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she was happily ensconced under the washing machine in the laundry.
    Richard was satisfied. ‘She’ll come out for her food. Don’t worry,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Goodbye! We’ll write to you from London.’
    Throughout this exciting drama, our two little kittens stayed on their favourite chair, wrapped around each other in perfect harmony, not moving a muscle, pretending to be asleep.
    For three days and nights Mrs Cat, as we called her, did not move from her hiding place, did not even touch the dish of milk, let alone the fresh meat I replaced lovingly. She gave not one sign of life!
    On the evening of the third day, when I was beginning to think we would have to take some sort of action, although I could not think what, I sat alone in the lounge room. The children had gone to a party, there was no movement, no children’s laughter, no sound except the clicking of my knitting needles.
    Suddenly I noticed a small shadow at the door to the lounge room, almost motionless—was it the cat? Two large, gleaming Siamese eyes looked at me intently. I stopped knitting. I thought I would just wait and see what she would do. What seemed like hours passed while we both sat there, looking at one another. I thought to myself: ‘She’s the one who has to make the next step. I’ve given her all the invitations. I’ve fed her, I’ve talked to her many times.’
    Did I observe a slight movement of her front paws? Yes! It was hardly noticeable, but then she moved again, as if in a slow-motion film, muscle by muscle, stalking towards me, all the time keeping her wide-open eyes fixed on mine. It could have been a scene from thousands of years ago—the possibility of interaction between human and animal, neither sure how this would proceed. I too was caught in the time capsule she’d created and I gave myself fully to the experience: just her and me alone in the whole world.
    How long her approach through the room lasted, neither of us registered. But finally she arrived at my feet, looking up at me, her expression clearly saying, ‘Will I dare to jump up on her lap, the way cats do, cats who are owned by someone who loves them unconditionally?’
    And so I gave her a silent answer: ‘Yes, I’m prepared to be your human loved one, the person who will offer you their lap; the person with whom you can have that intimate bond. I shall feed you and you shall love me, sit on my lap and purr.’
    Mrs Cat looked at me for the longest time, until she was sure of the message. Then, with one sudden jump, she landed on my lap. The eye contact was broken, but she settled down and purred—a loud clear purr. The message was complete. We belonged to each other.
    Throughout this silent but tense drama our little twins, the black kitten and the white, had been sleeping in their favourite easy chair. Now they started to stretch themselves and yawn, showing their little pink tongues; they soon became aware of the intruder on my lap and approached the sofa to find out what was happening.
    Mrs Cat stood up, hair raised from one Siamese end of her to the other, and spat at them, ‘This is my own, my very unique space. Here I am. I am the queen of the castle!’ They immediately got the message, went back to their safe seat, settled down and closed their eyes.
    Not even the noise of the returning children removed Mrs Cat from my lap. She sat firmly, looking at them as if from a great height. I finally got up to check on her little dish and found that for the first time she had eaten her full portion. Had she planned today’s regal appearance?
    At first we were all greatly amused by Mrs Cat’s bossy ways, but our amusement turned to concern when this ruler of the roost would not permit any of our friends to enter the house! According to her unwritten law, I was the only being allowed in her presence; even the children were tolerated only after great difficulties. I often had to hold on to the cat to prevent her from scratching them. Certainly no one