We Brought Our City Cat Simon to Holiday in the Countryside—There, Simon’s Brother Lemmy Lives, Nicknamed for His Bug-Eyed Gaze

On holiday in the countryside, we brought with us from London our cat, Henry. In the village lived Henrys brother, Basil. Basils wide, bulging eyes had long earned him the nickname Owl. Country folk aren’t known for mincing words.

At first, Henry found rural life rather tough. Despite his modest size, Basil introduced his brother to the rules of the village the hard way. Hed hiss terriblylike guests baring their teeth on a scandalous morning talk showand chase Henry from every stash of food.

One day, Basil made the classic miscalculation of a streetwise chav, believing he was untouchable, and openly picked a fight. Henry, ever the indifferent gentleman, lazily flicked a paw at him as if waving off a tiresome suitor, and landed a right hook that sent Basil diving headfirst into the dustbin. Thus, just as accidentally and awkwardly as the rest of his life, Henry found himself at the top of the food chain.

Out here, cats are appreciated for their usefulness alone. Only the fact that it was midwinter spared Henry from being dragged off to confront mice in the barns.

Mealtimes were an exercise in creativity and chance. Henry struggled with this new regime at firstfor in London he dined from fine china, on the dot, summoned by a neatly dressed manservant.

His city poise soon gave way to primal instinct under the strain. More than once I caught him in the small hours, with his head buried in a saucepan on the range. Basil, stationed on his stool like a loyal lookout, would hiss desperately in warning at my approach. Henry, unbothered, would turn to him with a lazy Dont worry about this onehes on our side. You should see how he gropes about the fridge at night.

It came to a head one day, when we decided Henry was ready for the wild outdoors. We carried him into the garden and set him in the snow. When Henry looked back at us, his whole face was white, and there was a sadness in his eyes of a man deeply unsatisfied with how life had turned outlike Al Pacino in that iconic scene from “Scarface.” We never brought him outside again.

One evening, Olivers friends from the village came over. We gathered in the cozy front room as I read from “May Night” by Gogol. I was just at the part about the stepmother, who turned into a black cat, clattering her claws across the floor, when the door creaked open, and in waltzed Basil, striking a pose.

Our hopes that city life had not spoiled Henrys influence were dashedhe had indeed shown his brother his greatest trick: opening any door with a deft swipe of the paw.

The sitting room was tiny, but somehow, the children managed to scatter in every direction. We later pried one boy from the sash windowhe was spared a tumble outside only by his grandmothers excellent cooking and plump arms.

Oh, I must addBasil is, without exception, the blackest cat youll ever see.

Its rare that the classics have such a thunderous effect on modern children, wouldnt you agree?