at least at alCATraz you've got enough room to turn around and you don't have to sleep right next to your own toilet. Hamish, that gorgeous grey I met at alCATraz last time, told me that he'd rather spend a week at Slippery Sam's than ever go back to La Cage aux Chats.
Hamish said 'cages' really was the right word for the tiny pens there, because the deuxjambs just want to cram more of us in like those chooks with batteries. It'd be like a human trying to eat, sleep and zilly all in a space the size of their rainroom. Hamish was very descriptive.
And, ooh, he was a honey. Those gorgeous green eyes and that fluurffy tail. Enough to make a usually sensible she-feeli swoon. We talked and talked for days. He had so many fascinating stories and he was genuinely interested in everything I said, even if my life seemed dull compared to his. I wonder what he's up - Holy hell! We're slowing down.
The ticky tack goes on. I don't dare to look. But I have to. I at least have to know in advance if I'm about to become a sardine-wimby. Once again, I stretch my neck up for a glimpse out the window. My heart's pounding ten to the dozen and I'm about ready to make another unpleasant mess in here. Then I see the sign.
The Lap of Luxury Holiday Park
Deluxe accommodation for your contented cat
Pphatt. Oh yeah? So let's see then. Nobody makes me contented against my will! Holiday park! What do they think this is - Disneyland or something? I suppose there are rides and fairy floss and a swimming pool. Like, sure.
We go up a long driveway with lots of trees. I can even hear some queekees over the sound of the engine. Darling stops the car. Next thing the door's being opened and I take a quick look around to see if there's any hope of a getaway, but before I know it I'm being carried up the path and over the threshold and the door clicks shut behind us.
'So who do we have here, then?' an unfamiliar, but not intimidating, voice asks from behind the counter. I'm plonked onto the bench at eye level with the voice, which is coming from a pleasant-looking deuxjamb with long hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in her glasses and she smiles at me. Strangely, I feel relaxed. So maybe it's not the end of the world. Maybe this place will turn out to be better than either alCATraz or La Cage aux Chats.
'This is Megsy,' says Hayoo.
Uggh. Why must she call me that? How many times do I have to tell her my name is Juno?
'Oh yes, Megsy Campbell. Hello, girl,' the deuxjamb says, staring at me again. 'And who's a beautiful girl then?'
I'm starting to warm to her until she says: 'But you look like you could afford to lose a few pounds'.
Hey! I say what? I'm voluptuous, that's all. It's not like I eat too much or anything. I've just got heavy bones and I'm well insulated, thank you very much. Maybe my first impression of this deuxjamb was a bit generous.
Suddenly Hayoo's face appears over the top of the carrier. 'Bye Megsy, we'll see you on Thursday. You be a good girl now. Thanks Stephanie, I'm sure you'll take good care of her. You've been highly recommended.'
I give her a perfunctory snort. Wait a minute. Thursday, that's like, six days away. You mean I'm here for six whole days? I start to scream, just as I'm picked up and carried through one door and then another into a huge room. But my screams are soon drowned out by a cacophony of caterwauling.
Some smart-feeli from way down the back yells out at me: 'Don't forget, in a cattery, no one can hear you scream'.
Cripes, it's noisy in here. Too much noise for me to be able to think or to decipher who's saying what. There's a fire siren going off down the back, which is enough to make my hair curl and my claws straighten.
'This is your reception committee Megsy,' the deuxjamb says, 'they checking you out'.
I'm checking them out too as my hostess starts to parade down the centre of the large building. There's a veritable rogue's gallery of feelis, all lined up, one or sometimes two to a pen and they're all staring at me. She starts to reel off names, too quick for me to remember, so I make notes. The names will all be wrong anyway.
'First there's Lionel,' - a tabby - 'but you won't get much chance to meet him as he's going home shortly. Then there's Choux-Fleur,' - not surprising, with those cauliflower ears - 'and this is Blacky,' - wow, that's original, for a black feeli.
I spot two Siamese sitting side by side, very closely. Must be twins, I reckon. I'm almost past their pen when they introduce themselves. 'Hi, we're Thai and Tao, but our deuxjambs call us-'
'And this is Donald and Derek,' the deuxjamb says.
I crack up and they cringe. Why do deuxjambs give us such silly names? Why doesn't it occur to them to just ask us what we're called?
'Oh, and here's another Megsy. Look, she's a ginger like you, but she's going home tomorrow, so thankfully that will save me any confusion.'
What? Another Megsy? And hang on, she's nothing like me! She's wishy washy and long haired and I'm really more white than ginger, as you'll see that when I get out of this plastic handbag.
'And over there is Humbug,' - a black and white, okay - 'and beside him is Monty,' - a big grey blob of a thing with a square face who, I swear to God, salutes as I'm passing.
'Colonel Montgomery Enfield the Third', he says to me in a very regimented British accent.
'And you'll be in pen 23, right next to Zsa Zsa. Actually that's not her real name,' the deuxjamb whispers to me. 'Her real name's Belle, but I like to call her Zsa Zsa because she's quite the drama queen and thinks she's a bit special.'
The deuxjamb opens the pen and puts my carrier down on the floor. I sit still for a minute. After all, I can't look too eager, can I? Maybe I'll just make her wait. I could try the schpitzo trick just so she knows who's boss, but I notice she's got bare arms and figure that mightn't be very nice. So I emerge slowly, sniffing the floor and looking all around what will be my abode for the next few days.
The first thing that impresses me is the space. There's plenty of it, and three or four different levels. I have a bit of a stretch then jump up onto a ramp and run up that and jump down onto a shelf. Wow, there's a really comfy-looking bed and two food bowls. But wait, there's more. I crawl back onto the ramp and jump up another level. There's another bed and a window. Wow, I've got my own window? My own view out over a garden. I can even see queekees in the tree. I'm thinking Heaven, maybe I've died and gone to Heaven. This is luxury all right. No wonder all the other feelis look so happy. Not like at alCATraz where everyone's ears are flat and there's barely enough room to stick their whiskers out.
Then the unthinkable happens. Deuxjamb leans across and opens the window! She points outside and gestures that I can go through if I want. I give her a squizzical. What? You mean I can go out there?
She nods at me as though she understands my hesitancy. 'Yes girl, you can go out whenever you like. At least until curfew, anyway.'
I see a sort of feeliwalk (and now I realise why it's called that) which leads to a three or four-level enclosure outside. It's even got a hammock. A hammock! I poke my head around the window and as I look along the outside of the building I can see three or four other feelis lounging around in their hammocks. I half expect to be offered a pina colada and sunglasses. Yep, okay, I'll confess, I'm pretty impressed: my own condominium. But of course I'll have to wait to get the lowdown on the place from the others, once this
