Mishka
MISHKA - After all Moby’s mess on the carpet and the wall, we decided to line the room in plastic. When Mishka’s time came she could have her babies on towels in a plastic room. But when was she due? Susan had seen her ‘playing’ with Brioch one morning and she had felt a little heavier, but was she pregnant? Maybe, but not for a few weeks. Breakfast time and Susan went out to feed our family. There was Mishka sitting in the kitty litter surrounded in what looked like pale pink lamingtons. She was trying to clean - maybe eat - them. She’d had four lovely pointed boys with only a tiny bit of bad humour to indicate that there were any real changes going on in her life. Well, the panic was on and they were all bundled up under Susan’s jersey, her being so ridden with guilt by now - the uncaring mother, abandoned her daughter in her time of need - and rushed into our ensuite. They had the run of our bedroom, Moby still domiciled in the spare room. Then they had the run of the top half of our house. We knew they were boys, they acted like boys - there was not one sweet little personality among them. They ran and they scratched, even ripped our designer drapes, they leapt and they sproinged. Mishka had had enough of them. One afternoon it was very quiet. No sound of thundering up the hall. No curtains swaying, no kittens hanging off window netting. We hunted high and low for these boys. Who left the door open? They must be outside. But no-one had done anything so we searched again. We did find them, hours later. Mishka had jumped up on top of the high dresser with the television set on top, balanced on the tiny space available beside it, and progressively dropped all of her boys down behind it. There they were. Silent as little mice, among the tv cables, the dust, the dead flies, ...

My Pedigree