Cats, Criminals and Cancer
From as far back as I can remember there have been cats in my life. The first time ever I was without one was when my boyfriend and I moved into our tiny terraced house. We were catless for two days before my newly married sister (and part-time animal activist) turned up with a housewarming present. A tiny scrap of a cat which she’d ‘rescued’ from a local pet shop. My brother-in-law had previously decreed that there would be no cats in their flat and he was defiant. An action he came to regret when she retaliated by buying a pedigree furniture-eating rabbit.
My boyfriend, thankfully, adored her. Black, long-haired, mute and cuteness personified, Kari instantly became a huge part of our new family bringing great entertainment and happiness into our on-the-breadline existence. The visitors she brought with her were not so welcome. Fleas. Our inherited carpets became infested and to our shame and at a cost we hadn’t budgeted for, required fumigation.
Life after fleas resumed to our newly found normal. Kari slept in our bed. Where we went, she followed – even to the local shop. Her presents to us were not ordinary things like birds or mice but wiggly little snakes snatched from the nearby railway tracks. She was especially attracted to visitors who didn’t like cats and would jump onto laps and make love to them. She could spot a suitcase at fifty miles and several holidays were nearly missed when she went into hiding. Luckily, she had a weakness for fish. She loved it so much we couldn’t even say the word out loud in case she got too excited. When she did go AWOL, we knew that pacing the streets shouting FISH! would bring her back to us. God knows what our closely packed neighbours thought we were up to.
There were bad times too. She caught cat flu and nearly didn’t make it. When the house next door burned down she went missing for days. Not even the magic word worked at first. But she did come back. We got through it all. We were a team.
Fast forward thirteen-and-a-half years. Now married with a six-year old and a baby. I was working 24/7 at a failing merchant bank. My sister and her family had moved a hundred miles away. Still catless at first, their situation was remedied by the arrival on their doorstep of a heavily pregnant stray cat. This time there was no resistance and not one, but three cats joined the growing menagerie of rabbits and guinea pigs.
Sadly, however, my sister did not have good health. Two bouts of cancer and treatment had already weakened her. Then it came back for another go. Kari, too, was getting thinner for no apparent reason. It was an extremely worrying time.
In happier days the bank had launched companies; new enterprises with tax breaks for investors. One such company was run by Benedict Marsh and Darius Guppy. My involvement with them came when they had already faked a £1.8 million gems heist in a New York hotel and nearly got away with it. I was brought in to help appease the increasingly aggrieved investors who were watching their investments being swallowed up by legal fees.
The day I had an appointment with Ben was also the day that my husband took Kari to see the vet. I was extremely anxious and as soon as we’d finished the meeting I asked if I could make a call from their office phone. It was then I learned that Kari had advanced intestinal cancer and that my husband had already made the awful decision on the vet’s advice to let her go. I cried. For a fraudster, Ben was a very nice man and I remember we had a lovely chat about cats.
A few months later, the authorities were closing in on Ben and Darius but they were not responding to our phone calls. I went to their offices to see what was going on. It was deserted. The following day I was engulfed in the unfolding chaos. A quick call to my sister’s home was answered by my mother, who reassured me she was recovering from her recent spell of pneumonia and no longer needing oxygen.
My brother-in-law rang me at home the next morning to say that she had died at seven am.
You never forget the impact of hearing that sort of news. It knocks you over like a hurricane. It exhausts you with an array of emotions – disbelief, shock, overwhelming grief, anger. Then a guilt-laden feeling of relief. She would not have to face tortuous treatment that petrified her to even think about. She was at peace.
I went to join my mother and my sister’s family and decided to stay until the funeral. An unreal day was followed by a difficult night on the sofa bed. Then I found company. Sweepie. One of the kittens, he was now a bear-sized black hairy cat with a purr to match. He cuddled up to me all night just like Kari would have done. And he had something else in common with her. Fleas. A few days later in church, I could visualise my sister crying with laughter at the sight of me, fidgeting, caught between wiping away tears of grief and urges to scratch.
Life moved on. Ben and Darius went to prison for fraud. The bank finally went into liquidation and my career took a new direction. We’ve had other cats since Kari and all have been loved. But our very special Kari will always have the biggest place in our hearts.
SINISTER SISTERHOOD by Jane Badrock is out July 29th!
