It was fine, really, Miranda was perfectly happy to stay at home, perfectly happy to keep the plants watered and the cat company while Mum and Dad went snorkelling in the Maldives, and Patrick posted photos on social of him in the arms of a bronzed Aussie surf god in Sydney.
She liked being at home, liked the quiet of the house, liked being able to leave her craft projects out on the kitchen table, at least while Tabitha, the cat, was outside.
It was nice to come home from work and not have to worry about dinner for anyone other than herself. And to be able to devote all weekend to whatever piece she was creating at the time.
So why was she looking up cat sitters? Why was she checking rental properties in the centre of town? Why was she feeling like she wanted to claw her way out of her own skin?
Mum phoned on Sunday. “Darling, you won’t believe the fish we swam with yesterday, you simply must come out sometime.”
“I think I’d prefer a city break, maybe Grenada, or Barcelona.”
There was a pause, then. “But what about Tab-Tab?”
“There are cat sitters, Denise at work has one she swears by, says her cat likes the sitter better than he likes her.”
“Oh but Tabitha…”
“Has absolutely no time for me and would actively prefer anyone else.”
“But the plants.”
“Can be watered by the cat sitter, it wouldn’t cost that much extra.”
Miranda couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. It was clear her mother couldn’t either. She said. “Darling, I just don’t think it’s wise, letting a stranger into the house.”
“They’re not a stranger, Mum. It’s the funniest coincidence, but Denise’s cat sitter is Terry’s son, Craig. You remember? The one you spent three years inviting over for tea, and pushing me to date? The one studying to be a vet nurse? He’s working at the local vet surgery now and baby-sits pets on the side.”
“Terry says he’s in a relationship now.”
“Married, kid on the way, the pet sitting is helping set up the nursery. Don’t you want to support the son of one of your very best friends?”
“I just don’t see why you can’t look after her, poor Tabby hates change.”
“Tabby couldn’t care less so long as she gets her food on schedule, and the sunny spot in the sitting room to herself.” Miranda had made up her mind. “I’ll send you Craig’s details so you can talk through the logistics with him. Just make sure he’s set up before next weekend. I have a plane to catch.”
The DNA of Stories 