All Things Wise and Wonderful Read online

  “Just sitting … ?”

  “Yes, as though he were listening to what we were saying and enjoying it all. It was unusual. When the meeting ended I thought I’d better bring him along to you.”

  “I’m most grateful, Mrs. Heslington.” I snatched Oscar and tucked him under my arm. “My wife is distraught—she thought he was lost.”

  It was a little mystery. Why should he suddenly take off like that? But since he showed no change in his manner over the ensuing week we put it out of our minds.

  Then one evening a man brought in a dog for a distemper inoculation and left the front door open. When I went up to our flat I found that Oscar had disappeared again. This time Helen and I scoured the market place and side alleys in vain and when we returned at half past nine we were both despondent. It was nearly eleven and we were thinking of bed when the door bell rang.

  It was Oscar again, this time resting on the ample stomach of Jack Newbould. Jack was leaning against a doorpost and the fresh country air drifting in from the dark street was richly intermingled with beer fumes.

  Jack was a gardener at one of the big houses. He hiccuped gently and gave me a huge benevolent smile. “Brought your cat, Mr. Herriot.”

  “Gosh, thanks, Jack!” I said, scooping up Oscar gratefully. “Where the devil did you find him?”

  “Well, s’matter o’ fact, ’e sort of found me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack closed his eyes for a few moments before articulating carefully. “ Thish is a big night, tha knows, Mr. Herriot. Darts championship. Lots of t’lads round at t’Dog and Gun—lotsh and lotsh of ‘em. Big gatherin’.”

  “And our cat was there?”

  “Aye, he were there, all right. Sittin’ among t’lads. Shpent t’whole evenin’ with us.”

  “Just sat there, eh?”

  “That ’e did.” Jack giggled reminiscently. “By gaw ’e enjoyed ’isself. Ah gave ’im a drop o’ best bitter out of me own glass and once or twice ah thought ’e was goin’ to have a go at chuckin’ a dart. He’s some cat.” He laughed again.

  As I bore Oscar upstairs I was deep in thought. What was going on here? These sudden desertions were upsetting Helen and I felt they could get on my nerves in time.

  I didn’t have long to wait till the next one. Three nights later he was missing again. This time Helen and I didn’t bother to search—we just waited.

  He was back earlier than usual. I heard the door bell at nine o’clock. It was the elderly Miss Simpson peering through the glass. And she wasn’t holding Oscar—he was prowling on the mat waiting to come in.

  Miss Simpson watched with interest as the cat stalked inside and made for the stairs. “Ah, good, I’m so glad he’s come home safely. I knew he was your cat and I’ve been intrigued by his behaviour all evening.”

  “Where … may I ask?”

  “Oh, at the Women’s Institute. He came in shortly after we started and stayed there till the end.”

  “Really? What exactly was your programme, Miss Simpson?”

  “Well, there was a bit of committee stuff, then a short talk with lantern slides by Mr. Walters from the water company and we finished with a cake-making competition.”

  “Yes … yes … and what did Oscar do?”

  She laughed. “Mixed with the company, apparently enjoyed the slides and showed great interest in the cakes.”

  “I see. And you didn’t bring him home?”

  “No, he made his own way here. As you know, I have to pass your house and I merely rang your bell to make sure you knew he had arrived.”

  “I’m obliged to you, Miss Simpson. We were a little worried.”

  I mounted the stairs in record time. Helen was sitting with the cat on her knee and she looked up as I burst in.

  “I know about Oscar now,” I said.

  “Know what?”

  “Why he goes on these nightly outings. He’s not running away—he’s visiting.”

  “Visiting?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Don’t you see? He likes getting around, he loves people, especially in groups, and he’s interested in what they do. He’s a natural mixer.”

  Helen looked down at the attractive mound of fur curled on her lap. “Of course … that’s it … he’s a socialite!”

  “Exactly, a high stepper!”

  “A cat-about-town!”

  It all afforded us some innocent laughter and Oscar sat up and looked at us with evident pleasure, adding his own throbbing purr to the merriment. But for Helen and me there was a lot of relief behind it; ever since our cat had started his excursions there had been the gnawing fear that we would lose him, and now we felt secure.

  From that night our delight in him increased. There was endless joy in watching this facet of his character unfolding. He did the social round meticulously, taking in most of the activities of the town. He became a familiar figure at whist drives, jumble sales, school concerts and scout bazaars. Most of the time he was made welcome, but was twice ejected from meetings of the Rural District Council who did not seem to relish the idea of a cat sitting in on their deliberations.

  At first I was apprehensive about his making his way through the streets but I watched him once or twice and saw that he looked both ways before tripping daintily across. Clearly he had excellent traffic sense and this made me feel that his original injury had not been caused by a car.

  Taking it all in all, Helen and I felt that it was a kind stroke of fortune which had brought Oscar to us. He was a warm and cherished part of our home life. He added to our happiness.

  When the blow fell it was totally unexpected.

  I was finishing the evening surgery. I looked round the door and saw only a man and two little boys.

  “Next, please,” I said.

  The man stood up. He had no animal with him. He was middle-aged, with the rough weathered face of a farm worker. He twirled a cloth cap nervously in his hands.

  “Mr. Herriot?” he said.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  He swallowed and looked me straight in the eyes. “Ah think you’ve got ma cat.”

  “What?”

  “Ah lost ma cat a bit since.” He cleared his throat. “We used to live at Missdon but ah got a job as ploughman to Mr. Horne of Wederly. It was after we moved to Wederly that t’cat went missin’. Ah reckon he was tryin’ to find ’is way back to his old home.”

  “Wederly? That’s on the other side of Brawton—over thirty miles away.”

  “Aye, ah knaw, but cats is funny things.”

  “But what makes you think I’ve got him?”

  He twisted the cap around a bit more. “There’s a cousin o’ mine lives in Darrowby and ah heard tell from ’im about this cat that goes around to meetin’s. I ’ad to come. We’ve been huntin’ everywhere.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “This cat you lost What did he look like?”

  “Grey and black and sort o’ gingery. Right bonny ’e was. And ’e was allus goin’ out to gatherin’s.”

  A cold hand clutched at my heart “You’d better come upstairs. Bring the boys with you.”

  Helen was putting some coal on the fire of the bed-sitter.

  “Helen,” I said. “This is Mr.—er—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “Gibbons, Sep Gibbons. They called me Septimus because ah was the seventh in family and it looks like ah’m goin’ t’same way ‘cause we’ve got six already. These are our two youngest.” The two boys, obvious twins of about eight looked up at us solemnly.

  I wished my heart would stop hammering. “Mr. Gibbons thinks Oscar is his. He lost his cat some time ago.”

  My wife put down her little shovel. “Oh … oh … I see.” She stood very still for a moment then smiled faintly. “Do sit down. Oscar’s in the kitchen, I’ll bring him through.”

  She went out and reappeared with the cat in her arms. She hadn’t got through the door before the little boys gave tongue.

  “Tiger!” they cried