Chapter 3 – Today

It’s a grey day outside and rain is falling steadily. I peer through the blinds and see that there are some clear skies heading our way, so I hope when I go outside after my respectful breakfast that it won’t be too wet. Stan, Sid, and Seb are looking for Food – they’ve swapped the park for the garden – and Reg and his family have moved over to the park. John is stomping around in his bedroom heading to work. The smell of percolating coffee fills the Lounge and seems to wake me up. I trot downstairs to find that our litter trays have been cleaned and there’s a generous pile of kibbles in our bowls plus some wet food. I look up on the shelf to see whether there are any new tins of cat food and there are ten of them. I decide to jump up to have a closer look. I’m pleased to say that these tins do contain some essential fish oils. Well, who’d have thought it, apart from me of course? Does this mean I have ESP or were Mary and John going to buy these tins anyway, even without my potential intervention?

“Good morning, Freddie,” says Gemma, “what are you doing up there?”

“I’m checking to see if my attempted thought transfer yesterday might have worked, Gemma.”

“Really? What attempted thought transfer was that?”

“I wanted to see whether they would buy some cat food containing essential oils to improve our memory, and they appear to have done so.”

“Well, how do you know they weren’t going to buy those same tins anyway?” says Gemma looking at me with her most plausible look.

“I don’t,” I reply, “but the fact is some tins were bought, Gemma.”

“If you really want to practice your ESP, Frederick, you should transmit a thought asking them to buy something they don’t usually buy, such as an inflatable ostrich, an elephant trap, or a blue banana.”

“I don’t believe those items are available in most supermarkets, Gemma, so that’s not a very fair test. I think we should choose something that’s normally available in supermarkets, such as a slice of Stilton cheese or a bunch of garlic, that Mary and John don’t normally buy.”

Gemma smiles – “OK, we’ll play a little game, when they go shopping next, you Transmit Thoughts about Stilton and I’ll transmit thoughts about garlic and we’ll see what happens. Let’s hope we’re not both correct, otherwise the house will smell of pungent food.”

“Garlic is supposed to be good for us,” I say, “but that sounds like a plan. I’m not sure of the best way to transmit thoughts to a human. I repeated the phrase ‘Catfood with essential oils’ over and over in my mind and stared at them as they left, is that what you should do, Gemma?”

“I’m not sure,” replies Gemma, “but that does sound right. Concentrate on, in my case, garlic and try to project that thought of garlic to them by looking at them with great intensity.”

“That sounds like a good idea, let’s see what happens,” I say, before jumping down and beginning to eat my breakfast with a gentle nod to my bowls of food.

“Are you practising ESP on me, Freddie?” asks Gemma.

“No, Gemma I’m not,” I reply, “why have you been receiving strange thoughts?”

“Well, sort of, Freddie, about which books I should read, I’ve started to want to read an Agatha Christie book, perhaps the Murder of Roger Ackroyd or The Hollow or Cat Among the Pigeons.”

“I’ve read those,” I reply, “and they’re all good, but in Cat Among the Pigeons, there’s no cat and no pigeons.”

“That’s disgraceful,” says Gemma, “we should sue Agatha under the Trade Descriptions Act. It’s a misleading title. It will act like a magnet for all cat lovers and cats who can read. Then lo and behold, there’s no cat in the book, what are people supposed to do?”

“Not to mention pigeon fanciers and pigeons who can read, Gemma.”

“Indeed, Freddie.”

“The thing is Gemma, I don’t believe cats can sue anyone under the law as we won’t be able to hire a lawyer and provide them with the reason for the lawsuit against Agatha’s estate.” 

“That’s a technicality,” replies Gemma, “I’m going to send them an email, I can type after all, and complain that way. If you buy Animal Farm, you expect there’ll be a farm with animals on it as at least part of the story. George Orwell didn’t disappoint us.”

“Well, it’s up to you Gemma, I think you should do as you indicate and see what they say by way of reply.”

“I will do, don’t worry,” she replies and trots off having eaten just a few kibbles and three mouthfuls of wet food.

I head upstairs and sit on the kitchen chair as John and Mary move around the kitchen without their usual pre-work precision as they’re out of practice, a sign that their holiday was a success. John is less pink than he was and Mary doesn’t comb her hair as much as normal. I’m relieved to see the kitchen window is open wide enough for me to slide through and I head that way as soon as Mary and John depart.

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