In Granny Shura’s Village, Her Beloved Cat Passed Away—A Celebrated Tom with Many Feats, Countless C…

Old Maureen from the village had just lost her cat. A proper old legend, that cat. Hed chased off plenty of lady cats, bested rivals in epic garden scuffles, and dispatched more than his fair share of mice. But, truth be told, he was more of a patriarch than a spry lad by the end. Nearly clocked up twenty years without a major refurbishmentno simple feat.

Maureen wrapped her cherished tabby in a fresh tea towel, grabbed a shovel, and trudged off behind the veg patch for a respectful burial. Her husband, Harold, was busy pottering about in the shed at the corner of the garden: banging and muttering about something or other that needed fixing, his grumbling drifting through the potato patch.

After seeing off her loyal feline companion, Maureen filled the little grave and brushed herself down. As she returned, shovel still dripping with mud, she ran into her neighbourthe ever-proper Mrs. Edith Baxter, whod moved in from town with airs and graces to spare.

Good day, Maureen Elizabeth! Whats all this, then? Edith called, her eyebrows arching over her spectacles.

Oh, just laying my old boy to rest, Maureen replied. Poor dears finally clocked out. Shed a tear, popped him behind the carrots, said goodbye.

For a moment, Edith looked as though shed forgotten where she was going. Only yesterday shed spotted Harold at the corner shop buying sugar, a packet of fags, and a cheeky little bottle of gin.

Good heavens! Are you telling me Harolds gone? Just like that? I saw him only yesterday, spry as a cricket!

Oh, yesterday he was bouncing off the walls, Maureen nodded. Scoffed a whole tin of sardines, played a bit of footsie with me on the settee. Thought hed outlive us all.

Ediths spectacles seemed to inch wider on her face.

But this morning, he went all mopey, Maureen went on. Curled up on the bench, had a good old grumble, and thengave up the ghost, quick as you like!

Edith automatically crossed herself, out of habit more than anything.

Well, thats life for you, she sighed. Here today, gone tomorrow. But whats with the shovel, then?

I said, I buried him behind the veg patch in a nice tea towel! Maureen insisted, not seeing the fuss. Stuck a little twig in for a marker so I dont forget where hes at.

Now, Edith was a city woman and clearly didnt know all the country customs. The idea of Maureen just popping poor old Harold in the soil behind the runner beanswith only a stick for a tombstonehad her totally bemused.

Well, you are a caring soul, Maureen, Edith stammered, flustered. But arent you supposed to, you know, call someone? Maybe, oh, the local constable to register the, er, event?

Now it was Maureens turn to look at Edith as if shed lost her marbles.

Oh, dont talk daft! Maureen guffawed. Harold was a bit of a character, sure, but whos going to go bother the police for every passing? Wed have them running up and down the village all day. Why not call in the Chief Inspector while were at it?

Edith was speechless. Maureen shifted the shovel from one shoulder to the other.

Maybe thats how you city folk do things, she said, almost kindly now. Youre forever phoning up lawyers, councillors, ticking every box. But out here its done the simple way. If old Alfie snuffs it, well, thats just how it goes. You fetch your spade, pick a nice spot behind the gooseberries, and Bobs your uncle.

Mmm Edith muttered. Theres clearly a lot I dont know about the country. But behind the garden? Really? Couldnt you find awell, a more proper place?

Maureen rolled her eyes, visibly losing patience.

And where was I going to take him, then? she snapped. Cant pop him in the parish cemetery with the decent folk, can I? Thatd be pushing it. Its tradition, you see: everyones gone behind the garden since forever.

Mrs Baxter gingerly lowered herself onto an old tree stump, keeping one wary eye on Maureens muddy shovel. She was decidedly out of her depth, and her knees were starting to wobble.

Well I never, Maureen, she managed at last. Do you mean to tell me youve got a whole line of em tucked away back there? Besides Harold, I mean?

Oh, plenty! Maureen mused, counting on her fingers. Before him, I had Georgea gentle soul, bit sneaky underneath it all. Used to crawl in bed with me, nice and warm, but by morning hed soaked the whole sheet! Id give him what for, I can tell you. And before George, there was Simon sweet lad, docile as anything. But everyone reaches their time, dont they? Ive swapped out a fair few over the years.

She shoved the spade into the earth with finality.

Theyre all lined up back there now! Harold, George, Simon handsome devils, each one. But Im not fussed; young Tonys promised to bring round a fresh face next week. Reckon Ill never run short, not at this rate!

What Edith thought about all this nobody knowsbecause just then old Harold himself turned up, covered in mud and spitting feathers, looking not one bit the ghost.

Trying to see me off, were you, you old bat? he bellowed. You buried me up to the eyebrows, I was yelling my head off, scrambling to get out Finally managed it, and youre out here gossiping?

He snatched the shovel out of her hands.

Give that here! Im off to dig out my blasted bootsand youve left my gin bottle down there too!

At this, Edith slid off her tree stump and fainted clean away. Lucky that Maureen had a little nip in the shedcame in rather handy, all things considered.