Introducing Mr Whiskers

 

 

Nobody is entirely certain when Mr Whiskers became part of village life.

He belongs, technically, to Ms Brunhilda Barfoote, although ownership appears to be a legal distinction rather than a practical one. Mr Whiskers has long considered himself an independent administrative body with visiting rights.

He spends much of the year elsewhere, arriving only occasionally, usually with impeccable timing and a considerable quantity of medication. His appearances are never announced. He simply materialises in Brunhilda's hallway as though returning from diplomatic negotiations abroad.

Mr Whiskers was rescued many years ago from a skip in Qatar, where he had been abandoned in conditions that suggested the universe had temporarily mislaid him. Since then he has reinvented himself completely. He is now silver, comfortably elderly and quietly convinced that everyone else's plans should revolve around his immediate requirements.

His medical history is substantial.

He has no teeth, a heart requiring delicate diplomacy, kidneys that perform only after lengthy discussion and digestive opinions that are both unpredictable and emphatically expressed. Walks in the garden require supervision, specialist meals arrive with remarkable punctuality and every few weeks he must endure grooming, an activity he regards as entirely unnecessary and personally insulting.

Before each appointment he disappears.

No-one knows how.

He can conceal himself inside houses that have already been searched, occasionally requiring Brunhilda to conduct increasingly methodical inspections until she discovers him watching the proceedings with detached curiosity. It is widely believed that he enjoys this.

The village has learned not to underestimate him.

He possesses the extraordinary ability to identify the single object another person requires most urgently before sitting on it without visible effort. Important papers, knitting patterns, newspapers, shopping lists, freshly ironed washing and, on one memorable occasion, the Chairman's notes for the Parish Council Christmas quiz have all spent time beneath a small silver cat who appeared entirely unaware that he was causing inconvenience.

He rarely meows.

Instead he communicates through prolonged staring, measured blinks and sighs of such quiet significance that people often apologise without knowing precisely what for.

Children approve of him immediately. Dogs remain uncertain. The crows ignore him, which he appears to find mildly offensive.

Brunhilda insists he is simply an elderly rescue cat enjoying a peaceful retirement.

The village remains unconvinced.

Several residents suspect that Mr Whiskers knows considerably more than he lets on.