The Man Who Wasn’t There
Does Chris’s latest feline customer have a vir tual owner?
With my cat-sitting visits finally beginning to pick up in the run-in to Christmas, I’ve just been looking after a cat named Derek who appears to be owned by a computer programme.
Prior to Derek’s one-week booking, I hadn’t actually had the opportunity to meet his owner, Simon, as Simon insisted that he send instructions by email, pay by transfer and leave his key in a safe place for collection. While these arrangements weren’t ideal, Simon was quite keen not to meet me so that at least seemed normal.
On my first visit to Derek’s, things went well from the start – I set off the burglar alarm on entry and tripped over a rug while trying to reach the alarm’s control panel. I therefore met Derek face to face on the floor and he seemed to appreciate this, rubbing round my face and purring loudly. Sometimes entering a property like Norman Wisdom on rollerskates can really break the ice.
Later, while stroking Derek, I suddenly heard a voice from upstairs calling Derek’s name. Derek shot down off my lap, skidded round the corner and bounded up the stairs.
“Hello?” I called cautiously.
“Is somebody at home?”
“Hello Chris,” came the reply. “No, I’m not home.”
The voice clearly seemed to be mistaken.
“…you’re not home?”
“No!” replied the voice, this time from behind me.
Jumping out of my skin, I swung round to see a face on a computer screen.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” said Simon (a little hesitantly I thought). At this point I spotted a webcam focusing in on me. Had I known I’d be meeting anyone but cats today, I’d have brushed my hair, but Simon would be too polite to mention my dishevelled state.
“Are you OK, Chris? You look dishevelled.”
“No, I eh, I…always look like this.” (Why did I say that?)
After the shock of our first meeting, Simon turned out to be compelling television. His voice would suddenly call from various rooms and Derek and I would run to the sound like Pavlov’s dogs. I’d then watch a purring Derek brush happily around Simon’s screen image. Simon was clearly a muchloved computer genius.
A week later, as I left the house after my last visit, my phone rang. It was Simon.
“Chris, I can’t believe you left without straightening my curtains – that’s the third day running. People will know I’m away because I’m not untidy like you.”
The subtlety of genius, eh? Strangely, when I next walked past the house a week later, I noticed two things. A Christmas tree in the window, and beyond it… Simon’s face on a screen. Does “Simon” really exist? I wondered.
I now firmly believe the cat to be the genius here and that he somehow used those nimble little paws to programme himself an owner.
And it’s beliefs like this that go a long way to explaining why I’ll still be clearing out litter trays this Christmas.
After the shock of that meeting he was compelling television