Stray Cat Rescue. Part 1. Garden Centre Or Urban Jungle, Watch Out For The Wildlife.
I was just sitting last night staring at the space between my monkey lamp and Hong Kong plinth thinking that needs a begonia.
That monkey needs a begonia to go with it's cobra pal and fancy plinth.
I had one lodged in my mind that I’d spotted a few months ago in an independent garden centre I had seen mentioned in a comment on a friend’s Facebook post after I had helped her design and choose plants for her border that she’d been meaning to do for 26 years. I had never been there before, it was a little bit far away and the only plant they had that I was interested in was a stunning Begonia Rex with huge spiral variegated leaves sitting on a shelf in the doorway of the farthest poly tunnel.
It was amazing. I loved it. I didn’t buy it. The garden centre lady said it would definitely not overwinter, but suggested bringing it inside at the end of the summer. I have to have at least one rule to restrict my wanton plant collecting, and as it seems to take everything in the yarden two years to flourish, I thought I’d leave it. Really, I didn’t fancy the thought of bringing any entomological lodgers into the house that might (definitely) be residing in the pot. So that was a confirmed no thank you.
Three months and a hundred plants later I woke up this morning with a lightning bolt telling me to “go get begonia!”. Don’t even show it the yarden, don’t give the wee beasties a chance to visit, never mind get comfortable, put it straight into that nook in the jungle room between the monkey and the plinth where it can wave out the window to the woodlice and it will over winter nicely thank you. So that was a confirmed yes please.
I went via another garden centre I had seen on google maps, it was only down the road, but I’d never been. The reviews all talked about how wonderful and friendly the staff were and they were right. Loads of wonderful warm women, a wide variety of hydrangeas, but no begonias and that was my mission for today. I hadn’t been back to the place where I’d seen the original begonia since my first visit, but it hadn't changed. Lovely ladies running the place, however most of the stock was low and there were only three tiny little specimens, not really the eye-catcher I was looking for.
As I entered the farthest poly tunnel I spotted an unexpected vision on the counter that made me stop dead in my tracks and gasp. A tiny little black cat outstretched across a fleecy bed on the counter under the Information Desk sign. She didn’t look like she knew much about horticulture to be honest, but probably didn’t get paid much.
Sleeping on the job.
She was so tiny and a really unusual colour, you’d think she was black from a distance, but on closer inspection she had a gingery sheen, which made her the colour of a coconut and not a dissimilar shape. The page of the RHS Plant Encyclopaedia was open at Daphne, so I assumed that was her name and the staff had done it to answer all the women who saw her when they weren’t around. I also assumed she belonged to the garden centre.
Don't call me Daphne.
I had slinked over there like a creeping whippet. She looked very confident and comfortable on her cushion, but I thought she might run when I tried to stroke her. Nope, got up to greet me and did the circle-walk of inter-species friendship, then collapsed back on her bed for head rubs. I was a gonna. I was there twenty minutes or more, I just couldn’t stop stroking her. Something was happening. Turns out she’s very friendly but a bit feral and had just turned up about six months ago. Something deeper was stirring. It also turns out that she can’t stay there. Deep shifting in my chest cavity. And they are looking for a home for her. Shit.
Head rub ready.
The garden centre ladies are stellar quality women and quite brilliantly skilled in subversive mind manipulation. They have a few feral cats that they look after and feed, very very well, and it becomes apparent that ‘Coco’ as they call her (this coconut colour is quite unique) is unaware of her impending perilous situation. Shiit. It took me three months to commit to an indoor outdoor plant and now I’m supposed to go home with a cat. I was only supposed to buy a little house and drop my bags in England then immediately go back to work overseas to wherever outpost will have me post Brexit. Two years later, I’m all bloody comfy and happy with a yarden full of plants that need me, a community of bees, a car called George Michael, a plan to sit in the warm and write stories for a living and now the ultimate dealbreaker - a cat that looks like a coconut. Shiiit.
I’d been standing talking to the ladies like I’m leaving for a long time, but I thought I’d just go and have one last little chat with the cat before I definitely go this time. Yep, she’s still a wee coconut filled with love and tiny teeth.
I adore cats. I’m 97% cat. It’s only the 3% human DNA that makes me walk on two legs. I can’t. I’ve been through this. My life is so transient it’s not just unfair to have a cat, it’s just not possible. No one will hire me in England on account of me being too old, too female and too experienced, (I’m going to fling in too talented anorl coz it’s my blog). I haven’t stayed in one place longer than five minutes in the last fifty years. I’m a hugely successful artist, entrepreneur, a trail blazing, life-styling, ground-breaking, culture-changing politically militant International Renaissance Woman. I can’t give it all up. I can not commit to a cat. Besides, even if I thought I could make staying in the UK work, I know when I feel the first icy cold death breath of December I’ll panic and be on the first plane to anywhere warm. I can’t change the entire status quo of my existence. Does she not know who I am? At the very least I might want to go on a Christmas Market Mini Break to Prague. Who will look after her? I don’t know anyone here. I can’t. I say I’ll be back in the week and “if she’s gone to a loving home, that’s brilliant, if not....shiiiiit”. They laugh and say “see you tomorrow”.
The drive home in George Michael was wide-eyed. I felt so weird. I didn’t know if it was good weird or weird weird. Bloody hell, I think I want this cat. I think I’ve got to take the cat. I think I can’t live without this cat. Calm down, I felt this way about a rug I'd seen in IKEA on Saturday.
I go back to the lovely garden centre down the road that I’d been to first to buy some of the hydrangeas as a means to divert the need to bring things home that I think I can’t live without. Jesus, I thought I’d die if I didn’t go back to IKEA and get that rug, today I feel nothing for it. This is a living cat, a lifetime commitment, no more glamorous foreign job options, no more freedom to travel. This cat is Brexit.
I spend ages choosing my hydrangeas and the manager even gets involved in helping, so lovely. They’re big and heavy so I carry them to the counter in a relay, then tell the cashier I’ll take them to the car in stages, leaving two by the till. When I go back for them, one is missing. I was convinced I’d seen it being weaselled away down the road by two women. They had. They had bloody swapped theirs for mine. I say to the manager lady, I’ve seen them, can you get it back for me please and the woman is on it. Away down the road after them and retrieves the kidnapped plant.
It was a masterclass in management skills, they knew what they were doing, they had paid for one, they weren’t technically stealing, however they were morally stealing and they knew it. Guilty and Indignant would be their bible names, it was written all over them, I said “I’m sorry” (you stole my plant), as I took it out of her thieving hands. As the manager, liberated hydrangea and I walked back to my car I said “I’m not sorry in the slightest”, she laughed and said “well you’d spent so long choosing them”, I said “I know, they’ll all have names by bedtime”. I also said “I’d only come out for a begonia, went to another garden centre after I left you and ended up with a stray cat instead. I’m picking her up tomorrow”.
She was delighted. It was decided. Please still be there tomorrow.
A distraction of hydrangeas.
