Cat Kin Read Online Free Page B

for a few seconds.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘they can do that occasionally. Poor you.’
    Ben made a non-committal sound.
    ‘You don’t like cats?’ said Mrs Powell.
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘Why is that?’
    Ben shifted in discomfort.
    ‘I don’t like the way they stare,’ he replied, knowing as he said it that Tiffany was staring at him. ‘They always seem really…I don’t know, selfish. Chilly.
They’re not like dogs, are they?’
    ‘In what way do you mean?’
    ‘Dogs, well. You look after them and they love you back.’ He was beginning to sweat. ‘Cats don’t care. They can’t help it, it’s how they’re made.
I’m just not a cat person.’
    This evening was light-years away from what he’d had in mind. He yearned for the simple violence of Tae Kwon Do. Mrs Powell was silent a moment.
    ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘So you hate cats. I’ve known many cats who hate cats. Take the tiger. He won’t let another within three miles of him. Unless love is
in the air.’
    She set the cat down and it trotted back to its place by Tiffany. Ben could feel Tiffany’s look turn hostile, as if she’d been personally offended by his words. Mrs Powell settled
into her sitting-cat pose.
    ‘Yoga,’ she said, ‘is about becoming one with yourself. Pashki awakens the part of yourself that is like a cat. For cats have much to teach us. They are proud spirits yet calm.
They live in the present, without worries beyond it. Cats are pools of serenity that may surge up in storms. They are weightless clouds that can quicken to lightning.’
    The grey cat chose that moment to yawn and wander back to the bead curtain.
    ‘Jim? Leaving us already?’
    Jim ignored her completely and disappeared into the room beyond. A smile stole over Mrs Powell’s face. She began to recite:
    ‘I heed no words nor walls
    Through darkness I walk in day
    And I do not fear the tyrant.
    ‘The words of Akhotep,’ she said. ‘A poet of ancient Egypt. What he observed then still fascinates us today.’
    Ben’s legs were really killing him. He would have moved but he didn’t want to attract any more attention. Several others appeared equally uncomfortable, especially Tiffany. She
looked desperate to get up, her face struggling to hide the agony her knees must be feeling. He bet himself that she cracked before he did.
    Mrs Powell told them to stand. She demonstrated a couple of stretches, like the ones her cat had performed. They made Ben’s hamstrings twang, but helped to shift the ache in his legs.
After that the lesson appeared to be over. Mrs Powell went from person to person, collecting money. Ben handed over the five-pound note he had saved, thinking of the fish and chips he might have
bought.
    He hurried out, leaving Mrs Powell chatting with Tiffany. They already seemed thick as thieves, those two. Cats were evidently like football: some people were just obsessed. Not that he’d
ever use a cat as a football, he wouldn’t go that far. He was merely glad his first and last pashki lesson was over.
    On the stairs he heard Mrs Powell call after him.
    ‘See you next Thursday, Ben.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’ And he whispered to himself, ‘Not if I see you first.’
    He had reached the scuzzy hallway when her voice floated down:
    ‘You won’t.’
    He was so unnerved that he almost forgot to pick up his stuff from the leisure centre.

    ‘Oh the shark has,
tam ta-daa
, pretty teeth, dear…’
    Ben walked more slowly as he drew near home. Someone was singing.
    ‘And he shows them,
ta ta-daa
, pearly white…’
    Suddenly wary, Ben stepped behind a parked yellow van and shaded his eyes. The evening sun was flaring off the shop windows in Albion Road.
    A figure in a pale suit strolled into view. He could only have come from Defoe Court. Where the flat was. A passing lorry blocked the sun glare and he saw the man clearly. It was John Stanford.
By a silver car parked on the pavement he fumbled for keys.
    Ben’s heart was sticking in his