We were cultivating a friendship, but still very independent of each other. Lots of chatting, petting, playing, but she did not offer me food, and I didn’t ask.
It was a big change for us both when the little house on the garden - her first renovation project - was finished. She was now living on the property, in this small, charming space. I loved her being in this little house all the time. I would meow outside her door as dawn was breaking, and she would come out and play with me in the garden.
August came, and my feeding family went away. I believe Madame was overly distracted with her renovation works, and unaware that I was now completely on my own, without sustenance. I am proud and was timid; I did not want to ask her for food. It was her artisans having lunch in the garden who mentioned to her they believed I was very hungry as I was hanging about and happily gobbled up their offerings. She looked over to the house that fed me, saw the shutters closed, and went away with a concerned countenance. Soon, she returned with a bottle of milk. How very delicious - my mother’s milk was a distant memory. The next day, she came to the garden with croquettes.
To show my appreciation, I asked if I could come in to her little house, and cuddle with her on her sofa. This was a smooth move on my part. She was smitten, we began to fall in love.
When the family returned home, they came with a dog. I was so hurt. I tried my best to make it work; I was sure that having two homes feeding me would be a wonderful life. But the lack of attention to me, while observing the grand affection extended to the dog, was unbearable. So, with their blessing, I moved over to be with Madame lock, stock and barrel. She told me I would always be taken care of, no longer would I be left alone. I no longer slept outside in the dark hours and I now slept on a bed. Madame purchased incredibly tasty cat food, and on Saturday, when she returned from the Farmer’s Marche, we would share a rotisserie chicken leg. Our friendly companionship was now a co-dependant relationship. She provided food, and I was overjoyed to provide her with the emotional support needed as she endeavoured to oversee the renovation of the big house.
Foolishly, she tried to change my name. She thought calling me Minette, the pedestrian moniker for female cats was incorrect. She wanted to believe I was her long, lost prince, so she tried Prince Roly Poly. I balked. Then when a friend confirmed the feline facts of life, she accepted I was a girl, and being I am rather pretty and somewhat voluptuous, she tried out Marilyn Minette. I was kind but firm. My name is Minette. I do not need a fancy name to define me, I know I am special. The terms of endearment; mon amour, sweetheart, darling – spoken with a soft Canadian accent, are lovely, merci beaucoup!
Those days and nights in the little house on the garden were magical. Often the feral cats would come by and admonish me for moving inside. They wanted me to convince Madame to share her wealth with the feline community. This idea was too much for her to consider, and though I have empathy for the feral population in my town, I selfishly did not want to share this special thing we have together.
When October rolled in with rain and colder weather, the top floor of the big house was ready for Madame to move in, and I was invited to join her. So much space, we had lots of fun playing hide and seek.
The artisans were still working away on the first and second floors, and they were both noisy and scary. When it was time for me to go out, Madame would carry me down the wood staircase, down the stone staircase, through the developing kitchen and into the courtyard. I would then jump from her arms and scamper up the stairs from the courtyard to the garden. The artisans rolled their eyes in jealous disbelief. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time in the garden. We could hide out in the little house, and keep clear of the noise and dust.
Madame had to leave a lot, to go to England or to Canada. She always had friendly folk come to stay with me though. They would feed me, cuddle me, play with me, and make sure I was in for the night. When she was away, I would do my best to make sure the artisans were doing their work. I had observed Madame at the end of each day, after the artisans had gone. She spent a lot of time walking through the house and checking the work, making notes,. The next day, she did her best to communicate her concerns. Some of these men were wonderful, others were not. When she would return from her travels, I would take her through the house and show her what had been done while she was away.
When Madame returned on February 2nd, 2020, she said: “Minette, I am here now, this is our home.” Neither of us had any idea that literally, she was to be here, in this house, months of days and nights together, just the two of us, and there was nothing we could do about it.
The long stay visa had given her the confidence she needed to truly begin to live here. She began in earnest to form a life for herself: French lessons, yoga classes, regular physio and walking, meeting new folk, dinner parties, finishing the touches in the house for the first guests who would arrive in April. We were happily settling in. Moments after lockdown, the messages began beeping in succession. Yoga cancelled, French lessons cancelled, and on it went. In the days to come, the cancellations from her North American guests began. After each cancellation, a dark cloud would hover around Madame for hours. She was loving towards me, and attentive. She was just so sad. Nights in bed were not overly difficult for her, but often she would stretch out her arm to see if I was on the bed, and murmur gratitude for my presence.
We stuck into the garden with a vengeance. Every day, weeding and more weeding, doing what could be done on her own. Not too long after confinement began, some people were allowed to work in construction and outside of houses. Gardeners were allowed to work and one of Madame’s new friends recommended a chap that could assist in the garden for a few hours each week. This was great news, for both of us. A man coming in, young and attractive, strong and knowledgeable. I like him! Being he has 3 cats of his own, he is friendly towards me. But he marvels at the attention Madame gives me.
Our garden was taking shape, and Madame was a different woman when the gardener was with us. It was both the hooman connection and the accomplishment of works that she can’t manage. He speaks French only, and fumbling about with the language is a challenge for her, but it was working. The garden shops were deemed essential, and opened first for online purchases and pick up, then for three customers at a time. Together they went to the garden centre and purchased the soil, the stakes, the plants and the seeds. He introduced her to savon noir, and gave her a recipe to prepare and put into a special spray container. The idea being to spray the plants and deter the bugs that wanted to take over certain roses, honeysuckle, and apple trees. He turned and replenished the soil. Madame planted seeds for courgette and cucumber and basil in pots. When the plants would sprout, they would transfer them into the soil. Tomato plants and stakes were purchased and planted, 19 of them! The courgettes and butternut went into the earth. He had told her to mark the seeding pots so she would remember what seeds were in the pots, but she didn’t. They all grew beautifully, but she has a lot of white courgettes.
