“She doesn’t do much, does she?”

For reasons too involved to go into here, Anushka, our cat, was re-homed in Nairobi early 2019 with a friend of Him Outdoors. Understandably, there was much heartache about this decision but her New Papa was extremely caring and shared with us frequent photographs and reports. One anxious message concerned how much she slept. He Googled to find out what was normal because he couldn’t believe that a cat could sleep 21 out of 24 hours and was convinced she wasn’t well.

Life jinked through a chicane and we found ourselves back in Nairobi 12 months later, hosted by our friend. HO was very firm before we arrived – absolutely NO gooey, emotional reunions, I am no longer her parent, whatever her routine and however she is being cared for is none of my business and I was to stand firmly back – she is the adored pet of another.

I’d like to tell you that she bounded downstairs in frantic recognition, loudly greeting us with her familiar refrain “Where have you been? I’m hungry. I need a brush.” Actually, she did just that, but it was unquestionably apparent that there wasn’t the faintest hint of recognition. She was looking for her New Papa and when we retired for the evening, she trotted off with him. There’s no denying that it hurt but after all, who could blame her? And New Papa absolutely worshipped her, crooning ‘hello princess, how is my darling’ and regaling us with stories of her super cat powers.

When an opportunity arose for us to drive back to South Africa rather than fly, suddenly there were subtle hints threaded through conversation. Maybe not so subtle because HO noticed and brought to my attention that we were being offered our cat back. New Papa’s life had moved on apace and he no longer needed her cat witchcraft and healing purrs. And as we were driving, surely there was room for a furry?

We put up a token resistance – we aren’t the sort of people to say ‘thanks for having her, we’ll take her back now’ after all his kindness. But the deal was done and dusted after two rodent incidents.

Rats were a bit of a problem in the home and the rat traps kept busy. One evening over dinner the most appalling noise erupted, preceding Anushka entering the lounge at full pelt. Bristled to twice her size and Olympic sprinting around the perimeter she attempted to get rid of the large, sticky mouse pad (nope, not a computer thingy, a rodent trap) firmly attached to her rear foot. Four adults helpless with laughter took longer than necessary to catch her and detach it.

A day or so later I was summoned to a conference. Apparently, a brazen rat had settled itself on top of the fridge. A small, bar fridge not one of those humungous reach-for-the-skies types. Rattigan comfortably looked down his nose at Anushka, neatly sat next to the fridge about 30 centimetres below. Completely and utterly oblivious, she contently watched her humans making breakfast, unaware that her blissful ignorance wasn’t going down well with the landlord.

Over coffee, New Papa cleared his throat and approached the subject. “I’m really happy for you to take her, she doesn’t do much does she? And she is useless with pest control.”

She was fired! Can you believe it? New Papa was happy to buy cat food if she’d hold her end up and get rid of the rodents but no one had ever explained to the princess that she had any function other than looking pretty. A job? Work? Expend energy beyond a luxuriant stretching out to allow tummy brushing? Not on your nellie so Anushka received her marching orders and in disgrace was loaded into the car.