Mr Midnight CAT
Where did Emily’s mystery visitor come from – and where did he go?
The painted ceramic picture Emily had bought that morning was exquisite. Around 24 inches square of glazed and brightly coloured pottery, it depicted the high street of the village where she lived, with its picturesque timberframed houses.
She had found the ceramic in her local art gallery, and bought it using a chunk of the commission she had made from her own artwork – sold by the same gallery over the past month.
‘This isn’t the way to earn a living as an artist – by giving some of my income straight back to the gallery,’ she had admonished herself. ‘Oh well. I had to have it, and I am due a reasonably large cheque for illustrating that children’s book.’
When she had asked at the gallery who the artist was, they’d told her the person wanted to remain anonymous.
‘Intriguing,’ Emily had thought, wondering if more ceramic pictures from the same artist would appear in the gallery.
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Emily knew exactly what her next art project was going to be – her midnight garden. When she’d peered out of her bedroom window the previous night, the entire garden had been dappled by silvery moonlight. Hundreds of stars had sparkled overhead, mirrored by daisies and white chrysanthemums below. She planned to capture the scene in oils on canvas.
That night, she made herself comfortable on the cushioned window seat in her bedroom, spreading out her paints and propping up her easel against the stone window frame – light from the full moon illuminating the room. Then she began to paint, working with her brushes and palette knife – picking out the shapes and shadows, and dots of white and silvery light.
It took her till nearly midnight to finish the composition, and she had scarcely done so when she noticed a magnificent, snowy white cat. It was sitting on top of her bird table, looking, thanks to the moonlight reflecting off its velvety coat, rather like a statue on a marble column.
‘And how long have you been sitting there?’ Emily said to herself.
The ancient red-brick wall at the bottom of her garden, knitted with white roses, stood behind the bird table. ‘You must have jumped straight from the wall on to my bird table,’ decided Emily.
She lifted the brush she had been using and began making precise strokes to add the midnight cat to her picture. The cat obligingly continued posing until she had completed its portrait. Then, after an almost imperceptible glance at the very
‘Shouldn’t we try to find his owner?’
window at which Emily was sitting, the cat leapt to the top of the wall and jumped down the other side.
Emily smiled. ‘So, Mr Midnight Cat, you must belong to my new neighbour.’
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The following morning, Emily was up and about later than usual. She was becoming a bit of a night owl, not that she was complaining. She would soon have a new original oil painting ready for the gallery, once the paint was dry enough and the piece had been professionally framed.
She was contemplating a coffee when the brass knocker on her door sounded. Going through the hallway, she opened the door to find a tall, dark-haired man, with golden brown eyes, standing outside.
He gave her a broad smile.
‘Hi! I thought it was time I introduced myself. I’m Nick. I’ve just moved in behind you.’
‘Oh! The man with the gorgeous cat,’ said Emily.
Nick appeared confused. ‘The white cat? I thought he must be yours. He’s been visiting my garden around midnight.’
‘Mine too,’ said Emily, with a frown. ‘I call him Mr Midnight Cat. I wonder who he does belong to then. I’m Emily, by the way. I was just about to make coffee. Fancy one?’
‘Perfect.’
She led her new neighbour into the kitchen. As Emily busied herself with the coffee machine, Nick sat down at her dining table, gazing interestedly at her new ceramic picture.
‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it?’ said Emily proudly.
‘It’s the high street,’ replied Nick. ‘It’s an unusual way of depicting it.’
Emily suddenly turned. ‘What did you say you did for a living?’ she blurted out, then felt her face reddening. ‘Sorry. You didn’t say. I just wondered.’
Nick smiled. ‘I’m an architect. I design stuff that’s everything that this picture – and this village, for that matter – isn’t. My work involves perfect angles and uniform proportions. Practical, but completely soulless buildings, to be honest.’
Emily nodded. ‘So,’ she thought. ‘He’s not the man with the beautiful cat, or the talented ceramics artist.’
As they chatted over coffee, Emily found Nick’s manner
engaging. He told her about the various trials and tribulations of moving into his cottage. He was a good listener too, and seemed fascinated by Emily’s work as a ‘jobbing artist’, as she put it. He promised to go and check out her paintings at the gallery in the next few days.
When he got up to leave, after two more coffees and a slice of homemade carrot cake, he turned to Emily…
‘So, what are we going to do about our beautiful cat then? If he’s lost, shouldn’t we try to find his owner? We could put up posters in the village shops. Say something like – If you’ve lost a white cat, we know where he is.’
