Behaving Badly Page 23

  ‘We’ve only had it four days,’ he explained. ‘We got it from the local rescue centre. But it’s got this thing about water. I was having a bath last night and it tried to get in with me. It tries to get into the loo as well. We’re worried that if we forget to put the lid down one day, it might drown.’ Suddenly the cat jumped off the draining board, ran into the garden, and leaped into the pond with a huge splash.

  ‘You see,’ said Keith’s wife. She shrugged. ‘Weird. We don’t like to leave the house, in case it gets into difficulties while we’re out.’

  ‘So you’re on lifeguard duty?’

  She nodded. ‘We’ve ordered a pond cover,’ she explained, ‘but it won’t arrive for a week. Maybe we should get it some water-wings,’ she mused, as her husband and I went outside.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ her husband asked, as we stood by the pond watching it doing a vigorous breaststroke amongst the lily pads. ‘Is it crazy? Maybe it’s got a brain tumour or something?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with it at all,’ I replied.

  ‘But what sort of cat goes for a swim?’

  ‘A Turkish Van,’ I replied.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s a Turkish Van,’ I explained, as it hauled itself out of the pond and shook itself. ‘They come from South-East Turkey, near Lake Van, and they have this unusual fascination with water. I thought that’s probably what it was when you phoned me, but I needed to see it to be sure. I think it’s a cross breed…’ I looked at it, as it lay on the grass, purring like a tractor and licking the water off its fur. ‘But it’s got most of the Van characteristics—the high ears, the ginger and white colouring, and the long, broad body.’

  ‘I thought he was a big fella.’

  ‘They are. They can reach three feet in length—and they’re very clever. You can teach them tricks and take them for walks, like a dog. How long had it been in the rescue centre?’

  ‘Only five days. Someone had dumped it there. The staff didn’t seem to know what it was. They just described it as a tortoiseshell.’

  ‘Well, that’s because it’s not a pure-breed—it’s got these brown patches on its tummy. And if it had been kept in an ordinary pen, they wouldn’t have seen it in action, so they wouldn’t have known what it was. It must have been thrilled to come here and have a good splash.’

  ‘So what should we do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Don’t cover the pond—except in winter, because of ice. Don’t keep fish, for obvious reasons. Oh, and don’t let it go swimming on a full stomach in case it gets cramp.’

  He looked at me. ‘Oh. Right. Is that it, then?’

  I nodded. ‘That’s it. You don’t have an insane cat—just an unusual one,’ I added as we went inside.

  ‘Maybe we should take it to the beach,’ his wife said.

  As I was driving back, David called me from his hotel in Stockholm. He talked about the shoot, then I told him about my client.

  ‘They’re known as swimming cats,’ I explained. ‘They’re very rare. I’ve never seen one before.’

  ‘How bizarre. And are there any dogs that climb trees?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, though Staffordshire bull terriers practically do, because they love sticks so much.’

  ‘So you’ve been having an interesting day?’

  ‘I have. And now I’m going to have a quiet evening, and catch up with my paperwork, maybe watch a bit of TV, and…’

  ‘Think about me?’ he said with a laugh.

  ‘Yes. Think about you. I do think about you, David.’

  ‘Nice things?’

  ‘Very nice things.’ And things which you could never guess at.

  ‘Now, before I go, have you got anything serious to confess?’ he asked in a mock-serious tone. ‘You usually do.’

  ‘No. I haven’t, David.’ At least, not today.

  ‘Well, there’s something I’d like to confess to you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That… I miss you. Do you think I’ve got separation anxiety?’

  I smiled. ‘It sounds like you might have.’

  ‘Then you’re the perfect person to cure me of it. In fact, you’re the only person who can. I hope I’ll always know you,’ he added. My heart turned over.

  ‘I hope you will too,’ I replied.

  Animal Crackers aired again on Tuesday, and the following morning I got a call from a researcher at London F.M. asking me to take part in a phone-in on animal behaviour.

  ‘We’re calling it “Pets Behaving Madly”,’ he said. ‘It’s on tomorrow night, seven until eight. I’m sorry it’s such short notice.’

