17
written by: Susan Temple
There were seventeen cats in Larry’s basement. His memory dimmed, trying to recall when he’d found his first. But he knew each by name and their intricate markings. Touching their fur had given him comfort in the years since his wife Maisie had passed; a happy distraction from the loneliness: Max sitting on the tallest cupboard box, bob-tailed Willow always crouching ready to pounce, and even Shadow, who looked scrawny.
Hearing the doorbell, Larry climbed the creaking steps of the musty basement while cursing the pain in his knees. Closing the paint-flaked basement door, he took one last check in the hall mirror.
Straightening his tweed jacket and new glasses, which the young girl at the opticians had recommended, he felt his palms start to sweat. It had been a long time since he had done this. He hoped Maureen liked cats as much as he did.
At first sight, Larry had to agree with his barber, who had set up the introduction. Maureen was indeed a curvaceous brunette with a twinkle in her eye.
‘You must be Larry!’ She beamed, holding out her hand, which Larry shook vigorously – his hand, now dry from the quick trouser rub.
He welcomed her into his terraced house and took off her peacock-coloured coat. Smoothing the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief he said, ‘I hope you’re hungry. I’m no cook but, I can warm up a butcher’s steak pie. Everyone talks about the butcher on the High Street, but I have a secret one the next village over.’ Larry paused, wondering if he was waffling, as his son in America often scolded him for doing.
‘Oh! You’ll have to give me the name of it,’ Maureen said, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. Larry felt relieved that he hadn’t failed quite as quickly as he’d presumed. ‘My daughter is always trying to get me to go vegan, but gosh, what would I do without my Saturday morning bacon roll?’
Larry felt a warm glow at the sound of a woman’s voice in his home. Setting the plate of food before her, he noticed Maureen had painted her nails red, just like Maisie used to, and he could smell something floral in the air. He was surviving on his own, but he was suddenly aware of all the little things that were missing. The touch of a warm hand when passing a mug of tea, a calming, soft voice when irritated, and rosy lips kissing him goodnight. Things that softened the edges of life and made the heaviest of days lighter.
As the evening slipped away, the light outside the netted curtains faded, and the couple’s wine bottle sat empty. They’d talked about their preretirement jobs; Maureen had been a stay-at-home-mum before a few administrative jobs led her to become the medical centre’s receptionist. Larry had described his time in the Royal Navy before retraining as a secondary teacher of geography. Stories flowed of how schooling had changed since they were young. Larry felt a calmness with Maureen; for all her quick wit and opinions, she seemed like she took people as she found them. He hoped this would help if he brought up the numerous cats he had.
‘Do you have any pets? Any hobbies? A bucket list?’ he inquired, guiding her out of the kitchen. The answer was a goldfish, needle felt art, and going to Paris. Larry agreed about Paris before offering his own answers.
‘I would like you to meet some furry friends of mine, Maureen,’ Larry flicked on the temperamental basement light and opened the door. ‘I’m afraid we come as a package, here’s hoping you like them. Follow me down these steps. Steady as you go.’
Slightly tipsy Maureen giggled, ‘I hope you’re not going to have your wicked way with me down here!’ her heels clicked down the steps.
‘Ta-da!’ Larry exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.
‘Oh! Oh, they’re dead, Larry!’ Maureen had sobered up.
‘What? Oh yes, well, of course, what were you expecting? My hobby is taxidermy.’
She hadn’t run away – Larry felt confident that the date was going well. Perhaps he’d even show her Maisie one day.
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