I’ve always tried to communicate with the colony, but some of you did not have the wit to understand,” said Mittens.

This critique was probably directed at Pete, who Mittens considered less than punctual when it came to her feeding time. However, Mittens did not bother to specify anyone specifically, making all the crowd wonder if they too were having their mental capacity found wanting by a pet cat.

“I bet all that hunting made you hungry, fancy some more breakfast?” said Luke, Pete and Jenny’s son. He had very nearly fallen over Mittens last night as he let himself into the house after a late-night drinking session and now feared exposure.

“I could manage a small morsel. Especially as Pete’s foul cigarette and hacking cough scared off the pigeon I was hunting earlier,” Mittens replied.

Eager to remain in Mitten’s favour, Luke dashed to fetch a sachet of the premium cat food, usually used to smuggle unpleasant tasting medication into meals. Pete said nothing, but from the sudden reddening of his ears and muttered swearing, it was obvious he was angry. His furtive cigarette habit was something he was keen to conceal. Thanks to Mittens, he was sure to have his tobacco stash confiscated and destroyed.

Mittens regally ambled over to her bowl and consumed her extra meal with smug relish. Unfortunately, no-one else in the room was enjoying themselves quite so much. Until this morning the cat had been a silent witness to activities that they would not necessarily wish the rest of the family to be aware of. Now they found themselves living with an unrepentant fifth-columnist, happy to expose their guilty secrets, purely it seemed, on a capricious whim.

That evening, while Mittens was outside checking on the foxes that kept invading her garden, a family conference was hastily convened.

“I thought black cats were supposed to be lucky,” Pete said, already struggling with forced, sudden nicotine withdrawal.

“She’s not so bad,” Luke answered, wary that Mittens was lurking nearby and secretly eavesdropping.

“She’s a monster, she asked me if anyone had noticed the fresh dent in the car door and then suggested a shopping trip to get some fresh liver,” Jenny revealed.

“What dent?” asked Pete, never the most observant of people.

“Just imagine if she starts talking to the neighbours, we will be pariahs,” said Jenny, quickly changing the subject back to the troublesome Mittens. She calmed herself with a large swig of red wine and wondered if Mittens knew about the secret hiding place where she hid her booze. The quality stuff that would have been wasted on the rest of the family.

“Well, how are we you going to fix this then?” Luke asked. He was already considering the additional cost in cat treats next time he wanted to sneak out.

“One way trip to the vets, poisoned can of tuna, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Pete suggested.

“What and destroy my masterpiece! I was thinking of renting her out to MI5 as a spy,” Derek interjected.

“She’d say we’re in the pay of the Russians, purely out of spite,” Pete responded.

“She’s not so bad,” Luke said, again anxiously checking the room.

“This is your fault Derek, and you need to fix it,” Pete added. Derek nodded his agreement. He had noticed a new collective coolness towards him from the family. It was true he was considered eccentric previously, but now he was perceived as a dangerous, tinkering lunatic. It was also looking like his unofficial status as non-paying lodger could now be in jeopardy. He was sensible enough to look contrite.

“I must admit I feel partially at fault here, but not to worry folks, I think I may have a solution. I’ve been feeding Mittens certain supplements to stimulate her mental growth. If I halt this process, hopefully, problem solved,” Derek explained in his usual pompous manner.

“Give it a go, but I’m still getting in some tuna,” Pete commented.

Initially, the change in Mitten’s diet seemed to have no obvious effect, and Mittens continued to efficiently use her insider knowledge to instigate a minor rule of terror, specialising in extortion and intimidation. But this sudden deluge of blackmailed bounty came at an unforeseen cost, not considered by a supposedly clever cat. Once the family favourite, Mittens was now as popular as a pile of warm vomit on a white carpet. She was grudgingly tolerated, but her company was not greeted with any pleasure. Strokes and tickles between the ears were perfunctory and unenthusiastic at best.

However, after a week, there was a noticeable change. Mitten’s vocabulary slowly diminished and withered. If the relief had not been all encompassing, they may have been an element of pity for her plight. Mittens would start a sentence only to slowly become confused, struggling for words she could no longer comprehend. The sentence would remain unfinished and garbled. Words would almost be conjured whole, only to dissolve incomplete, lost in her mental fog. It was like a soap bubble bursting before it could be set free into the air. Eventually the words stopped, and her old demanding meow returned.

