The Catlady (8 page)

What a pity, he thought, that the daughter of Colonel Sir Percival Ponsonby and Lady Ponsonby, of Ponsonby Place, one of the finest old houses in Dummerset, should go to her grave almost unmourned.

In fact, on the day when the Catlady was
buried, the vicar's church was jam-packed.

All the villagers of Dumpton Muddicorum and all the tradesmen and a number of other people in the neighborhood who owned cats that had once belonged to Muriel, all of these turned up to pay their respects. All the Catlady's oddities were forgotten and only her kindness and cheerfulness remembered.

“She was a funny one,” they said, “but there was something ever so nice about her. Always so polite too.”

“Yes, and she was a kind lady, taking in Mary Nutt like she did.”

Nor were humans the only mourners. At the back of the church, behind the rearmost pews, sat a silent line of cats.

When it was all over, Mary had her tea in the kitchen while on the floor the various cats had theirs (Vicky first, of course). What's to become of me? she thought. I can't stay here now that Miss Muriel's dead. The house will be sold, I suppose.

“I don't know,” she said to the cats.“I just don't know.”

But a week later, she did.

She was summoned to the offices of the Catlady's solicitor in a nearby town, to be told some astonishing news.

“This, Miss Nutt,” said the solicitor, “is a copy of the will of Miss Muriel Ponsonby. As you know, she had no remaining family, no one for whose benefit Ponsonby Place might be sold. She therefore decided that she would leave the house to the RSPC.”

“RSPC?” asked Mary.

“The Royal Society for the Protection of Cats. So that the charity might use Ponsonby
Place as its national headquarters. More, the will states that because of your loyal service to her and her deep affection for you, you should continue to live there, rent-free, for as long as you wish. I am delighted to tell you that Miss Ponsonby has left you a substantial sum of money, to cover your day-today expenses and to enable you to employ such help as a housekeeper and a gardener. You are a very fortunate young lady.”

Fortunate indeed, thought Mary afterward. But oh, how I shall miss her! And so will the cats.

Six months later the RSPC had not yet moved into Ponsonby Place, but Mary, with help, was keeping things in apple-pie order. The only change she made was to remove Vicky from the Catlady's bedroom and Percival and Florence from the master bedroom, and to shut both bedroom doors.

“You'll just have to find other rooms to sleep in,” she said to them all, and fat ginger Vicky gave her a look that said plainly,“We are not amused.”

Six months to the day from the death of the Catlady, Mary saw a strange cat come walking up the drive toward the house, in a very confident way, as though it knew just what it was about.

It was a gray cat, about six months old, Mary guessed, with a sharp face and green eyes and rather pointed ears. A female, she was sure, by the look of it.

It walked straight up to her and began to rub itself against her legs, purring very loudly indeed. Then it walked straight in through the front door. Mary followed.

The stranger set off up the stairs and along the landing, to the now closed door of the bedroom of the late Muriel Ponsonby. Standing on its hind legs, it reached up with a forepaw as though trying to turn the door handle.

Mystified, Mary opened the door for it, and it ran into the room and leaped upon the bed. It lay there, ears pricked, its green eyes staring into hers with a look that told Mary Nutt exactly what had happened, something that, up to this moment, she had never quite been able to believe possible.

This strange, green-eyed gray cat, this lady cat, was … the Catlady!

“Oh, Miss Muriel!” Mary breathed. “You're back!”

THE END