Emily giggled. ‘Well, maybe we shouldn’t make it sound like we’re a pair of cat-nappers asking for a ransom.’
Nick laughed. ‘OK. But we need to get a photo of Mr Midnight Cat, as you call him.’ ‘Good idea,’ Emily nodded. Nick looked thoughtful, then… ‘I don’t suppose you fancy joining me and my sister Amy for supper this evening? She’s been helping me move in. We can “cat watch” later.’
‘Cat watch and supper sounds good to me,’ said Emily, dropping her gaze to mask her excitement.
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Nick clearly knew his way around a kitchen. The supper was cooked to perfection and served in the old iron-framed conservatory that ran along the back of his cottage. As it was a warm night, Nick left the door open to allow in the soft fragrance of orange blossom.
Emily really liked Amy too, but she wasn’t up for ‘cat watch’. ‘You two are crazy!’ she laughed at 11pm. ‘I’m off to bed!’
On the stroke of 12, Mr Midnight Cat came strolling into Nick’s conservatory, much like a late dinner guest. He aimed a ‘meow’ at both of them, before jumping up on to the table.
‘Well, Mr Midnight Cat, please make yourself at home,’ said
She gasped as she untied the string
Nick, stroking the cat until he began to purr.
Emily pulled out her phone and took a pic. ‘Smile please.’
After he had allowed them both to pet him for several minutes, the cat decided it was time to go. Emily and Nick watched him saunter across the lawn, climb a horse chestnut tree, and drop over the wall into Emily’s garden.
‘Well, we got our photo,’ said Emily. ‘And I’ve had a lovely evening too.’
There was a scraping sound as Nick opened a wooden drawer underneath the dining table and pulled out a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
‘I have something for you.’ ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have!’ said Emily, wishing now that she had brought more than a bottle of wine. ‘Can I open it?’
Nick was nodding eagerly. ‘I hope you will.’
Emily gasped as she untied the string and unfolded the brown paper. Inside was a ceramic picture of their village market cross.
‘It’s wonderful!’ she said in delight. ‘I don’t remember seeing this at the gallery. Did you go there after we’d spoken?’
‘It wasn’t at the gallery,’ said Nick. ‘By the way, I’ve signed it on the back.’
‘You’ve signed it?’ Emily turned over the ceramic and saw that there was a dedication on the back…
A Nick Latham design for Emily.
She looked up at him, questioningly.
‘I am an architect, just like I said. But this is what I really want to do with my life.’
‘What? Give your work away for free to complete strangers,’ joked Emily. Then she became serious… ‘But this is what you should be doing, Nick. You have an astonishing talent.’
‘Thank you for saying that, Emily,’ Nick replied, looking genuinely touched.
Emily beamed at him. ‘How about cat watch at mine tomorrow? My turn to cook.’
She was already planning on the present she would give Nick – the painting of her garden, complete with Mr Midnight Cat.
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Neither Emily nor Nick saw the white cat again over the next few nights, but they did see a lot of each other. As the cat had now disappeared, it seemed pointless putting up posters of him to say they had found him.
‘I do miss Mr Midnight Cat,’ sighed Emily one evening.
‘Me too,’ admitted Nick. ‘Maybe he’ll turn up again the next time there’s a full moon.
I’d certainly like the opportunity to thank him.
‘Thank him for what?’
‘For introducing me to you.’
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When Emily caught up with her friend Eve, who lived at the far end of the village, Eve opened with, ‘You will never guess what’s happened. I’ve found your mystery cat! He’s visited my garden three nights running now, and you were right – he’s the most beautiful creature on four legs.’
‘Ooooh!’ said Emily, somewhat enviously. ‘Can Nick and I come and see him tonight?’
‘Not tonight, I’m afraid,’ said Eve, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘I’ve got a date. Remember I told you about that guy who moved into the house opposite about a month ago? Well, I’d never got around to introducing myself, but your midnight cat always seems to leave my place and go straight over the lane to his. So I went to say hi, and tell him I liked his cat – and do you know something…?’
Emily could guess.
‘It turned out it wasn’t his cat either – but he did ask me out!’
Emily smiled. Maybe their mystery midnight caller needed a new name – Mr Matchmaking Cat?
THE END
Michael Malaghan