  I agreed to do it, though I felt bad at having to miss the self-defence class yet again, but I knew the show would generate work. I phoned Daisy, but she didn’t sound too upset, in fact she sounded slightly distracted; but then she clearly had a lot on her mind. I asked her about the microlighting and she said it was ‘blissful’.

  ‘It was so romantic,’ she said. ‘You just buzz about in the sky, with the earth beneath you. It’s so liberating—I felt free.’

  ‘How high up did you go?’

  ‘Not that high. Only a thousand feet or so.’

  ‘It sounds terrifying.’

  ‘No—they’re safe, because if the engine cuts out you just glide. The landing was a little bit hairy,’ she went on. ‘You have to head straight for the ground, nose down, then pull up at the very last minute. Apparently, the trick is to get the thing down without burying it.’

  ‘You weren’t flying solo, were you, Daisy?’

  ‘Oh. No. I wasn’t.’

  ‘You had an experienced instructor with you, I hope?’

  ‘Er, yes. Yes, I did. He says he’ll help me get my licence—you only need to clock up twenty-five hours. Anyway, how was Animal Crackers?’ she went on quickly. ‘I meant to watch you, but I forgot.’

  ‘Oh. That’s okay. It was fine.’

  ‘I thought Animal Crackers was great,’ said Dad, when he phoned me later that day for his weekly chat. ‘The way you handled that hyperactive tortoise.’

  ‘He was rather temperamental.’

  ‘And those aggressive rabbits. Starsky and Hutch.’

  ‘Stropski and Bitch, more like. Those bunnies really were very bad-tempered. Speaking of which, are you ready for your rendezvous with Mum tomorrow?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ll go armed with some flowers, and I’ll just talk to her, Miranda. I haven’t talked to her properly for years. Have you got any tips?’

  ‘Yes. Take an extravagant interest in the llamas. Just tell her how beautiful, sensitive and intelligent they are, etcetera, etcetera, and she’ll be eating out of your hand.’

  On Thursday morning I braced myself for a furious phone call from my mother—but, to my surprise, I didn’t hear a thing. Then I had a couple of appointments to go to and didn’t get back until five. I thought she might have left an angry message on my answerphone, but there was nothing. There was still no message when I left for London F.M. I tried calling Dad from the taxi, but his phone was switched off. Maybe he’d actually survived the whole day. Or maybe Mum had murdered him and was busy disposing of the body.

  ‘Thanks for coming in,’ said the producer, Wesley, when he met me at reception at a quarter to seven. ‘The show’s an hour long,’ he explained as he signed me in. ‘And we’ll be filtering the calls, which we’d like to be a mixture of behavioural problems, plus any pet stories which the listeners want to share. We’d like to keep it informative but light-hearted,’ he added as he called the lift.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  In the studio, the presenter, Minty Malone, greeted me warmly, then I put on my headphones, the studio manager took level, and at three minutes past seven, the phone-in began.

  ‘Now…’ said Minty as she leaned into the microphone. ‘Is your borzoi unbalanced? Is your iguana introverted? Are your tropical fish psychologically fragile? If so, then do call us this evening, because our
subject tonight is pets—and their peculiarities. And our special guest is animal behaviourist, Miranda Sweet, from TV’s Animal Crackers. Miranda, a warm welcome to the show.’

  Minty spent a couple of minutes chatting to me, then she took the first question.

  ‘On Line One is Pam from Penge, and Pam wants to know why her cat sleeps so much.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Pam. ‘It does—it sleeps all the time. And it’s only five, so it’s not old age. What I want to know is, has it got urban stress—or is it being a lazy little git?’

  ‘Neither,’ I replied. ‘It’s simply behaving like the predator it is. The reason cats—like lions—sleep so much—up to sixteen hours a day, is because they’re conserving energy in order to have maximum strength for the hunt.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Pam. ‘I won’t worry then. Thanks.’

  ‘Thanks for calling in, Pam,’ said Minty. ‘And now we have Patrick, who’s got a question about his sheepdog, Murphy, who’s car crazy. Will you tell us what he does, Patrick?’

