The Mystic Mau

THE MYSTIC MAU
by
Malcolm D. Welshman

An adaptation of an anecdote that will be in Pets on Parade, the sequel to the ebook bestseller, Pets in a Pickle

http://tinyurl.com/3utuqgt

Madam Mountjoy was a local psychic, based in Worthing, but with the ability to seek out lost souls far beyond the boundries of West Sussex. That morning, she had brought Ramses in for his vaccination. Even if the cat had been a Pharaoh in his past life, the psychic realised her Egyptian Mau could still go down with cat flu in this one. ‘It’s not good,’ she declared as I finished giving the injection, staring at me with eyes so black-lined she could have out-kohled Cleopatra. ‘The aura in here…….it’s very unpleasant.’ The charms on her ears and wrists tinkled violently.

Though not on her wavelength, I had to agree with her. But then I put that down to the last patient - a nervous German Shepherd who’d evacuated his bowels on the spot where Madam Mountjoy was now standing. She fanned her hands in front of her face. ‘It’s very strong,’ she added. ‘You should let me exorcise the place.’

She took a step forward and lowered her head over her cat. ‘What’s that? Yes. I agree.’ She straightened up, the charms on her ears swinging in wild circles. ‘Ramses says too many cats have passed through here.’
I was about to say I wasn’t surprised as it was one of Worthing’s busiest practices but she went on: ‘There’s scores of them crowding in, pawing at us, trying to make contact.’ She splayed her fingers towards the ceiling.

I took umbrage. Okay. I might not be the most competent of vets but I certainly hadn’t killed off that many patients. I decided to ask her to leave before my true feelings manifested themselves. With kohl eyes half-closed, her charms pinging, she floated out with Ramses in tow.

But she drifted back into my life within the month. This time a home visit to Lancing was requested as my surgery’s aura had apparently spooked the cat.

‘I’ll summon him,’ said Madam Mountjoy with a rattle of her bangles and closure of her black-lined eyes.

In her state, I half-expected ectoplasm to materialise on the kitchen table; but it was with a cry of ‘Puss….Puss’ and the rattle of a spoon against a bowel that Ramses appeared in a flash rather than a trance, bounding up, tail erect and quivering.

‘Something’s got into him,’ said Madam Mountjoy.

My thoughts sprung to bowel obstructions, stones in the bladder, grass seeds in the ear.
She must have seen my puzzled look. ‘He’s been taken over,’ she added.

What with? I thought. The spirit of some other Pharaoh -Tutankhamun….Akhenaton perhaps?

‘Honest. He’s changed….Literally.

Ah. A novel experience then. Dickens maybe?

‘You’re not taking me seriously,’ rebuked Madam Mountjoy.

Goodness. Seems she could read thoughts besides seeking out auras. I snapped too. Whoever’s life I was leading, Madam Mountjoy was sure to know about it.

As if he’d read my mind as well, Ramses suddenly gave what I could only describe as the cat equivalent of a chortle in a high- pitched sing- songy voice. He then strode across to the fridge where he promptly turned round, backed up against one corner and squirted a stream of urine up it.

‘There. What did I tell you,’ said Madam Mountjoy, her charms jangling. ‘That’s something he never used to do.’ It’s quite out of character. I don’t know what’s possessed him.’

That was quite a confession coming from a medium. I started to question her and was soon able to establish that a new cat had moved into the area. ‘Has he been in here?’ I asked, glancing across at the cat flap in the back door.

’Well, yes. His presence has been felt once or twice,’ she admitted.

‘Well there’s your answer,’ I declared.

Madam Mountjoy’s face remained as blank as an unsolved crossword puzzle. I explained how it was upsetting Ramses who felt his territory was being threatened. Hence the spraying. I told her to board up the cat flap for awhile to give Ramses a chance to re-establish his home ground and feel more secure. I reassured her the marking would then gradually stop.

’I can’t thank you enough,’ said Madam Mountjoy, the words gushing out. She edged towards me, her eyelashes fluttering wildly, her hands clutched to her heaving bosom. ‘Before you go,' she added in a hoarse whisper, ‘would you let me feel your aura.’

I cleared my throat, said ‘Must dash’ and rapidly spirited myself out of the door.

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