The Unclaimed Breakfast

At seven fourteen, Maddie is woken by her alarm.

This is unusual. Normally she is woken at some point before seven by a cat who regards the alarm as an unnecessary duplication of effort.

Blinks has several ways of bringing a morning to Maddie's attention. There is the meow beside the pillow, repeated at intervals carefully chosen to prevent anyone from falling asleep again. There is the paw placed on a wrist, the determined excavation of a fold in the duvet, and the occasional presentation of something which was alive when the night began.

Once, Maddie had found a small field mouse sitting under the bedside chair, apparently no more certain than she was about what ought to happen next.

This morning there is nothing on the carpet. The duvet is undisturbed. Even the space at the foot of the bed, where Blinks sometimes settles after deciding that breakfast can wait another ten minutes, is empty.

Maddie turns off the alarm.

"Blinks?"

There is no answer.

She lies still for a moment, listening. The heating makes its customary small complaint somewhere in the pipes. A rook calls from the tree behind the garden. Downstairs the house is quiet.

Blinks has a cat flap and the sort of outdoor life which Maddie suspects contains a great many appointments she hasn't been told about. The cat sometimes misses the evening meal, then appears later looking entirely satisfied with herself. But breakfast is different. Breakfast has always been treated as a firm commitment.

Maddie goes downstairs in her dressing gown.

The food bowl is empty from the previous night. She rinses it and opens a packet of food. Normally this would be enough to bring Blinks through the flap at a speed inconsistent with the dignity of an adult cat.

Nothing happens.

Maddie puts the bowl down and waits.

The cat flap moves a little in the breeze. It is only the breeze.

"That's yours," she says to the empty kitchen.

She makes tea, although she does not drink much of it.

---

There are a number of places in which Blinks can be found when she would prefer not to be found.

The towel cupboard is the obvious one. Maddie opens it carefully, having learnt that a cat can move surprisingly far backwards between two stacks of linen.

No Blinks.

She checks the moss-green sofa in the upstairs office, the space behind the curtains and the narrow gap between the bookcase and the wall. She looks beneath her bed, although she knows Blinks isn't there.

Back in the kitchen, the food bowl remains untouched.

Outside, the morning is clear and cold. Maddie puts on a coat over her dressing gown and steps into the garden.

"Blinks!"

A blackbird leaves the hedge. There is a rustle in the long grass near the fence, but nothing follows it.

She walks to the bottom of the garden, checks behind the shed, peers beneath the old bench and looks along the narrow path beside the field. At the gate she stops to listen. The trees are full of small noises: leaves moving, rooks quarrelling, a distant vehicle on the lane.

She calls again.

A sheep in the neighbouring field raises its head, which is kind of it but not particularly useful.

Maddie stays by the gate a little longer than she needs to.

She knows cats wander. She knows Blinks is perfectly capable of spending an entire morning somewhere that offers more interesting prospects than breakfast in a kitchen. She has told other people this when their cats have gone missing for an hour or two.

Knowing it does not make the food bowl any less conspicuous.

Back indoors she changes into jeans and a jumper, leaving the cat flap free. She opens her laptop, reads a message from Jess twice without taking in the last sentence, then finds herself staring at the same line of code. She closes the laptop.

At half past nine she sends Lou a message.

Blinks hasn't come back for breakfast. I've looked everywhere.

Lou replies a few minutes later.

That's not like her. Have you checked the towel cupboard?

First place.

She may be off enjoying herself. Let me know when she's back.

Maddie puts the phone down. She would prefer Lou not to be worried as well, but it is a relief to have told somebody.

She walks farther along the lane, checking the hedge and calling softly. A neighbour is coming back with a dog. Maddie asks whether they've seen a small dark cat.

"Not this morning," the neighbour says. "Want me to keep an eye out?"

"Would you mind?"

"Of course not. They do like to worry us, don't they?"

Maddie smiles, because it's a kind thing to say, and walks home.

By eleven, the tea she made at breakfast is cold. She takes the untouched food away, puts a fresh portion in the bowl and sits at the kitchen table where she can see the flap.

