A particular way with cats was the only magic I got from my father. I was mostly a dog person, so cat magic wasn’t all that much use to me. My sister Helen scored a whole heap of practical skills. Making traffic lights change green, checking how much food was in the fridge, imagining a parking spot into existence, or turning off the iron after she’d left home, that sort of thing. But I was stuck with this really boring, but completely reliable, skill. I could charm any cat to come to me.
Any cat.
Bashed-up old street-wise tom cats, pretty little Persian kittens, world-weary ginger dams, mad-skittish Ragdolls, and fat, haughty Scottish folds, you name it. Yes, big cats too. I didn’t even have to sweet-talk them; I just showed up at the zoo or the range. Lions and leopards, cheetahs and ja
