Chapter SEVEN.
When Lettie called to say she wanted to bring my welcome home gift to my place instead of giving it to me at hers, I knew something was up. She'd been mysteriously vague about the whole thing, which wasn't like her at all. Given her obvious disdain for my decorating choices, I wondered if she'd bought me something large and unwieldy—perhaps an enormous coffee table or a massive painting that would be too awkward to transport easily.
So it was with considerable surprise that I opened my front door to find an empty-handed Lettie standing on my doorstep, looking slightly nervous.
"I suppose you're wondering where your gift is," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Now that you mention it," I replied, leaning against the doorframe. "You did say it was a big surprise. For a moment I thought the big surprise might be that I wasn't getting a gift after all."
Lettie laughed, but there was something forced about it. "I'm not one of those awful people from school. It's in the car."
"The car?" I repeated, peering past her toward her vehicle. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw it shaking slightly. We definitely didn't live in an earthquake-prone area, so I shook my head—perhaps disturbed vision was one of the lingering effects of my accident.
"Why didn't you bring it in with you?" I asked.
"No, Narel," Lettie said with unusual firmness. "I want you to go into your living room and sit on your sofa, and then I'll bring in your gift."
I walked into the living room, acutely aware that Lettie was following close behind. "You're acting really strange. Why did you leave my gift in the car? What's going on?"
Lettie practically pushed me onto the sofa. I leant back against my cushions, watching as she began rubbing her chin—a telltale sign that she was nervous about something. Why on earth would Lettie be nervous about giving me a gift?
"Well, Narel, it's like this," she began, and I immediately knew I was in trouble. "I haven't got you a dog. I thought I should mention that straight away. I didn't get you a dog because you eat so much chocolate, and you always have chocolate lying around, and as we both know, chocolate is dangerous to dogs."
I nodded slowly, wondering why Lettie was telling me what sorts of gifts she hadn't brought me.
"No, I didn't get you a puppy," she continued, "but I did get you a pet."
She stared at me expectantly, clearly waiting for my reaction.
I clasped my hands together with genuine delight. "Oh, a pet!" Then reality set in. "It's not a ferret, is it? Or some sort of giant rat with enormous teeth?"
Lettie shook her head vigorously. "I went to the animal shelter to get you a kitten. I thought a cat would be wonderful company for you. I was planning to find you a lovely fluffy white kitten like Louis XIV, but the cat I ended up choosing wasn't quite what I had in mind initially."
My excitement was genuine. "A kitten!" I exclaimed, jumping up to give Lettie an enthusiastic hug. "How absolutely thoughtful of you! I've always wanted a cat again."
My old cat, Patches, had passed away shortly before the accident, and I still missed him terribly. I'd assumed it would be ages before I could have another pet, but now that Lettie had been so considerate...
"Well, I hope you like him," Lettie said anxiously. "If you don't, I won't be able to take him home, because Louis XIV will absolutely hate him. They just won't get along."
"Of course I'll love him!" I assured her. "All cats are wonderful."
"I bought you everything you'll need—litter tray, litter, food. The shelter said he only eats the most expensive brand of cat food, and he refuses dry food entirely. He only eats gourmet wet food—you know, those tiny, ridiculously expensive tins. Why don't you sit down whilst I go and fetch him?"
"I'm so excited, Lettie!"
A look of genuine fear crossed her face. "But you might not like him. I have to warn you that he's not exactly a pretty cat."
"All cats are beautiful," I said firmly. "Of course I'll love him."
"Trust me, he really isn't conventionally attractive. I went to the shelter planning to find you a gorgeous kitten, but they said no one else wanted him and he was going to be put down that very afternoon. So when you see him, please remember that I originally intended to buy you a very pretty kitten."
"How superficial do you think I am?" I asked, slightly offended. "I'm hardly the person to judge anyone based on appearances. Don't you remember how I used to look? I'll love him regardless. Thank you so much!"
Lettie pulled a face, frowned deeply, then hurried out the door whilst I sat there grinning. How wonderfully thoughtful of her to rescue a kitten that needed a home.
She returned shortly with the litter supplies and several tins of what did indeed look like a very expensive brand of cat food.
"Lettie, I'm absolutely bursting with impatience. Where's the kitten?"
"I'm bringing him in last," she said ominously.
I sighed. I couldn't wait to meet my sweet little companion.
Soon enough, I heard Lettie return, shut and lock my front door, then walk into the living room carrying what looked like a pet carrier. She placed it carefully on the floor, and I was immediately alarmed. The carrier was shaking violently, and the most extraordinary sounds were emanating from within.
