Belonging ~ Cowcat by Jennie Hart

Gilbert Plum was an active man, forever busy doing something, and that something was usually gardening. Gilbert loved his garden; it was only small and for that reason, he also had an allotment. Gilbert enjoyed growing vegetables but he liked order; his rows were straight and neatly kept. Nothing was out of place. Not even a weed was allowed to thrive and as soon as a wayward green shoot emerged, it was off with its head. To be truthful, beheading would have been a sin; he knew it was important to dig out the roots of any intruder. Couch grass quaked and thistles shuddered when Gilbert wielded his hoe. 

At the height of each season, Gilbert grew rows of scrumptious vegetables. His leeks were smooth and pale, his carrots mouth-watering with ferny green leaves on top and slender orange roots beneath but his parsnips were the gossip of the allotment. Gilbert’s friend Miss Berry had a passion for parsnips so he paid these roots particular attention. This year they were fattening nicely as they poked their way through the nurturing soil. Gilbert firmly believed that people ‘are what they eat’ and he applied this mantra to his vegetables. In order to fulfil this belief he grew a long row of comfrey plants next to his parsnips and from their large rough leaves concocted his own potent fertiliser. Comfrey, he knew, was a gardener’s best friend; he didn’t want to damage his land with obnoxious chemicals that would stay in the soil for ever. This was his way to pamper his parsnips and a route to warming Miss Berry’s heart. Indirectly of course.

Gilbert Plum’s son Robin, was an amateur pianist; he had a passion for music, not gardening. Robin’s mum left his dad a few years ago; she craved more excitement than an outing to the allotment and had followed her dream to be a singer. One summer’s evening she was performing in the city so Robin borrowed his dad’s car and went to hear her sing. There were some good acts but his mum was the highlight. Her voice was deep and soulful when she sang a Billie Holiday tribute with requests for an encore. He knew all about early jazz because mum used to sing around the house and she had told him about the history of the blues and its birth in the plantations. Billie had a tragic life and his mum could show that emotion as she performed a Billie number. Robin missed her. He missed her voice when she sang along to his keyboard and nothing could replace her. Playing music was his way of keeping her close.

Robin had not long passed his test and didn’t drink if he was driving, and on the way home could not have anticipated the black and white cat streaking across the road and hitting his front bumper. He got out to examine the poor creature, not just stunned but lifeless. Rather than leave it in the gutter, he gently lifted the cat onto a torn blanket in the boot and took it home. At least he could give it the dignity of a proper burial. Robin was fond of animals and the cat’s Friesian-like markings reminded him of so-called Cow -Cat, a stray who used to sneak through their own cat’s flap and steal its food. He was upset at harming this pretty beast but it was an unfortunate accident he could never have foreseen.

Over breakfast Robin explained to dad what had happened and that he had left the animal by the back door. Both Robin and Gilbert now referred to the deceased cat as Cow-cat, such a remarkable likeness it had to the previous stray they had known.

‘Was there a space in the garden,’ Robin wondered, ‘For it to lie next to the family cat’s grave?’

Gilbert shared Robin’s care for animals but said as Cow-cat was unknown he would take it to the allotment and bury it. He lifted it into the boot and drove round to his beloved plot.

It was a bright morning with pale skies and hazy sunshine and Gilbert looked around for a suitable spot. There was a belt of woodland along one side with a strip of derelict wasteland between the allotments and the trees. Gilbert cleared some nettles and dug a shallow grave. He wrapped Cow-cat in the piece of blanket and placed it in the hole, covering it over with soil. Feeling the need to be respectful he broke off a low-growing hawthorn branch bearing faintly red berries and stuck it on the mound.

Gilbert rode his bike over the next day and after a sharing his flask of coffee with a neighbour began to weed between the rows.

‘What was that draped over a tangle of brambles?’

He recognised it as the torn piece of blanket and saw a pile of frenziedly-dug earth and an object beside it. Puss had been exhumed and the blanket tossed aside. Gilbert cursed and knew that Fox had visited. There were marks of mauling on the body but no sign Fox had indulged in a tasty meal. Fox was literally known to the allotment holders as Fox (with a capital should his name ever be written down) and Gilbert had a quiet admiration for the beast as he kept the rabbits down and generally did no harm. But today, this wanton vandalism irritated Gilbert as he set about digging a deeper hole. Later he saw the funny side and he and Robin laughed together when dad described Fox’s antics.

The following day was bleak and blustery with a strong wind as Gilbert set out his tools. He had no intention of looking at the grave but once again he could hardly miss the rapidly disintegrating blanket caught up on the briars, the wild scattering of earth and unfortunate Cow-cat lying once again, in an undignified manner beside it. This was the last straw; there was only one thing for it, but he couldn’t possibly tell Robin.

Gilbert wasn’t a callous man but after apologising to Cow-cat and muttering a prayer he raised up the animal and holding it by one leg, swung it twice round his head and hurled it through the air towards the woodland. Gilbert expected this to be his last sighting but it was not to be. The strong wind caught puss and carried her upwards, depositing her on  top of a huge holly overlooking Gilbert’s parsnips. She faced forwards, legs splayed and with a peculiar grin as if she were mocking him. No amount of shaking or reaching with a broom would shift her. She was to stay there for the months to come, a constant reminder to Gilbert of his insensitivity. Never once that summer did he invite Robin to the allotment even though his parsnips won ‘Best in Show’!

A human-being thinks that heaven is only for humans but surely cats can participate too? Cow-Cat wasn’t happy in the tree; it was not where she belonged. As Gilbert tended his parsnips Cow-cat joined him. Only the part of her that was truly Cow-Cat rubbed against his legs. What you may call ‘her essence’, or, if you are truly religious, ‘her soul’. No spiky claws or rough tongue, so he didn’t feel a thing except perhaps a little spooked!

Cow-cat chased a mouse that night and then another. She never caught them but what larks she had! Her best fun was reserved for terrifying Fox. He had no idea how that rabbit escaped but something frightened Fox to death and probably the rabbit too. Cow-Cat was content. She was back where she belonged.