The Long Utopia

29

WHEN AGNES WALKED slowly up the trail back to her homestead on Manning Hill, bearing a basket of mushrooms she’d picked by the river, Marina Irwin came out to meet her.

Agnes smiled warily. Marina didn’t smile back, and Agnes might have expected that. This morning, with George/Lobsang away, Marina had agreed to watch Ben for a couple of hours. But the business of the Poulson house and Nikos had created some tension between the families. It was often this way, in Agnes’s experience, when you had to speak to parents about their children.

It took a moment for Agnes to register that the expression on Marina’s face was more serious than that.

She hurried forward. ‘Is something wrong? Is it Ben?’

‘No,’ Marina said quickly. ‘Not Ben. He’s fine, he’s napping. It’s your cat, I’m afraid. It’s Shi-mi.’

Agnes checked Ben, who was sleeping peacefully.

Then she looked for Shi-mi.

The cat was lying by the hearth. When Agnes arrived, Shi-mi tried to lift her head, but dropped back. ‘Agnes,’ she said, softly, scratchily. ‘I couldn’t reach my litter. I made a mess. I do apologize.’

Agnes ruffled the fur above Shi-mi’s eyes. ‘A quite convincing mess too.’

‘My decline was sudden. An abrupt shut-down. I imagine the process is realistic. Marina was very kind, but there was nothing she could do. I hope she is not distressed … Agnes?’

‘I’m here, sweetheart.’ The cat shuddered and yowled, and Agnes stroked her until she was still. ‘We still have choices, Shi-mi. You know that. We can take you to the gondola, the workshop—’

‘No. This is my place. I have lived here, these last years, as a true cat. People accept me. The mice fear me. I disdain the dogs. It is right that I, I … I-I-I-I—’

The sudden judder in her voice was mechanical, profoundly disturbing, an intrusion of artificiality – or in fact of reality, Agnes supposed. But she stroked Shi-mi’s side until she was calm again.

Shi-mi said now, ‘Agnes, say goodbye to Joshua for me. And Lobsang. And make sure you tell Maggie Kauffman what became of me. Tell her I expect Mac to crack a bottle of single malt – Auld Lang Syne, not the cheap stuff – in memory of a flea-bucket.’

‘I will. You have always been a good friend, Shi-mi.’

‘I am Ben’s cat now. That’s all I ever wanted to be, I’ve discovered. And I, I …’ Her voice tailed off into a soft, quite convincing purr. Then, as Agnes stroked her, she shuddered once, and her eyes opened wide, and their soft green LED light faded to dark.