Derek took the credit of course, but I knew it had nothing to do with him. Cats are sensible creatures who loath a drama and love an easy life. They are also excellent actors if the whim takes them. Mittens had found it extremely tiresome being reasoned with and asked not to scratch the furniture or retch up fur-balls on the kitchen floor. Also, she missed the company and the affection she used to be lavished with. The reality was Mittens simply decided to save herself from any unnecessary effort and abandon her new gift of human communication, the same way she would casually discard a once favoured plaything. After all, she always used to make her demands understood adequately well previously.

Now I know people scoff at fanciful stories of talking animals, and most of you will not believe a word of this fable, but I was there to witness it. You see, literally letting the cat out of the bag here, Mittens wasn’t the only cat that lived at the house, I did too. Mittens happened to be my sister, although we weren’t close. It is hard to be friendly with someone who seizes the warmest sleeping places and greets you with distain and a face full of claws if you dare to be first in place for dinner.

Derek never told anyone, but he tried to teach me first, he thought without success. Prudently, I never let him realise that I had learnt human speech too. I suspected, correctly as it turned out, that it would be awkward for all concerned. Old Mittens, supposedly the smart one, never grasped that no-one wants to live with a snitch willing to spill their secrets to the highest bidder or on a bored whim. She was always a “look at me” type of cat who liked her presence acknowledged immediately and demands granted pronto. But what she thought would be her great advantage turned out to be a curse. Even so, I’ll be honest here, I did have a word with her about the situation, she agreed the speaking had to stop, while clinically criticising my poor grammar.

It took a long time for the family to fully relax in Mittens company and for her to resume her previous role as pampered lap cat. It was lucky for her, that she was a pretty creature and able to turn on the charm if she felt the need. Like a forgiven marital affair, her speaking English was never discussed, but the fact remained undisputed and not forgotten. Still, I must admit I benefited from this residual paranoia, as the reassuringly simple, good cat, I received much more of the attention Mittens used to monopolise and got to share in the improved rations that she had unsubtly bullied the family into supplying. She also found she now had to be a bit nicer to everyone, I mean no cat understands the point of saying please or thank you, but she did have to be more polite. Win, win for the slow, fat one as the over-weight Pete hypocritically once described me.

It was only after Derek’s mysterious death that a line was fully drawn under the matter. There was talk about a failed experiment, a custard powder-based explosion. But there was also whispered rumours of him being savaged by a clan of angry badgers, outraged by his unwelcome attempts to introduce them to his free-form poetry. It was sad situation, but not an unexpected one.

Not to be too harsh on the departed, but I don’t know what Derek had been thinking teaching us cats how to speak. The status quo of a family home is a delicate entity and should be treated with care. There really was no need for any of this drama, and I have to say I blame Derek. Even now Mittens still does not truly understand what she did wrong, but then it’s incredibly tricky having to second-guess and co-exist with such a moody, mercurial, stubborn creatures like humans.

Epilogue

A dishevelled, middle-aged man unsteadily weaved his way home. He was carefully carrying a thin plastic bag of takeaway Chinese food. He was worried the bag might split before he made it home.

“Drunk again Mr Perkins,” said a judgmental female voice as Mr Perkins clumsily fumbled for his keys.

“Making the most of his wife being away by stuffing his face,” commented a mocking male voice.

Mr Perkins had indeed over-indulged at the Railway Arms, but he did not welcome his state being addressed so publicly. He looked angrily around to remonstrate with his lurking critics, but there was no-one to be seen. The only living presence he could just-about identify in the night murk were the two creepy black cats that lived two doors down, sitting together on a fence. They watched him with wide eyed curiosity until he successfully manoeuvred himself into his home.

“I’m going inside and see if Luke will give me something to eat,” said the larger, scruffier cat, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Please yourself,” said Mittens. She elegantly flopped off the fence and briefly patrolled the garden for unwelcome, trespassing cats and persistent, pillaging foxes. However, the prospect of food quickly lured her indoors too. She also planned to ask the smart speaker in the living room to play her something interesting. She had just finished “The Art of War” and was now working through “The Complete Short Stories of Saki” as a bit of light relief.

“Hello Mittens, do you want some treats too?” asked Luke as Mittens burst dramatically through the cat-flap.

Mittens answered with a soft, plaintive meow, and rubbed her body affectionately against his legs, which as they both knew, meant yes.

“What a good cat, aren’t you a good cat,” said Luke as he rubbed the purring cat’s forehead. Mittens waited until Luke moved away to help himself to one of his father’s beers from the fridge before responding.

“No,” she replied, ever so quietly.