At eleven twenty-six, a meow comes from the passage beside the back door.

Maddie sits up so quickly that her chair scrapes across the kitchen floor.

"Blinks?"

Another meow. Lower this time, and rather cross.

Maddie goes into the passage.

Blinks is standing beside the mat with a leaf caught near one shoulder and mud on her paws. She looks tired. Her right eye is squeezed tightly shut.

For a second Maddie feels only the relief of seeing her. Then she sees the eye properly.

"Oh, Blinks. What have you done?"

Blinks gives a short, displeased sound and walks past her towards the kitchen.

Maddie follows.

---

Inspecting Blinks has never been straightforward. The last time Maddie tried to look between her toes, she was left holding one paw while the rest of the cat departed.

Today the right eye is held firmly shut. There is a little moisture at its inner corner. Blinks does not want Maddie near it.

Maddie crouches beside her.

"Could I just have a look?"

Blinks turns her head away.

"A tiny look. Nothing ambitious."

She tries to get a view of the eye without touching it. Blinks presses her face into the angle between Maddie's knee and the cupboard, then backs away when Maddie changes position.

Over the next ten minutes they conduct several versions of the same disagreement. Maddie offers a hand. Blinks declines it. Maddie kneels by the water bowl. Blinks moves beneath a chair. Maddie lifts the chair so she can see her better; Blinks emerges from the other side, tail stiff, and gives a meow which makes her feelings unmistakable.

With one eye shut and a decidedly mutinous expression, she resembles a pirate who has lost both her treasure and any confidence in the crew.

"All right," Maddie says at last. "You win."

Maddie stops trying to examine her. Whatever is wrong, it's hurting, and the cat has made it very clear that another investigation conducted on the kitchen floor will not improve matters.

She pours a little cat milk into a shallow dish. Blinks sniffs it, takes two small laps and settles beside the radiator, keeping the painful eye turned away from the window.

Maddie looks at her for a moment.

"I think we need Laura."

Blinks closes her good eye as well.

Maddie finds the number for Wild Woods Vet on her phone and holds her thumb over the call button.

At work, she can manage calls with notes and an agenda. Trying to describe Blinks's injury over the telephone, without knowing what she'll be asked, is different. Her thoughts are already arriving in the wrong order.

She opens her email. Laura knows Blinks, and writing will let Maddie explain the problem clearly. She decides to give it ten minutes. If nobody replies, she'll ring.

Hello Laura,

Blinks missed breakfast and was out for several hours. She's home now but is keeping her right eye tightly closed. It looks a bit wet and she won't let me get close enough to see what's wrong. She seems uncomfortable and is not herself. No obvious bleeding. Is this something you can see her for today? I can bring her straight in.

Thanks, Maddie.

She reads it once, adds that Blinks arrived home at approximately eleven twenty-six, and sends it.

Then she puts the cat basket on the kitchen floor.

A reply comes five minutes later.

Hi Maddie,

Please bring her in now. A painful, closed eye needs looking at urgently. Don't try to open it or put anything in it. We'll make room for her when you arrive.

Laura

Maddie exhales.

"Right," she tells Blinks. "That's the plan."

Blinks opens her good eye and watches the basket.

---

The basket is blue, with a white grille and a handle that has been repaired once. Blinks will sometimes sleep in it with the door open and a blanket inside. Today, seeing Maddie prepare it, she stays beside the radiator.

Maddie puts a folded towel in the bottom and takes the removable top off. She lays another towel beside Blinks, careful not to touch the injured eye, and waits for the cat to stand up.

It takes a few minutes and some quiet persuasion. Blinks is unhappy about being lifted and makes that clear, but Maddie manages to gather her gently into the towel and lower her into the basket before replacing the top.

The door clicks shut.

Blinks produces a long, affronted meow.

"I know."

Maddie checks the catches twice.

In the driveway stands Maddie's thirty-year-old red Mini, which has served her faithfully despite occasional disagreements about starting. She secures Blinks's basket on the passenger seat and checks the belt twice.

The engine starts on the second attempt. Blinks lets out a long meow from the basket.

