ad, Anonymous
The Gift—
The Story of Meow Tse-Tung
S he leaned against my hand for the injections. She cringed only once, when the tag went in at the back of her neck. ‘Such a good, brave cat,’ said the vet, massaging the tag into her flesh.
‘You’ll be in a better place soon, Meow,’ I assured her.
That was late November. The English winter was setting in again.
She had come to me the previous January. I’d flown back to Britain from Hong Kong after a horrible New Year with David, my ‘partner’, ‘lover’, ‘unofficial fiancé’. I thought of him as all these things, but over the holiday it became clear that he was no longer wed to any of these descriptions. Who else was David? He was ‘The Englishman who bought a house in my name and let me live in it rent-free’. He visited from time to time. I guess what you’d call me is more obvious— to you, but not to me at the time. He said he’d be joining me when he found a job back in the UK that paid as much as he was earning in Hong Kong. Call me a sucker.
The taxi pulled up outside the house. Snow lay thick on the pathway. I still wasn’t used to the dark afternoons, or the cold of Britain. Snow was slippery. I dragged my suitcase gingerly to the front door.
On the doorstep, a grey and white cat meowed.
‘Go away,’ I said. David hated cats. I turned the key in the lock. ‘You heard me.’
‘Meow,’ said the cat, looking straight at me in a beseeching way. I knew how it felt. I’d felt like that through most of New Year in Hong Kong.
‘Are you lost?’
I pushed open the door and the cat dashed in. It meowed again. I left the suitcase in the hall and went to the kitchen. The people who’d looked after the house had left milk.
‘Meow,’ insisted the cat as I poured some milk and then placed the saucer on the floor.
The cat only sniffed it and said ‘meow’ again. It wanted something else .
‘Maybe there’s some tuna.’ There was. ‘Eat that.’
She ate a little when I stroked her. It wasn’t food she was after.
David had been strange for the whole ten days in Hong Kong. He was irritated that I was last off the plane when I arrived at the airport. On my second day, when I gave in to smoking a few cigarettes with a friend, he said, ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to be with a smoker.’
When we’d first met he said he liked that I sometimes smoked. Women who smoked were less inhibited, he said, then.
The cat jumped on the sofa where I sat to take off my boots. It tried to get on my lap. I pushed it away.
‘I don’t want you getting attached. Okay?’ She wasn’t starving and her coat was healthy. She belonged to someone.
David ‘belonged’ to someone else too, though ‘only in law’, he claimed, before he bought the house. We were moving from Hong Kong to England together so that after the divorce he could rebuild his relationships with his daughters. A good man, I thought. I’d gone ahead of him to start a university course that gave me legitimacy to be in Britain until he was free to marry me.
The cat jumped on the sofa again and gave a demanding meow.
‘All right. Sit with me. And calm down.’
Calm down. That’s what David was always saying. ‘You’re too emotional.’
Too emotional, and I sometimes smoked, and I wanted him to talk to me. All points against me.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I just can’t deal with you at the moment. I can’t cope. I’m getting a divorce, changing jobs, and relocating back to Britain. Do you know these are the most stressful things a person can go through? Apart from death. I can’t deal with your demands.’
‘I just want to . . . talk to you.’
He pushed me away in the bed on the first night of the holiday, and we hadn’t seen each other for three months. He wasn’t sleeping, he said. On the third night he suggested I sleep in another room.
‘You don’t love me any more,’ I realised, and made the mistake of saying this aloud. I was too demanding.
He
The Gift—
The Story of Meow Tse-Tung
S he leaned against my hand for the injections. She cringed only once, when the tag went in at the back of her neck. ‘Such a good, brave cat,’ said the vet, massaging the tag into her flesh.
‘You’ll be in a better place soon, Meow,’ I assured her.
That was late November. The English winter was setting in again.
She had come to me the previous January. I’d flown back to Britain from Hong Kong after a horrible New Year with David, my ‘partner’, ‘lover’, ‘unofficial fiancé’. I thought of him as all these things, but over the holiday it became clear that he was no longer wed to any of these descriptions. Who else was David? He was ‘The Englishman who bought a house in my name and let me live in it rent-free’. He visited from time to time. I guess what you’d call me is more obvious— to you, but not to me at the time. He said he’d be joining me when he found a job back in the UK that paid as much as he was earning in Hong Kong. Call me a sucker.
The taxi pulled up outside the house. Snow lay thick on the pathway. I still wasn’t used to the dark afternoons, or the cold of Britain. Snow was slippery. I dragged my suitcase gingerly to the front door.
On the doorstep, a grey and white cat meowed.
‘Go away,’ I said. David hated cats. I turned the key in the lock. ‘You heard me.’
‘Meow,’ said the cat, looking straight at me in a beseeching way. I knew how it felt. I’d felt like that through most of New Year in Hong Kong.
‘Are you lost?’
I pushed open the door and the cat dashed in. It meowed again. I left the suitcase in the hall and went to the kitchen. The people who’d looked after the house had left milk.
‘Meow,’ insisted the cat as I poured some milk and then placed the saucer on the floor.
The cat only sniffed it and said ‘meow’ again. It wanted something else .
‘Maybe there’s some tuna.’ There was. ‘Eat that.’
She ate a little when I stroked her. It wasn’t food she was after.
David had been strange for the whole ten days in Hong Kong. He was irritated that I was last off the plane when I arrived at the airport. On my second day, when I gave in to smoking a few cigarettes with a friend, he said, ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to be with a smoker.’
When we’d first met he said he liked that I sometimes smoked. Women who smoked were less inhibited, he said, then.
The cat jumped on the sofa where I sat to take off my boots. It tried to get on my lap. I pushed it away.
‘I don’t want you getting attached. Okay?’ She wasn’t starving and her coat was healthy. She belonged to someone.
David ‘belonged’ to someone else too, though ‘only in law’, he claimed, before he bought the house. We were moving from Hong Kong to England together so that after the divorce he could rebuild his relationships with his daughters. A good man, I thought. I’d gone ahead of him to start a university course that gave me legitimacy to be in Britain until he was free to marry me.
The cat jumped on the sofa again and gave a demanding meow.
‘All right. Sit with me. And calm down.’
Calm down. That’s what David was always saying. ‘You’re too emotional.’
Too emotional, and I sometimes smoked, and I wanted him to talk to me. All points against me.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I just can’t deal with you at the moment. I can’t cope. I’m getting a divorce, changing jobs, and relocating back to Britain. Do you know these are the most stressful things a person can go through? Apart from death. I can’t deal with your demands.’
‘I just want to . . . talk to you.’
He pushed me away in the bed on the first night of the holiday, and we hadn’t seen each other for three months. He wasn’t sleeping, he said. On the third night he suggested I sleep in another room.
‘You don’t love me any more,’ I realised, and made the mistake of saying this aloud. I was too demanding.
He
Similar Books
