Cats can see angels

So I'm living abroad. France. And I'm getting pretty homesick. I
long to converse in my own uncomplicated language of English instead of
French. See, in order to speak French properly your tongue has to have
spent two years at drama school. I've also had enough of the French
cafe's which lost their "quaintness" about two weeks after I arrived.
Now I longed to walk into a real pub where to ask for a glass of
Bordeaux would get me immediately barred. Above all, actually, I think
I really just wanted to escape French television.
Anyway the point is the only thing stopping me from heading home
immediately, is this girl. I had made the enjoyable mistake of getting
to know her and now that enjoyable mistake had lasted two years. But
like I said the homesickness was getting worse every day and finally I
had to make a decision. Should I stay in France or return home to
Scotland. I decided to go home. The difficult thing was telling my
girlfriend.
I thought I would just tell her straight. So I invited her round to the
flat. I sat her down next to me on the settee and made a suitably
dramatic and emotional speech. About how sooner or later we all return
to whence we came, like the salmon returning back upstream, the lure of
the glens and all that stuff........... Sooner or later we all return
home I repeated, my voice cracking...For myself, that time was
now.
She stood up and walked towards the window She stood there, looking
out, arms crossed, tears in her eyes. I wondered if I was doing the
right thing. Finally she turned towards me and nodded. She said she
understood. That she always knew it would happen one day. I went over
and held her in my arms, a little disappointed she accepted my decision
so easily.
So I start arranging things so I could go home to Glasgow. One night,
I'm watching television. Yet another excruciating French variety show,
complete with crooning bow-tied compere, and comedy spots involving
balloons. Just then, yes, just then as a mime artist is "walking
against wind", the doorbell rings. I open it and see my girlfriend
standing there with a big smile on her face. She's holding a little
cardboard box. "Cadeaux"! she says. So we go into the sitting room and
she places the little box on the floor. She opens the lid and a tiny
ball of fluff, pops its head out. On seeing me it immediately pops its
head back in. "It's just shy" my girlfriend says. "What's shy" ? I ask,
genuinely bemused. I had never seen such a strange looking thing.
She explains to me it's a kitten. She then explains to me a kitten is a
small cat. So naturally I say to her "What the hell do I want with a
small cat! I'm leaving the country at the end of the month" .
She says it's just for tonight until she finds someone else to look
after it. They were going to put the poor thing down, she explains as
if I have some moral obligation. Apparently I have no choice. It's just
for one night she says. One night I agree. Two at the most, I think I
hear her mumble as she walks out the door.
Waking up the next morning, I look down and see a round furry lump on
my chest. Naturally I scream. I vow never to smoke another cigarette in
my life. Then I remembered the night before, my girlfriend and the
kitten. Phew. I lit up a cigarette. I looked down again at the furry
ball moving it's little chest and down. It looked kinda cute. It slept
with its arms stretched out on either side of my chest. As if it was
cuddling me. I patted it's little head thing. It let out a contented
tired sigh. "Don't get too comfy, I said, "I mean I don't know how to
put this little un' but as the song goes, 'Start spreading the news,
you're leaving today' " It didn't seem to notice. So I let it sleep a
little longer.
It will probably be no surprise when I tell you I just couldn't get in
touch with my girlfriend the next day. After work I entered the house
and the little cat had seemed to gain some confidence. It warmly
greeted my arrival as if I had been away for the last year. I felt
pretty chuffed. Nobody had ever greeted my arrival with such
enthusiasm. For a couple of minutes I felt popular. So naturally I
rewarded the kitten with some quite expensive cold meat I had in the
fridge. It chomped away happy as Larry. You know Larry. That night I
watched television and frankly it didn't seem that bad. Maybe because
for most of the time I played with the little cat. I didn't realise you
could have so much fun with just a piece of string. Afterwards, I let
the little cat (kitten, as we in the know, say) sleep in my lap. It
wouldn't leave my side. When I went to the toilet, it sat outside
waiting for my return. When I went anywhere it would trot happily by my
side. I mean there was no way I was going to keep the little chap but
for an animal I had to admit he certainly was a likable one.
Over the next few days I still couldn't get in touch with my
girlfriend. Finally on the following Sunday she appears at the door. I
opened it with, as always the little cat by my side. My girlfriend
immediately ignored me and greeted the cat. "So you've finally come to
take him away, have you, about time" I said defiantly. She told me she
did indeed have someone she could take the cat to. The little fellow
looked up at me with those big eyes as I stroked its head. My
girlfriend seemed incredibly pleased with herself. We looked at each
other in silence. I looked at the kitten Eventually I cracked. "Well,
you needn't bother, he may as well stay with me the next couple of
weeks, he seems quite settled here, it would be a shame to move him"!
Delighted my girlfriend threw her arms around me.
Time passed. And with every day I grew closer to the little cat. Now it
was me who was following him around. I named him Sporran. It seemed as
good a name as any. And actually France seemed to be a far better
country because of Sporran. Even French television. So I decided to
stay a little longer. I took back my notice from work, informed the
landlord, re-ordered my daily baguette. And so yet again time passed.
And things continued to be just fine.
In short, I actually ended up staying in France for another two years.
And although the relationship with my girlfriend came to an end. I
still had Sporran. One afternoon, I was lying on my bed reading a book.
As usual Sporran was lying next to me, a look of contented happiness on
his face. Now and then he would look past me into the middle distance,
around the room. as if he was following some object, I mean, well, I
can't really explain but at that moment this thought came into my head.
Cats can see angels, I thought. The point is though, it was at that
moment I decided to go home again. See, the homesickness had never
really gone away. And now It suddenly came rushing back worse than it
had ever been. I knew I didn't belong in France. I belonged back home
in Scotland. And for some reason, in spite of Sporran I knew I would
have to leave. Do a salmon.
I placed an ad in the local paper. Eventually a family phoned looking
for a young cat. The father came to see me. The family seemed perfect.
I knew Sporran couldn't have a better home. He said he would pick
Sporran up the following Saturday.
The last few days I spent with Sporran were a bit of a blur. As much as
I tried I couldn't stop crying. I mean, I don't consider myself the
sentimental type. Apart from the odd time I drink too much and get
emotionally drunk and the time that Laura's big sister went blind in
The little house on the prairie, I've always managed to keep my
feelings under control. In true British fashion, I've always felt
emotion was something to be ashamed of. However during those last few
days I couldn't help but be distraught.
Eventually the day came when I had to give Sporran away. The father and
mother came to the door with their two excited children by their sides.
Unreasonably, I hated them. Hated everything. I felt physically sick. I
couldn't speak. Sporran seemed to know what was happening. I just
handed him over in his basket listening to his long crying miaows and
shut the door. I felt like I was cutting off my arm. The feeling of
pain, of loss overtook me from that day on. To try and cheer me up, I
thought of Sporran settling into his new home. Eventually he would
forget about me, I said trying to rid myself of the grief and guilt
which filled my whole body. I couldn't help hoping, though, that he
would remember me in some far off part of his brain. As I would always
remember him.
So that's that. There's no real point to this story. I guess I just
wanted to remember Sporran for a while. I'm back home now. Wondering
why I ever left France. I miss the place. I miss French television. But
most of all I miss Sporran. I guess I could never get close to another
animal like I did with Sporran. I guess I'm too vulnerable. It's the
same with people of course. Sometimes you can't help but feel close to
someone. Sometimes almost immediately. When you meet that person, in
the supermarket, in a bar, or even on the internet. You just know when
something feels right. You know this is the person you've always wanted
to meet. Because when you're in love you can see things no-one else can
see. The way cat's can see angels. Maybe you know what I mean.