I narrowed my eyes as suspicion dawned. "Lettie, he's not actually a kitten, is he?"
Lettie looked appropriately shamefaced. "No, I never technically said he was a kitten. You assumed he was a kitten. Oh, Narel, I simply couldn't leave the poor thing there. He was going to be put down that very afternoon. An elderly farmer had surrendered him because he wasn't able to care for him any longer. The shelter said that whilst people always adopt kittens, no one ever wants to adopt an older cat."
A wave of sympathy washed over me. "The poor darling. What's his name?"
Lettie grimaced. "Mongrel."
I gasped. "What a dreadful name for a cat!"
"Mongrel has, err, certain issues," Lettie said carefully.
"What sort of issues?" I asked sternly.
"It's absolutely not his fault," she said quickly. "The farmer didn't treat him very well. The shelter explained that Mongrel only becomes aggressive if he sees rope. The farmer used to tie him up sometimes, and now Mongrel becomes rather upset at the sight of any rope. Fortunately, you don't have any rope in your house."
I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "He only becomes aggressive when he sees rope? You mean this cat actually attacks people?"
Lettie held up her hands defensively. "Of course not! He only reacts badly to rope. All you have to do is make sure you never show him any rope, and everything will be perfectly fine."
I considered this. On one hand, I was concerned about adopting a cat with behavioural issues. On the other hand, I was touched that I could provide a home for an animal no one else wanted. After all, how difficult could he be?
The carrier had stopped shaking, and I couldn't see through the mesh door properly. I walked over and carefully opened it.
I immediately recoiled. I wasn't entirely certain that the creature staring out at me was actually a cat. He growled ferociously and then hissed until I backed away hastily.
The poor thing clearly hadn't been well cared for. His ginger coat looked rather moth-eaten, and his face was... unique. One ear bent down at an odd angle whilst the other stood upright. Most notably, he appeared to have more teeth than seemed anatomically possible for a cat. Two bottom canine teeth protruded considerably from his mouth, giving him the appearance of a cross between a walrus and a vampire.
"Why exactly was this cat surrendered to the shelter?" I asked suspiciously.
Lettie took a step back. "Well, if you must know, they told me the whole story. The farmer brought him in because he wanted to register him under some sort of Dangerous Cats Act. He thought that would protect him legally if the cat attacked anyone. The shelter informed him that whilst there's a Dangerous Dogs Act, there's no such thing as a Dangerous Cats Act. The farmer became rather upset and surrendered the cat immediately."
She paused. "They actually did rehome him once before, but unfortunately, the new owner tried to shower with soap on a rope."
Lettie shook her head sadly. "That didn't end well, though the person did survive."
I stared at her in disbelief. "Lettie, I can't believe you've brought me a potentially dangerous cat!"
"Come on, Narel," she said persuasively. "You're an animal lover, and you don't own any soap on a rope. You'll be perfectly safe! Mongrel is much better than a kitten in many ways. He's already house-trained, and he has loads of personality."
At that moment, the carrier shook violently again, and the most extraordinary sounds—sounds I didn't even know animals could make—came from within.
"Yes, you're absolutely right," I said, injecting as much sarcasm as possible into my voice. "If he ever comes out of that basket, I'm sure we'll get along brilliantly."
"Why don't you put some food just in front of his carrier to entice him out?" Lettie suggested, showing me a rather lovely bowl she'd purchased.
I felt mean for being ungrateful. After all, her heart was in the right place, even if her gift was somewhat unconventional.
I opened a tin and emptied the contents into the bowl, placing it about a foot from the carrier. Lettie and I looked at each other expectantly.
Nothing happened for several minutes. Then suddenly, a massive clawed paw shot out like lightning and dragged the bowl back into the carrier in one fluid motion.
"That cat's as quick as a martial arts expert!" I exclaimed.
I might have said more, but I was transfixed by the sight of the carrier shaking violently. It seemed the cat preferred to thoroughly demolish his food rather than simply eat it.
I rubbed my temples, thinking a glass of wine might help me process this situation better.
"I'll have to change his name," I announced.
Lettie shook her head firmly. "No, the shelter people were absolutely adamant about that. They hated his name too, but they said it's the only thing he responds to. He's an older cat, so changing his name would only upset him further."
"Just how old is this cat exactly?"
Lettie shrugged. "Who knows? Ten? Six? Fourteen? Nobody was certain. What's obvious is that he's definitely not a kitten."
I gave her a look. "You think?"
