‘Probably. He was once domesticated, so it won’t take long for him to learn.’
I let out another long yawn. ‘I’d planned to go to the outdoor food market today but I don’t think I can leave him. I don’t want him to fret.’
‘Maybe better to stay in today and see how he goes. Make sure you check his abrasions. The vet said we need to make sure they don’t get worse. He’s supposed to wear that Elizabethan collar, but as you know he didn’t take kindly to that.’
When I arrived at the vet they’d been struggling to get it back on Minou, who’d awoken from the sedative and slipped straight out of it, despite it being looped around his collar. ‘I’ll check his injuries when he wakes up. And I’ll attempt to put the Elizabethan collar on him again.’ I don’t like my chances though. That cat is as stubborn as anything.
‘You should probably sleep too, Lilou.’ His laughter rings out. ‘It’s like having a baby all over again. Nap when they nap, that’s my best advice.’ Guillaume has two sons. One lives in Arles and the other in Germany. He sees them regularly when he goes on buying trips.
‘Well, unlike you, I haven’t raised babies so this is a bit of a culture shock, but I’m sure today will be better. I’ll text you later and let you know how our charge is doing.’
I make my way around the apartment looking through a Mon Petit lens. I spy my laptop, a very breakable piece of technology, which I’m sure Minou will relish watching fall and break. I move it to a shelf under the coffee table. I unplug the kettle and stash it in a cupboard. What else is he likely to swat at until it topples over? I remove picture frames, books, the fruit bowl… until the space is virtually empty. I lay out all of his cat toys on the living room rug in the hope he will figure out what to do with them. Even while being destructive, Minou is adorable and I get a pit in my stomach at the thought of leaving him alone. After all, he’shad so many feline friends over the years, how will he cope being alone in an unfamiliar place for the entirety of my workday when that comes? Today I can work from home, but I won’t have that luxury going forward. We didn’t think this scenario through. I’d expected Minou to be relaxed and sleepy just like he is at the cemetery where he drags himself over sedately for some food and puts in the bare minimum of effort to do so.
With the living room now sufficiently empty, I peek in on him. He’s still sound asleep, so I take my phone to the kitchen while I make myself breakfast. After I eat, I shoot Guillaume another message.
Are there such things as cat sitters? We might need to enquire so Minou is not alone too long while he’s healing.
I startle when the phone rings as I send the text. I don’t recognise the number. ‘Bonjour?’
‘Bonjour, Lilou. It’s Benoit. How did you go with Minou last night?’
I feel a tingle that Benoit has woken up and thought to call and check in. Our evening had been unexpectedly fun and I felt the first stirrings of a connection, or a really good friendship. I’m still not sure which. ‘Ah, well…’ I go into great detail about the destruction of my apartment. ‘Minou is struggling a little with being an inside cat and that’s to be expected. If he could break it, he did. I’m not sure where he got all that energy from after what he’s been through. I’m most worried about leaving him alone all day. What if he pines for his cat friends, or what if he escapes? He’s pretty savvy for a cat and I don’t really trust him not to get up to mischief. But mostly, he’s supposed to be resting so his cuts and scrapes heal, and he will not entertain theElizabethan collar. I was thinking of hiring a cat sitter while he’s recuperating.’
‘That’s a great idea.’
I smile. ‘Thanks for suggesting dinner last night. I really enjoyed it.’ As I lean against the kitchen bench, I feel something brush along my neck, making me jump in fright. I turn to find Minou staring at me through narrowed eyes, paw stuck midway in the air as if he’s about to swat me again. ‘Argh! He’s awake, and by the looks of it, he’s not happy.’ To prove my point, Minou sweeps my breakfast bowl from the counter. I lunge forward to catch it, but it slips just out of reach and crashes to the floor with a bang. ‘The smashing continues,’ I say to Benoit. ‘But that’s my fault. I didn’t clean my breakfast things away. How does he sneak around so quietly like that?’
‘Cats are stealthy.’
‘Right.’ From my vantage point above Minou, I can see one of his abrasions is enflamed as if he’s been scratching at it. ‘Looks like Minou will need the collar back on. God help me, he’s going to fight me to the death.’
