Cats.

Chapter Five

“ Mr Kittens? Mr Kittens!” I was searching high and low for Summer Hill’s most famous feminist cat. I remembered that we had a box of old books - including the works of seminal feminist author bell hooks - stored underneath the house, so I crawled beneath our porch to look for her there.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Ruby pulled into our driveway and hopped off her bike. She was carrying a grocery bag full of disgusting green leafy things. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Jake standing in the middle of our lawn. 

“Professor Nitro,” she stumbled.

I thought Jake would correct her and inform her that he was not technically a professor, but he seemed happy enough with the mistake, although a little embarrassed to be bumping into a student under such circumstances.

I pulled myself out from underneath the house. I was covered in mud and what I could only guess were rat poos. “I’m looking for our cat.”

“What cat?” Ruby switched her gaze between Jake and I.

“Um, Mr Kittens? The cat we have apparently always had.” 

Damn it, why did I have to be covered in rat poos, while Ruby was standing there looking all clean and virtuous with her spinach. “You know, the one you are apparently allergic to?”

Ruby rolled her eyes slightly. “Look, I don’t know if this is one of your extensive and incomprehensible running jokes that I never seem to get, but we definitely do not have a cat.” She left to walk her bike up the side of the house, and called out, “I am making spinach stew for dinner if you want some!”

I thought about what I had on my own pantry shelf, which was nothing, apart from that gross kind of cheese that doesn’t need refrigeration and a tin of milo, and half considered Ruby’s offer. Then I saw that Jake Nitro was staring down at me plaintively and I remembered the issue at hand : the mysterious case of the disappearing feminist cat.

I suddenly began to feel very suspicious of this Jake Nitro: why had he wanted to come and see my cat anyway? Did he know this was going to happen? Oh my god: he must have thought Mr Kittens was a complete figment of my imagination, or that I had made the story up just to make him open up to me and tell me all about the time he had travelled 200 million years into the future. 

“Did you even have a cat?” He asked, accusingly. 

A hurt look flashed across my face. “What, so you think I’m crazy? Or a liar? Well, I don’t care: no matter what you think about the situation, when I left the house this morning there was a grey cat sitting in my lounge room, wearing reading glasses, talking about Germaine Greer. Or at least, she was thinking about Germaine Greer and I could... hear her thoughts.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy...” Jake started unconvincingly, but I was already halfway down the side alley of the house. I turned the corner and opened the back door, as Jake ran behind me to catch up. I opened the door and there, sitting at the kitchen table were Robert and Angela, who had clearly not been murdered in the Blue Mountains.