"It's only a few miles," Maddie says.

The lane runs between hedges still green in places, though autumn has begun to show along their tops. Maddie drives carefully. Every bump in the road seems to produce a fresh opinion from the basket.

She keeps both hands on the wheel. She would like to reach across and reassure Blinks, but staying on the road is more useful.

At the turning for Wild Woods Farm, she slows to read the small sign. The practice occupies a converted farm building beyond a gravel yard, with a low brick wall, a row of trees and a wooden board marked WILD WOODS VET. There are two cars outside and a muddy van near one of the outbuildings.

Maddie parks close to the entrance and carries the basket inside.

The waiting room smells faintly of disinfectant and wet coats. A spaniel sits beneath a chair beside a man reading his phone. The spaniel looks interested in Blinks's basket. Blinks makes a sound which appears to settle the question.

A receptionist looks up.

"Maddie and Blinks? Laura said you were coming."

"Yes. Thank you. Her eye—"

"We've got the details. Laura will be with you in a moment."

Maddie sits down with the basket close to her knees. For once she has no wish to look at her phone.

A door opens almost immediately.

"Come through," Laura says.

---

Laura has been Blinks's vet for years. She knows that Blinks dislikes the scales, will accept a brief scratch beneath the chin if she has not yet noticed the examination table, and has previously escaped from a consultation by stepping straight into the open cupboard under the sink.

"Hello, trouble," Laura says as Maddie carries the basket in.

"She's not very happy."

"I can see that. Let's take a look, carefully."

Maddie explains the morning again, though this time she has her email to refer to and finds it easier. Laura asks whether Blinks might have been in a fight, whether Maddie has seen her rubbing the eye, and whether she has eaten or drunk anything since coming home.

"Two laps of cat milk," Maddie says. "Hardly anything. I didn't know we might need to come in."

"That's useful to know."

Laura listens without hurrying her. Then she and a veterinary nurse lift Blinks from the basket, still partly wrapped in the towel.

Blinks is furious about this, but the nurse holds her gently and securely while Laura examines the area around the eye. After putting in a drop to numb the surface, Laura waits briefly and is able to see more than Maddie could at home. She uses a bright examination light and an instrument that lets her magnify the front of the eye.

"Ah," she says quietly.

Maddie's stomach tightens.

"What?"

"There's a small piece of plant material lodged in the cornea—the clear surface at the front of the eye. It looks like the tip of a thorn. The tissue around it is scratched, which is why she's keeping the eye closed."

Maddie looks at Blinks. The cat is holding herself very still now, though her tail moves once across the table.

"Can you get it out?"

"I think so. But I can't be certain how deeply it's lodged, and she's too uncomfortable for me to remove it safely while she's awake. Under a short general anaesthetic, I can examine the eye properly and take the thorn out without risking a sudden movement. I'll also use a stain to check the surface afterwards."

Laura explains that if the thorn is deeper than it appears, they may need specialist help. For now, she can't see any sign that it has gone right through the eye.

"What does that mean for her sight?" Maddie asks.

Laura puts the light down before answering.

"From what I can see, the outlook is good. Getting her here promptly gives us a much better chance of a straightforward recovery. But I won't promise more until I've examined it fully."

Maddie nods. She is glad Laura has not promised something she cannot know.

There is paperwork to read and sign. Laura talks her through the procedure, the anaesthetic and what to expect afterwards. The nurse asks for the insurance details. Maddie has them saved in a folder on her phone and is briefly pleased with herself for naming the folder something sensible.

"It should be covered under the accident part of your policy," the nurse says, "apart from the usual excess. We can help with the claim."

Maddie hadn't thought about the cost until then. Now that she has, she's grateful it need not become another thing to worry about.

Blinks is carried through the inner door, wrapped in the towel. Maddie remains beside the examination table for a moment after the door closes.

"We'll send you an update as soon as she's awake," Laura says. "If anything changes before that, we'll call you."

"Email is lovely," Maddie says, and then wishes she'd used a more serious word.

Laura smiles. "Email it is, unless we need to speak urgently."

Maddie goes back to the waiting room with the empty basket.

