TheBanyanTree: A Small Drama

[Roger Pye]

I was sitting at my computer when an animated furball raced into the 
room, skeetered under the desk past my feet and holed up in the corner 
of two walls.

"What happened?" I asked as Robin came through the archway.

"Caspar came into the study and spat at her. Can you reach her?"

"Not a chance, she's behind the leg. Anyway it would only frighten her 
some more. We'll just have to wait, see if she comes out by herself. 
It's lunch time, let's have a coffee."

As I moved away from the desk my path was crossed by Merlin, a young 
tabby cat with white chest and paws; five minutes later on my way back 
into the room with the coffee I saw he had positioned himself under the 
desk facing the corner, a definite and very obvious barrier to any 
attempt to reach the kitten. A cup of coffee in each hand I hesitated, 
wondering what to do; our patriarchal ginger tom Woodstock took 
advantage of the pause, strolled past me and sat down where he would be 
in full view of the tabby if Merlin turned his head. A few seconds later 
Caspar the black cat jumped down from the bench which separated my room 
from the kitchen, hissed in our general direction then exited into the 
dining room.

"Here," Robin said and patted the space next to her on the settee. I 
joined her, handed over her cup, we sipped our coffee and waited for the 
drama to unfold - clearly, there was going to be one - and, equally 
clearly, it was going to take some time because that is often the way 
with cat dynamics. Meanwhile I thought about the situation.

It was August last year and Merlin and Miss Midgley, the animated 
furball, had only been with us a few days. They had come to us from 
Brenda the Cat Lady who lived a few suburbs away and had responded to 
our advert for a female tabby kitten a few weeks before. Not that she 
had one at the time but being a member of a very extensive cat rescue 
network there was good reason to think she would have, one of these 
days. We had met Merlin (Lionel as he was then) on our first visit to 
Brenda two weeks before and heard his story inasmuch as she knew it to 
be. Said to be less than a year old he exhibited all the manner one 
would expect from a senior mature animal. Witness the watchful way he 
was sitting under the desk.

Midge was allegedly four months old but seemed only half that; Brenda 
had scooped her up for us off Death Row at a large cat shelter in 
Sydney. She was very shy and insecure and beneath the fluff there was 
very little substance, we both thought she was on the fringe of being 
feral if not actually so.

Woodstock mewed very softly; Merlin turned his head instantly. I glanced 
at the ginger cat. He had settled down into sphinx position and was 
staring straight at the tabby. Interesting, I thought, he had been quite 
ambivalent about these two coming into his territory, really very 
neutral as if he wanted to see what they were made of before committing 
himself to anything. He mewed again, Merlin's left ear twitched, 
Woodstock's eyes closed tightly, opened, closed, opened. The tabby 
turned to look at the corner again. A strange noise came to my ears, a 
wailing which rose and fell in cadences like an older child might use; 
it took a moment for me to realise that it was Merlin singing to the 
kitten like a mother crooning to her baby. Something that was quite new 
to me and very remarkable even though I have been close to animals 
almost all of my life.

Robin squeezed my hand as the crooning continued; a small furry head had 
emerged from behind the deskleg, very cautiously the kitten almost 
crawled to the tabby until she was close to him. He stopped singing, I 
hardly dared to breathe, Woodstock stood up and walked silently to one 
side of them both, faced them, mewed again. Miss Midgley stood up, 
fluffed her tail, walked carefully one slow step at a time into the 
middle of the room then on to the dining room and to Robin's study 
followed by Merlin two steps behind her with Woodstock walking 
alongside.  The two males watched as she settled herself into the bed we 
had made for her in the bottom shelf of an open bookcase. Woodstock made 
that commanding noise again; Merlin went into the study and curled up, 
watchful, not far from Midge. Robin closed the door quietly. Woodstock 
visibly relaxed, sat down and began to wash himself and I went back to 
my computer.

Of Caspar there was no sign.

roger