Anita Goveas

Step one: deny the cat

When Mrs Chopra falls over in Sydenham High Street, she’s rushing.

I don’t want to go to hospital, she says to the neon-clad jogger who almost steps on her.

Oh, is there someone waiting for you at home, he says, paused in giving directions to 999 on his mobile

No, she says, and he turns away to finish his call

Not exactly, she says to the crack in the pavement 

Step two: admit there’s a cat, but pretend the cat’s not yours

I need to get home, she says to the blue-eyed paramedic, I have to feed the cat

Oh, you have a cat too, says the woman with a spreading smile, what’s the darling’s name?

I can’t have a cat, say Mrs Chopra, my sister’s allergic but..

Oh, says the woman, smile dimmed, and she turns away to adjust the oxygen monitor

I feed this stray cat every day but he won’t come in the house, says Mrs Chopra to the tea-coloured stain on the ceiling 

Step three: realise that you do indeed own a cat

I feel fine, says Mrs Chopra

Sorry, says the turbaned A and E doctor, concussion and a sprained shoulder, we’ll have to keep you overnight

I can’t stay here, she says, I have to look after my cat

Don’t worry, we’ll inform your next of kin, he says, who’s that?

I don’t have one, says Mrs Chopra, my sainted husband died and my lawyer son lives in Toronto 

It says here you have a sister, says the doctor, turning away to look at the nurse gesturing behind the flimsy curtain

She moved out, says Mrs Chopra because…

Lie still, says the doctor with his foot in the corridor

She’s allergic to the cat and she says he can’t be tamed, says Mrs Chopra to the liquid dripping into her arm 

Step four: realise the cat owns you

The cat’s probably found someone else to feed him, Mrs Chopra says 

Oh, says the pig-tailed transport driver, helping her out of the mini-van

You have to be nice or people don’t care, that’s what happened to the cat, says Mrs Chopra

Oh, says the transport driver, turning away to twist the ignition key

There’s someone in my house, says Mrs Chopra to the retreating licence-plate

I can hear them in the kitchen, she says to the nearest green parrot on the hallway wallpaper

You can take tablets for allergies, says her sister, pouring from the round striped teapot

I know and you’re still my next of kin, says Mrs Chopra

I know, says her sister, and the cat likes wet food best

Oh, says Mrs Chopra and takes a sip of her perfectly sugared tea while the cat’s fluffy tail brushes against her knee