  ‘Well, he’s a super dog, but he’s very excitable,’ Patrick replied. ‘He really is. Very excitable. Very excitable.’ Patrick sounded pretty excitable himself. ‘He likes to sit in the back with his head right out the window.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ I interrupted. ‘I wouldn’t let him do that.’

  ‘But the really annoying thing is the way he keeps saying, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” All the way. It drives me round the bloody twist, I can tell you.’ Minty was making circling gestures by her temple.

  ‘Well…that…would be annoying,’ I said.

  ‘And now we have Mrs Edith Witherspoon on Line Three, who’s concerned about her bulldog, Archie.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘I really am most concerned. He behaves in a very…’ she hesitated. ‘Unsavoury way.’ Minty’s eyes had widened but I knew what was coming.

  ‘So what exactly is the problem?’ I said.

  ‘Well…he’s fine when I’m on my own. But if I have my friends round for tea—or it’s my turn to host the Women’s Institute—he behaves so badly. I put him out, but then he barks to be let in. So I relent. But if I then ignore him and dare to talk to my friends he…he…oh dear… I can hardly bear to tell you.’

  ‘Is it inappropriate mounting, Mrs Witherspoon?’

  ‘Oh no, no. It’s worse.’

  ‘Does he drag his bottom along the carpet? Is that it?’

  ‘No, no, no. It’s, just that, he, well, he…’ By now her voice was a barely audible whisper.

  ‘Yes…?’

  ‘Plays with himself.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘He’s fine if I pay him attention,’ she went on. ‘If I have him on my lap, feeding him bits of cake, telling him how gorgeous he is, then he behaves. But if I start chatting to my friends, then he backs himself into a corner and starts…’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I interjected. ‘How disgusting. It’s attention-seeking of the very worst kind. No wonder you want to put a stop to it—it must be extremely embarrassing for you, Mrs Witherspoon.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not my main concern.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what is?’

  ‘Well—I’m worried that he’ll go blind!’

  There were calls about kleptomaniac ferrets, and love-sick lizards. There was a Labrador which hogged the TV.

  ‘Every time we put it on, she sits bang in front of it, her nose glued to the screen,’ said Kevin on Line Two. ‘She’s doing it right now…’ In the background we could hear the theme tune of Eastenders, and shouts of ‘Get out of the way, Goldie! Move, will you! Move!!!’ ‘… No one can see a thing.’

  ‘Then I suggest you simply put the TV somewhere higher up so that you can all watch in comfort. Maybe you could mount it on a wall bracket.’

  ‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘That’s a good idea.’ He laughed. ‘I hadn’t actually thought of that. Yeah, we’ll give it a try.’

  ‘Do you know much about mynah birds, Miranda?’ Minty asked. ‘Because on Line Three we have our former agony aunt, Rose Costelloe.’ Oh. Rose Costelloe. I’d heard of her. ‘Rose has a major problem with her mynah—isn’t that right, Rose?’

  ‘It is. You see, I’ve got five-month-old twins, and they cry a lot at the moment. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that my mynah bird, Rudolph, has learned to imitate them.’

  ‘How ghastly,’ I said.

  ‘It is—but the real killer is that he only ever does it when they’re asleep.’

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ said Minty with a sympathetic giggle.

  ‘I am. If it isn’t the babies screaming the house down, it’s Rudy. So I just wondered if Miranda might have any ideas?’

  ‘Gosh, this is a difficult one. Perhaps you could play him lullabies all day, and maybe he’ll learn to imitate those instead.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give it a try.’

  Then people began phoning in with stories about the funny things their pets do.

  ‘—My Siamese can do handstands.’

  ‘—My rabbit can do back-flips.’

  ‘—My cockatiel adores Picasso.’

  ‘—My Festive Amazon parrot can sing Neapolitan love songs.’

  ‘My guinea pig likes classical music,’ said Bill from Totteridge on Line Four. ‘So I put Classic F.M. on for her. A nice bit of Vivaldi—that’s what she likes.’

  ‘Vivaldi?’ said Anita from Stoke Newington, sniffily. ‘My guinea pig likes Mozart.’

