Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [1]
The wild cat was dragging herself painfully around the tiled floor of the kitchen and she let out a yowl of pain and relief when she saw the Doctor and Ace, as though she had been waiting for them.
They sat up for the rest of the night and kept her company as she gradually gave birth to twelve kittens. The Doctor had helped her as if he was experienced with assisting other life forms during childbirth.
He lifted up each tiny creature as it parted from its mother and, glowing with pride, showed it to Ace.
‘Do you want me to get you a cigar?’ said Ace.
But she had felt it herself. A primal excitement had come into the tiled kitchen of the big old house, as if invading from the tangled garden outside. A wildness and a sense of magic as she and the Doctor watched each tiny new life emerge into the universe. Benny must have heard something, or sensed the excitement coming from the kitchen, because she woke up and joined them, came downstairs in her dressing gown, rubbing her eyes. She stood yawning, complaining about the cold floor on her bare feet, then made coffee for the midwifery team as the first dawn light came through the windows and spread a rosy gleam on the walls.
Chick had been the first born, the pick of the litter, and they elected to keep him when they gave the other kittens away. The Doctor used his computer to leave messages on noticeboards all over Kent asking for good homes for kittens. He also hacked into a number of confidential databases when they began to get replies. ‘I just want to make sure they’re suitably stable individuals,’ said the Doctor.
‘Simple, decent folk,’ said Ace.
‘If you like, yes.’ He’d run his findings through some psychological profiling software and insisted on turning down a couple of dodgy prospects.
When the last of the kittens had been taken away, the wild cat had simply wandered off and disappeared again, as suddenly as she had come. It was as if she’d only been waiting around until she could give birth and find good homes for her children.
But Chick had stayed. He’d been at the house for nearly a year now. Part of the furniture of the place, adapting effortlessly to the strange comings and goings and the changing faces.
Ace reached out and stroked him sleepily. Instantly the small ginger cat responded, purring, a deep warm engine starting up inside a bundle of fur.
‘I don’t suppose you want to get me a drink, do you?’ said Ace. She cleared her throat. Her voice was clotted with sleep. ‘Freshly squeezed orange juice would be nice but I’d settle for a glass of gently carbonated mineral water.’
Chick purred more loudly, then rose up and stretched. He wandered down from the pillow and stood on the covers just under Ace’s chin. He began to press down rhythmically with his paws, massaging the bed covers, pushing down on her breasts as he prepared to settle down again. ‘Careful,’ said Ace. ‘I’m a bit tender.’
The cat complained loudly as she lifted him off and set him on the carpet.
The bed creaked under Ace as she poked a foot out. She eased from under the covers, feeling cold air rush in to displace the pocket of warmth created by her sleeping body.
As she got out of bed the sheets pulled free of the mattress and sagged suddenly in one corner. A heavy metal object slid out and thudded to the floor.
The cat came over and sniffed at Ace’s handgun. She had unpacked it last night and slipped it into bed with her. She didn’t really need to, she was safe enough here at the house in Kent. But old habits died hard.
* * *
Downstairs in the kitchen there was no sign of the Doctor or Benny. Ace opened the big refrigerator with one hand, holding her too‐small black silk kimono shut with the other.
She grinned with pleasure when she saw the vacuum‐packed cartons of fresh ground Sumatran coffee and two bulging paper bags bearing the trade marks of a famous