Low life
Homing instinct
Jeremy Clarke
My Buddhist landlords are back from their holidays, looking tanned and relaxed. I've moved out and found temporary lodgings in a house round the corner. My new landlord isn't religious at all and his house is more of a party house. You should see the size of the cannabis plants in the kitchen, for example. It's like sitting down to breakfast in Epping Forest. On moving day, my big policeman brother helped me move my stuff in. After we'd finished I took him into the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee. Clutching his mug with his fat fingers, and partially obscured by greenery, he said. 'What are all these plants?'
I can vaguely remember that when my brother joined the police he had to sign something saying that if it came right down to it he'd shop his own grandmother. And when they did a computer search to find out whether any members of his immediate family had a criminal record, and it came up with my name, my mother had to assure them that it was all in the past and that I had given my heart to Jesus. I love my brother like a brother and if he feels my collar I wouldn't hold it against him. No point in asking for it. though. 'No idea,' I said. 'Beautiful though, aren't they?' `Bit monotonous,' he said.
I've been here a day and a night. During the day everyone else in the house went out to work, while I held the fort. Yesterday, as I sat in a small clearing in the kitchen and wrote, I had two visitors. The first was
Bruiser, the cat I was looking after for the Buddhists, who came in through the catnap.
I can't imagine why Bruiser took the trouble to find out where I lived, for ours was a loveless relationship. It consisted entirely of him pestering me for food and me treading on him and calling him names. As far as I was concerned he was just a vicious, old, one-eared, outdoor tomcat I had been charged with keeping alive for three months.
He looked terrible, too, while I looked after him. I've seen cats that have been repeatedly run over in better condition than he was. And if anything his appearance slightly deteriorated under my stewardship. I was afraid that when the Buddhists returned I would be accused of neglect or even abuse. But just before they came back his coat miraculously improved for some reason, and he looked quite passable. Maybe someone threw a bucket of water over him. I don't know.
Anyhow, when they came back the Buddhists were overjoyed to see old Bruiser again. They swept this vindictive old cat into their arms and made a big fuss, kissing him and so forth. It was a touching scene. But when I popped back yesterday to pick up some bits and bobs I'd left behind, they showed me their wounds. 'He seems to be missing you,' they said, ruefully.
Bruiser came in through the cat-flap as bold as brass and true to form started meowing for food. It's amazing the homing instinct of animals. I slung him out. The other visitor was the editor of the local paper. Circulation must be falling because he was going from door to door drumming up business.
Which newspapers did I read, he wanted to know. I took an immediate dislike to this man because he was in my face as soon as I opened the door. So I told him I didn't read any. 'None at all!' he said. 'Nope,' said. 'Why not? Don't you want to know what's going on in your local area?' I did, I told him, but I couldn't read. This had him stumped for a moment. Then he said, 'Well if you took out a subscription to your local paper, perhaps someone could teach you how to read it.' But I didn't want to learn to read, I told him. What was the good of reading?
Although he could see he was wasting his time trying to sell his newspaper to someone who couldn't read, he wanted to help. He made a long and impassioned speech there on the doorstep about the benefits of literacy. He went on for so long that I agreed to take out a subscription just to make him go away. I asked him to step inside while I searched for my chequebook. While I looked, he waited patiently in the kitchen beneath the spreading shade of the cannabis plants. When I returned he said, 'What are all these plants, then? 'No idea,' I said. 'Beautiful, though, aren't they?' Not much colour to them,' he said, critically.
Previous page
