A CAT CALLED MERLOT

Thursday 4th February 2021

When our eyes adjusted to the dark, we could see there was very little in the room except for a stainless steel table, some knives on a rack, a low stool, an old kettle, a jar of something and an empty mug. Under the table there was a large, cardboard box. Except for a couple of aprons hung on hooks on the wall, that was about it. Marjorie was crying, shivering and very apologetic. I gave her a quick, reassuring lick on the ear and went into the room that contained the large freezer to see if there was any way out but that too was in darkness except for the glow of a red light, and a fire door at the end that was firmly locked. I didn’t want to say anything to Marjorie but the shop would be closed now, until early on Tuesday and given the temperature, I wasn’t sure we’d last until then. I realised the priority was to make Marjorie warm. 

Back in the fish head room, I climbed under the table and stuck my head in the half open cardboard box, using my nose to open the sides. It was empty except for some polystyrene packing blocks. With Marjorie’s help we knocked it over and the blocks proved easy to scratch out. Looking at the aprons, I worked out I could probably unhook the nearest one, if I stood on the table and leaned out. A couple of times I fell to the floor but on the third attempt, claws extended, I launched myself at it and ended up swinging from the apron until, with a slight tearing sound, the tab gave way and I ended up in a heap under it, on the tiles below. We dragged it into the box and, within a few minutes we were cuddled up and warmer. Within a very short time, Marjorie was asleep but my mind was racing. By morning, I knew Queenie would be very worried. Miserably, I thought of her listening out for the sound of the cat flap and the empty space on her bed, where I always curl up until I wake her for breakfast or a head-rub.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, as the orange light from the small window turned to daylight and I could hear people in the car park. Blinking, I got out of the box, stretched and helped myself to a piece of fish. It reminded me of my former life, scavenging as a stray. I much prefer sachets of food in a bowl and even biscuits. Looking over, I could see Marjorie was still curled up with her paw over her eyes, so I wandered around feeling a bit hopeless. In the cold light of day, nothing had changed. Then suddenly, I wondered if the red light near the ceiling, was like the one we had at home, that set an alarm off if it detected a human in the room. I think Queenie called it a ‘motion sensor’. Marjorie and I were  clearly too small to set the alarm off but if we could somehow make ourselves bigger, we just might be able to attract some attention and escape.

Waking Marjorie up, with the gift of a cold fish head, I shared my plan. Together we pushed the small, aluminium stool a few metres into the refrigerator room. It was hard work but somehow, we managed to keep it, upright. Climbing onto the stool I counted to one and we both leapt as high as we could, waving our paws wildly at the sensor. To our immense relief, there was a loud wail as the alarm was activated. 

Fortunately I was home in time for Queenie and her twin brother, Stephen’s birthday on February 2nd which is something called Groundhog Day. North American legend states If the hog sees its own shadow, winter will persist for another six weeks. His name is Punxatawney Phil and he lives in Gobblers Knob…Hmm.