Tobermory, the speaking cat!

The gathering at Lady Blemley’s was small. With only her close friends and few others of late Lord Blemley, everyone seemed relaxed. So did Tobermory, their cat, who is otherwise seen moving about frantically - pushing away the items from tables, window sills, fireplace parapet, cabinets and just about everywhere – when she sees a big crowd fitting uncomfortably in their drawing room. It was therefore an unusual sight to find her sitting quietly, yet attentively, at the antechamber. She seemed to me like a sincere butler, carefully observing the guests at a party to make sure no hands carry empty glasses; or that no person misses out an interesting table conversation for the lack of a petty chair; or that there are no embarrassing moments of someone stepping on a fallen cream bun, or slipping on a spilled drink, for that matter.

Tobermory has always been a subject of interest to me and Frieda, my wife, as we have been fancying her to bear our cat’s kitten. Oh, she would be such a delightful match for Mace. How fondly he meows and purrs in her presence!

A new face in the crowd was Mr. Appin, the new veterinary surgeon in town. We spotted him at Lord Kingsley’s dinner for the first time. A short man of strong built and whiskers that run up to his ears, Mr. Appin was never a very formidable guest to have over. I heard it been discussed over dinner that he managed to be on the guest list of most high society hosts, not for his charm, but for more political reasons given his relations with the Queen’s viceroy.

A crowd had gathered around the centre table of the drawing room when we entered after dinner. We curiously joined in to find Mr. Appin addressing the gathering about the laboratory he is re-establishing at his residence basement and his latest research experiments; the most interesting one of which, he claimed, involved teaching animals to speak! Some awed while others hissed at this conjecture but all apprehensions were washed when Tobermory responded to his command by coming forth and formally introducing herself in clear words to us. “My name is Tobermory”. This simple line rather left us all spellbound and we gaped at her with dilated eyes. Before we could further react to the most unbelievable spectacle one ever beheld, Tobermory continued her dialogue with marked fluency. “I may be just a cat but I hail from a family of tigers. My master, Lord Blemley, bought me off the forest guard last year. My master! His poor soul passed away just a month after I came here. Anne, that shrewd wife of his, never dropped a tear at his demise. They say his heart failed his poor soul but I have always doubted otherwise”, she paused. A glow was evident on her little furry face.

The room was silently still: as if awestruck by a magician’s most daring trick. This brief hiatus of silence was broken by loud clank of a glass hitting the floor - splattering its content and smashing itself into pieces. Turning towards the sound’s direction one could see a horrified Lady Blemley at the doorway hall: short of breath and hands trembling.
As if oblivious of her mistress’s presence, Tobermory started to speak again. “My master was a jolly good fellow owning mansions and maize fields vast as the sky. His useless sons always pestered him to get it all in their name but my master wanted them to work hard and earn their own fame. Nobody would listen to him, poor soul! With his wife against him too, danger lurked around that poor soul in this house; haunted and troubled him.” The speaking cat continued with a huff, “O my master, he only got peace on his deathbed.”
In the awkward moment entailing Tobermory’s allocution, I looked at Frieda and she stared back at me. Everyone looked embarrassed for not taking any action to stop her. At a certain level, it was all quite entertaining too. There had been rumours about Lord Blemley’s sudden and unexpected death but nobody knew the real story.

Lady Blemley was not to be seen anywhere in the room. Mr. Appin sat in his chair marvelling at his success and elated on having proved himself before the disbelieving audience. As if not enough had been said and heard already, Mr. Appin left it open on the gathering to ask Tobermory anything and she would answer in as human a manner as possible.

Mrs. Dunkins, who had been listening to Tobermory like she was giving a sermon, got her trigger. She leapt forward to get closer but could still be faintly heard asking Tobermory about certain Mr. Fredrick’s visits to the Blemleys. There was no point in being discreet with the speaking trumpet because she answered unbiased in her usual loud disposition, “Charles Fredrick will soon be the next Lord Blemley!”

A wave of commotion streamed inside the hall. Adding on to the growing pandemonium, several loud footsteps in a hurried march were heard entering the hall. Before we could turn our heads to understand what was happening, Lady Blemley’s voice thundered “Tobermory, you are done! Get out of my house”. She then commanded her league of servants who followed her inside the hall “Get that wretched filth out of here, right away!”

Tobermory fled out of the hall at lightning speed. The army of Lady Blemley’s faithful servants followed her out. We could imagine some cop-and-police chase scenes happening outside. As their sounds subsided in the distance, the attention of the hall turned to the Lady herself. Her face had turned pale but, in no time, she regained her calm and composure. Pretending nothing had happened, she asked everyone to enjoy themselves to some lovely tea that would be served shortly.

People dispersed from the central gathering to other tables in the hall. Echo of bundled hushed voices reverberated in the hall. Frieda and I did not wish to join the aftermath talks so we gathered our coats and left. On the way back neither of us spoke. I saw a tiny teardrop running down her eye and I held her hand to reassure her, “Don’t worry darling, we will find someone charming for our Mace very soon”.