‘When Hugo had a small operation we used an inflatable neck collar. So much easier for them to get around the house in, and he couldn’t get it off no matter how hard he tried. Do you want me to stop at the pet shop today and see if they have any for cats? I know you don’t want to leave him alone today.’
‘If you’ve got time, that would be great.’ I give Minou a cursory look. He’s still too thin and his wounds aren’t exactly healed enough to call them battle scars as yet. My heart melts staring into his bright brown eyes as I remind myself this is a period of adjustment and I need to be patient. Once he’s healed he might prefer the cemetery, but for now this is home.
‘Sure, I’ll see what they’ve got and bring it over around lunch time?’
‘Really? That would be great, Benoit, thank you. I’ll look into finding a cat sitter for the days I’m at the market.’
After I give Benoit my address, I end the call. I gently scoop Minou in my arms and check the rest of his wounds are clean. He wiggles to get out of my grasp, so I place him down on the kitchen floor and get his breakfast ready. He eats with great gusto, a good sign that hopefully it won’t take long for him to get back to a healthy weight. While he’s eating, I clean up the shattered pieces of my breakfast bowl.
Once he’s had his fill of food, I administer his medication with a syringe and thankfully this time he accepts it without fuss. Unlike last night, where we played a game of chase for the better part of an hour. Progress. Soon enough, he slinks back to the bedroom and falls asleep once more. I envy him and have an internal debate as to whether I can get away with a nap too, but I’m already behind and have Benoit visiting too.
I take my laptop and set up at the dining room table. I log in to the Paris Cupid portal, pleased to see how efficient Geneviève has been working. She’s matched a range of people and has dealt with a lot of new applications. That just leaves the message box, so I click into that and go through them. They’re mainly thanks from members who are enjoying the concept of letter writing. There are two complaints, one from a woman who says she can’t read her match’s handwriting, the other from a man who says his match claims his handwriting is atrocious and he doesn’t like her tone. He explains in his message to Paris Cupid that he has a sprained wrist and is doing the best he can. I reply to them both that perhaps in this special set of circumstances they could type and print their letters until his hand is healed.
There’s a message to Paris Cupid from Émilienne with the subject line that reads:Have I made a mistake?Oh no! This is my greatest fear. That Emmanuel would revert to his playboy ways and it would all have been for nothing. Not to mention themedia would be all over the breakup, and where would that leave the reputation of Paris Cupid? In tatters. Leaving Émilienne – my very first, genuine client – alone once more. I click on the message.
I’m not sure if this is just cold feet, or if I’ve genuinely made a mistake giving my heart to Emmanuel. The deeper our connection grows, the starker our differences appear. The man does not stop talking. Ever. He tells everyone he’s in love, he’s getting married, he’s given up his career for me. It’s a lot to shoulder. It was his idea to renounce his career, to retire and follow me to India. It seems a big responsibility, and if things don’t pan out, I imagine the blame will lie squarely at my feet. We spend every waking moment together; he’s always right there beside me, which was sweet at first but is now suffocating. What do you advise? I love him with all my heart, but I need a break from all these protestations of love!
Merde!Émilienne is one of those people who loves company but also loves solitude. They’ve made this great leap into a new future but haven’t accounted for the fact they’re togetherallthe time. I wish I could email her as myself; instead, I write the same sort of thing I’d tell her face to face.
I can only give you the type of advice I’d give a friend, so here goes. Those stark differences you mention – would they be as evident if you were both living your regular lives? Is it that you’re spending twenty-four hours a day together, living in each other’s pockets, so there’s no breathing room? No private time where you can take some space and just be. You went from writing letters and slowly building that connection to a very intense journey together. If you stepped away from it for a moment, what does your heart tell you would happen? Only you will know whether this is worthfixing, worth fighting for, or not. Is your current place of lodging the right kind of environment for this stage of your relationship? Can you confide in your match and explain how you’re feeling? Communicating those feelings is the best way forward and his response to what you share with him should make your next steps clearer. Perhaps tell him that time apart is something you need each and every day.
From all at Paris Cupid, we wish you well.
I hit send and hope that Émilienne finds some solace in there. It’s hard to know when that niggle of distrust returns and makes me doubt Emmanuel and his motivations.
Back to the message box, I find one from the man himself with the subject line:What am I doing wrong?
