"Only eight oclock, I said.
How about going to see Oscar?
Helen looked at me in surprise.
You meandrive on to Wederly?
Yes, its only about five miles.
A smile crept slowly across her face.
That would be lovely. But do you think they would mind?
The Gibbonses? No, Im sure they wouldnt. Lets go.
Wederly was a big village and the ploughmans cottage was at the far end a few yards beyond the Methodist chapel.
I pushed open the garden gate and we walked down the path. A busylooking little woman answered my knock. She was drying her hands on a striped towel.
Mrs. Gibbons? I said.
Aye, thats me.
Im James Herriotand this is my wife.
Her eyes widened uncomprehendingly. Clearly the name meant nothing to her.
We had your cat for a while, I added.
Suddenly she grinned and waved her towel at us.
Oh, aye, ah remember now. Sep told me about you. Come in, come in!
The big kitchen-living room was a tableau of life with six children and thirty shillings a week. Battered furniture, rows of much-mended washing on a pulley, black cooking range and a general air of chaos.
Sep got up from his place by the fire, put down his newspaper, took off a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and shook hands. He waved Helen to a sagging armchair.
Well, its right nice to see you. Ahve often spoke of ye to tmissus.
His wife hung up her towel.
Yes, and Im glad to meet ye both. Ill get some tea in a minnit.
She laughed and dragged a bucket of muddy water into a corner.
Ive been washing football jerseys. Them lads just handed them to me tonightas if I havent enough to do.
As she ran the water into the kettle I peeped surreptitiously around me and I noticed Helen doing the same. But we searched
in vain. There was no sign of a cat. Surely he couldnt have run away again? With a growing feeling of dismay I realised that my little scheme could backfire devastatingly. It wasnt until the tea had been made and poured that I dared to raise the subject.
Howwas I asked diffidently, how iserTiger?
Oh, hes grand, the little woman replied briskly. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. He should be back any time now, then youll be able to see im.
As she spoke, Sep raised a finger. Ah think ah can hear im now.
He walked over and opened the door and our Oscar strode in with all his old grace and majesty. He took one look at Helen and leaped on to her lap. With a cry of delight she put down her cup and stroked the beautiful fur as the cat arched himself against her hand and the familiar purr echoed round the room.
He knows me, she murmured. He knows me.
Sep nodded and smiled.
He does that. You were good to 'im. Hell never forget ye, and we wont either, will we, Mother?
No, we wont, Mrs. Herriot, his wife said as she applied butter to a slice of gingerbread.
That was a kind thing ye did for us and I ope youll come and see us all whenever youre near.
Well, thank you, I said. Wed love towere often in Brawton.
I went over and tickled Oscars chin, then I turned again to Mrs. Gibbons.
By the way, its after nine oclock. Where has he been till now?
She poised her butter knife and looked into space.
Lets see, now, she said. Its Thursday, isnt it? Ah yes, its is night for the yoga class.
Boris and Mrs. Bonds Cat Establishment
I work for cats.
That was how Mrs. Bond introduced herself on my first visit, gripping my hand firmly and thrusting out her jaw defiantly as though challenging me to make something of it. She was a big woman with a strong, high-cheekboned face and a commanding presence and I wouldnt have argued with her anyway, so I nodded gravely as though I fully understood and agreed, and allowed her to lead me into the house. I saw at once what she meant. The big kitchen-living room had been completely given over to cats. There were cats on the sofas and chairs and spilling in cascades on to the floor, cats sitting in rows along the window sills and right in the middle of it all, little Mr. Bond, pallid, wispy-moustached, in his shirt sleeves reading a newspaper. It was a scene which was going to become very familiar. A lot of the cats were obviously uncastrated toms because the atmosphere was vibrant with their distinctive smella fierce pungency which overwhelmed even the sickly wisps from the big saucepans of nameless cat food bubbling on the stove.
And Mr. Bond was always there, always in his shirt sleeves and reading his paper, a lonely little island in a sea of cats. I had heard of the Bonds, of course. They were Londoners who for some obscure reason had picked on North Yorkshire for their retirement.
People said they had a bit o brass and they had bought an old house on the outskirts of Darrowby where they kept themselves to themselvesand the cats. I had heard that Mrs. Bond was in the habit of taking in strays and feeding them and giving them a home if they wanted it and this had predisposed me in her favour, because in my experience the unfortunate feline species seemed to be fair game for every kind of cruelty and neglect. They shot cats, threw things at them, starved them and set their dogs on them for fun. It was good to see somebody taking their side.