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“Ah, Martin,” Peter said, strolling into the office. “I have a little job for you.”
“Yes Peter?” Martin sighed.
“I need you to take my cat to the vet, they couldn’t do a home visit this time,” Peter complained with a shrug.
“You have a cat?” Martin asked, he had never seen Peter as the sort for animal company.
“Yes, Ms. Titch, she was the ship’s cat on the Tundra,” Peter said. “I had to take her, there was no other option.”
“Right,” Martin said warily. He would have been spending his day sitting in his miserable chair, in this cold office doing Peter’s spreadsheets but now he could have a nice visit with a poor lonely kitty. He tried not to smile.
“The carrier is in the lefthand hall cupboard when you get in,” Peter said.
So this was how Martin Blackwood found himself riding up a private elevator to Peter’s penthouse flat. Martin liked cats. He’d never had one growing up, Mum claimed she was allergic, but he’d always liked seeing them in back gardens and in windows. A few of his friends had cats and sometimes he'd pet them. They were soft, warm, they purred and Martin thought they were great.
The elevator dinged and opened.
Peter’s flat was grey, cold and dismally minimalist. Just as he expected from any place occupied by Peter Lukas for any extended period of time. In the left hand hall cupboard were coats, a whiff of cologne lingered, it reminded him of Elias? Odd. Oh well, he found the cat carrier in the bottom of the closet, on top of it was a small bag of kitty treats.
Massive open windows that faced the skyline made up the far wall of the flat, there were a few bench like sofas and an empty black coffee table.
No sign of the cat.
There was, however, a massive sculpture that looked an awful lot like a dead tree facing the window, bark stripped and blackened with age. Martin didn’t care for modern art like that. Then he noticed the cushioned perches on each bough. Sitting in one of them was a small green eyed calico cat regarding him with contempt. Ms Titch had a scowling scarred face, one and a half ears, with the right one crumpled and ragged. She glared at him from her perch and didn’t move.
“Here kitty, kitty,” Martin began.
She didn’t move.
“Ms. Titch, here Ms. Titch, kitty.” He continued.
Her ear perked up, but she did nothing.
“Pspspspspspsps,” Martins tried to tempt her over.
She turned around in her perch, settling down with her back to him.
Well might as well get this over with, he went up to the cat and opened his hand to pet her. After all she was a small, old kitty.
“Awww you scared? Don’t be, I won’t hurt you, I just want to be your friend—“ He began.
Quicker then he could think her paw darted out and swatted him across the back of his hand, with claws. She hissed and leapt off the cat tree running into the depths of the flat.
“OW!” Martin rubbed the back of his hand, it was bleeding. “Right you horrible moggie, I’m gonna…”
The cat was gone. “Ms. Titch?”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to explore Peter Lukas’ flat but now he had no choice, there were a few doors that were locked. He caught whiffs of that cologne.. Elias wore… yeah… if he didn’t think about it, then it wouldn’t be ‘weird’. There was, however, a lot of other rooms that had open doors, she could be in any of them.
He remembered the bag of kitty treats in his pocket, he gave it a shake.
“Kitty, kitty, kitty, c’mon I got treats? C'mon… you nasty little moggie,” he called.
He shook the bag again. He noticed movement as she came up haltingly to the noise.
“Yeah that’s it, c’mere you greedy old bag of bones, Come to Martin...” He continued to shake it. He put down a small pile of treats on a floor. Ms. Titch paused and ate.
Martin quickly darted to each open door and closed it, trapping her in. He approached the cat gingerly from behind. She turned and regarded him with those green eyes that seemed to say: ‘I’ve fought wharf rats all over the world, and you sir are NO wharf rat.’
Her ears went back, her pupils narrowed, she hissed, and a low rising yowl came from her throat. She sprung right into his face.
“Oh fuck!” Martin cursed, trying to shield his face as Ms. Titch suddenly became a very aggressive hat.
He stumbled backwards but she was still yowling, hissing, scratching and biting his face. He managed to pull her off.
“Right! You are the worst cat ever!” He exclaimed as she continued to sink her teeth into his jumper and clawed his arm.
He got her to the carrier like this, cursing and somehow managing to keep a handle on an angry ball of scrambling claws and sharp teeth. He attempted to get her into the carrier and her limbs became like iron bars, he was unable to get her in she fought every inch of the way. He was bleeding, sore and covered in cat hair.
“GET IN!” He shouted when his attempts appeared to be futile.
She used the chance to scratch his nose. He took her by the backside and gave a shove. She was in! Thank goodness. He hastily closed the latch. The trip on the tube was surprisingly uneventful despite her constant low growls and hisses.
He got to the vet and the receptionist looked at him and the carrier and sucked her teeth.
“Oh, someone didn’t want to come, did they?” She tittered.
“No.” Martin said sullenly. “I’m bringing in Peter Lukas’ cat Ms. Titch.”
The receptionist gave him a look. “Yes, we refused home visits for that terror. Wow, she’s smaller then I thought. ”
Martin sat down and waited, glaring at the people and their well behaved pets until they were called.
The vet wore thick gloves to examine her, getting her out of the carrier proved just as hard as getting her in.
Other than the arthritis (apparently), and a few missing teeth, Ms. Titch was in excellent health for a fifteen year old cat.
Martin was paying the bill, with Peter’s card. When his phone rang, it was Peter.
“Martin, the computer is beeping at me, can you come back to the office?” Peter asked.
“Peter, I’ve got your cat, remember?” Martin sighed.
“Oh you can bring her,” Peter said. “I have a litter box and some water for her, all ready.”
~~~~~
As Martin opened the carrier just outside Peter’s office, he wondered what Jon would think of this. He knew Jon liked cats, but wasn’t sure if even Jon could love this nasty mog. She ran into Peter’s office. He sighed and started his work on the computer.
He could hear Peter talking softly.
“Who’s the best girl, who’s my titchy-witchy little fuzz lady? You are! Yes you are!” Peter was cooing. “Good job with Martin, muffin butt.”
Martin glimpsed into the office Ms. Titch was stretched out on the desk, belly in the air purring loudly and Peter was rubbing her chin and laughing.
“Wot?” Martin gasped.
Ms. Titch glanced over at Martin with her poison green eyes, despite the impossibility of it he swore she winked.