Sinking lower into his newspaper, Neville tried to cut out his wife’s shrill tones. She sounded like a hornet deprived of his lunch. It was all the fault of Mrs Hoity Toity down the road, creating a scene about Boris having his way with her precious Siamese and getting her pregnant. Ruined, she declared, and she would seek damages unless they had Boris neutered.
A visit to the vet quickly followed, but now Martha was threatening to sue the vet as Boris hadn’t calmed down. He’d become the cat from hell but only with Martha. To date he had had a wee in her best shoes, shredded the blinds, demolished several of her favourite ornaments, tended to hide around corners and attacked her ankles, taking deep gouges with his claws. While he could understand Martha’s point, he also had sympathy for poor Boris. Imagine waking up minus two essential bits of anatomy?
Neville knew how he felt. He listened to her on the phone, ranting away at the vet, who was obviously trying to calm her down but she was having none of it. Eventually she slammed down the phone and turned to him in high dudgeon. The vet had told her it was normal for cats to go a little crazy after surgery. Once his collar came off, he could go out and he would be fine.
Trying to be conciliatory, Neville argued that had he had his testicles removed he would be more than a tad angry. Sniffing, Martha retorted that he had never had any so how would he know!!!!!
Red-faced, Neville stalked out of the room, plonking himself on the sofa, anger rising. Quietly Boris hopped up next to him, their eyes met and an invisible message passed between them. Both gazed out of the patio doors and the freedom that beckoned.