  ‘My guinea pig likes Schoenberg,’ said Malcolm from Weybridge. ‘The late stuff.’

  ‘Well, my guinea pig likes Harrison Birtwistle,’ said Roger from Hanwell on Line Five. ‘He’s been to the Festival Hall.’

  ‘Just time for one more call,’ said Minty as she surveyed the flashing lights on her desk. And the subject is…oh, here’s something a bit different—llamas. I didn’t actually know that people kept llamas as pets.’

  ‘Oh they do,’ said my mother on Line One. ‘And I just thought your listeners might like to know the therapeutic benefits of spending time with these lovely creatures. I run llama treks in Sussex every weekend—you’ll find them at Llamatreks.com—but I also offer llama psychotherapy days during the week. So if any of your listeners are feeling stressed or depressed they might like to consider “Llama Karma”—it’s the land equivalent of swimming with dolphins.’ I pushed a note across the table. It’s my mother—sorry.

  ‘Well, that sounds great,’ Minty said.

  ‘Oh it is. Llamas work wonders on the human psyche,’ she went on, unstoppably, as I rolled my eyes. ‘For example, I had one client today who arrived feeling extremely stressed and exhausted, and all I can say is, he seemed a different person by the end of the day.’ Ah.

  ‘Well, thank you for that,’ said Minty.

  ‘The phone number is 01473 289340.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘That’s 01473 289340. And do leave a message on the answerphone if I’m not there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Minty repeated with polite emphasis. ‘And that concludes tonight’s phone-in. So thanks for all your calls, and many thanks to Miranda Sweet for joining us; and you can contact her direct via her website, PerfectPets.com.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said irritably on the mobile, as I went home in the taxi. ‘Nice one.’

  ‘Well, you sprang a surprise on me today, Miranda, so I thought I’d spring one on you. And, as I say, I need national publicity at the moment.’

  ‘How did you know I was on air?’

  ‘Because a friend of mine rang me and told me it had just started.’

  ‘Fair enough—so how did it go with Dad?’

  ‘How did it go with your father?’ she echoed. I heard her draw the air through her teeth, and braced myself. ‘Well, actually, it was…fine. I was very annoyed with you to begin with, naturally, but then I realized I’d banked the cheque, so I wasn’t in a position to tu
rn him away. And as it turned out he was quite…’ she made a funny little singing noise as she groped for the appropriate term. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘So what did you do with him?’

  ‘I just treated him like any client. He groomed the llamas and fed them—he was very taken with them, I must say. And he and Sancho got on rather well, so, yes, as it turned out, it was really quite…reasonable.’

  ‘And how long did he stay?’

  ‘Until half past three, then he had to go back to work. I went and had a look at the club, actually.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I went and had a look at the golf club.’

  I felt my jaw slacken. ‘But you hate golf, Mum. You loathe it. You always have. You said that it’s “not so much a sport, as an insult to lawns”.’

  ‘Did I…?’

  ‘You said that they should all be converted to public parks.’

  ‘Oh, well…’

  ‘You have a tee shirt which reads “I Hate Golf”.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s true. But I’m allowed to change my mind. I actually think your father’s golf club has tremendous potential, so I really hope it works out.’

  ‘How the hell did you manage to charm Mum like that?’ I asked Dad, ten minutes later.

  ‘It was quite easy,’ he replied. ‘She was quite nasty to begin with—the look on her face when she opened the door! But she knew she couldn’t get out of it, so she took me to the barn, and I did as you advised and lavished praise on the llamas. They are sweet things, I must say. So I groomed them, and talked to her about them, and then, I don’t know, she just began to calm down and we…talked—about all sorts of things. I finally apologized to her for not being a great husband—and that seemed to cut some ice—and I just asked if we couldn’t be friends. Then I told her about my difficulties at the club and how worried I am, and well…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She was surprisingly sympathetic.’

  ‘I know. She said she even went to see it.’

  ‘She did. We had a very interesting conversation about the club, actually. Very interesting.’

  And before I could ask him what he meant, I heard a ‘Call Waiting’ beep in my ear—it was Daisy—so Dad said he’d call me another time.