The spaniel has gone.

---

Driving home without Blinks is quieter than Maddie expects.

The Mini continues to provide its usual assortment of rattles, and a delivery van makes her wait at a narrow bridge. The world seems entirely willing to continue an ordinary Tuesday.

At the cottage she puts the empty basket on the kitchen floor. The dish of cat milk is still beside the radiator. She empties it, washes it and puts it away.

The blue basket sits beside the kitchen table with its door hanging open. Maddie closes it, then opens it again. Neither arrangement helps.

She locks the cat flap so Blinks won't be able to slip outside when she comes home. Then she sets her phone on the table and leaves the sound switched on.

At half past two she sends Lou another message.

She's at Wild Woods. A thorn in her right eye. Laura says the outlook is good, but they need to take it out under anaesthetic.

Lou replies quickly.

Poor Blinks. Poor you, too. Do you want company?

Maddie considers the offer.

Maybe later. I'll let you know when she's home.

Of course. I'm here.

Maddie leaves her phone on the table rather than taking it into another room.

She answers Jess's message in three sentences. Then she reads the same page of her book twice.

A little after four, an email appears from Wild Woods Vet.

Blinks is awake and doing well. Laura has removed the thorn intact. The injury to the surface is small, and the eye looks encouraging. She's comfortable and recovering from the anaesthetic. We'll explain the medication and follow-up when you collect her. You can come in at five.

Maddie reads it twice.

Then, because she likes being absolutely certain, she reads it once more.

She sends Lou the good news and puts her coat by the door.

---

At five, Wild Woods Farm is beginning to settle into evening. The van has gone and the trees beside the yard cast long shadows across the gravel.

Maddie carries the empty basket into the practice. The receptionist takes it through while she waits for Laura.

Laura shows Maddie a photograph of the thorn, which is considerably smaller than Maddie had imagined.

"That did all this?"

"Afraid so. It doesn't take much when it's the surface of an eye."

The procedure has gone as hoped. Laura explains that a shallow wound remains where the thorn was lodged. Blinks has been given pain relief, and Laura has prescribed drops to protect the healing eye. Laura shows Maddie how to give them without touching the eye. Blinks will need to stay indoors, wear a protective collar so she cannot rub at it, and come back for a recheck. Maddie repeats the instructions in her own words, then asks Laura to email them as well.

"Already done," Laura says.

The nurse brings Blinks in her basket.

For a moment Maddie barely recognises the arrangement. A soft collar frames Blinks's head, and the right eye is still somewhat narrowed. But the cat is awake and looking at her with the other eye, and when Maddie says her name, Blinks answers with a familiar, disapproving meow.

"There you are," Maddie says.

The nurse hands over the medication. Maddie checks the schedule before putting it safely in her bag.

On the drive home Blinks complains less than she did on the way out. Occasionally the basket shifts with a movement inside, and Maddie reassures herself by listening for it.

At home, she puts the basket in the kitchen and opens the door.

Blinks stays where she is for a few seconds, considering the room. Then she steps out, walks towards the cat flap, and stops.

The flap is locked.

Blinks looks back at Maddie.

"Sorry. Vet's orders."

Blinks considers the closed flap for some time. Eventually she turns away and makes for her water dish.

Maddie gives her a small supper, as instructed, and watches her eat. It's not a great deal, but it is the first proper meal Blinks has had since the previous evening.

Later, when the house is quiet, Blinks climbs onto the sofa in the upstairs office and settles beneath the edge of the familiar blanket. The collar makes arranging herself awkward. Maddie sits beside her and waits until the cat has stopped turning round.

Outside the window the field has become a single dark shape. The rooks are silent.

Maddie strokes Blinks between the ears, away from the injured eye. Blinks allows it for a little while, then moves her head aside.

"All right," Maddie says softly.

She leaves the office door open when she goes to bed.

The next morning, just before seven, a paw touches her wrist.

Maddie opens her eyes.

Blinks is beside the pillow, collar slightly crooked, her right eye still partly closed. She looks towards the bedroom door and gives one firm meow.

Maddie reaches for her slippers.