Picture this:We’re sitting in the conservatory, drinking coffee and looking out over the garden. Rocky is pottering around outside, investigating all those tiny things that fascinate cats. A pair of ducks are on the pond, and Rocky suddenly notices them. He seems alarmed, and runs to the door. Ducks are big when you’re just a kitten.
The ducks clamber out of the pond and waddle about on the grass, looking for bugs. Rocky rallies himself and slinks down to lie in wait under a tree, observing them closely. The ducks potter around; Rocky crouches and stares.
Time passes. Listen! Time passes. The patience of a hunting cat is demonstrated. In this case, the patience of an extremely ambitious hunting cat.
The moment comes. He makes a run at the ducks. The ducks, startled, leap into the air and fly the short distance to the pond. Rocky runs full tilt to the edge of the pond and…
time slows down
… he makes a mighty leap at the ducks. A mighty, flying leap that takes him far out over the edge of the pond. Ever so slowly, we see a small tabby cat splash into the pond.
As we run outside, thoughts rush through my head: can he swim? Will he drown? We’re going to have to jump into the pond to rescue him! Is there time to strip off? No!
The pond is four metres deep, and not inviting even in summer, let alone the middle of winter. But before we’re halfway there, Rocky has clambered out and run to sit miserably in the hedge. When Mr Kimi reaches him, Rocky looks dejectedly at him, embarrassed and wretched.
We dry him off and sit him in the wintry sun in the conservatory, snuggled in Sura’s old beanbag. He spends half an hour licking himself, and his coat comes up soft and fluffy. Within an hour he’s as lively as ever, and demanding to go back outside.
He’s avoided the pond since, though.
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