Agatha Armitage: letter six

Featuring fifteen cats, a billionaire, and a very-much delayed train.

Dear Friend,

I am finally home, and have just settled down at my desk with a mug of earl grey tea.

The fox is in the next room having a doze. He was quite distressed by the whole ordeal but, after seven cans of cat food, he has stopped trying to bite me, and I have put him to bed in my best pyjamas.

The only problem is the snoring. Fox snoring, if you didn’t know, is 12.3x louder than human snoring, and actually sounds more like screaming than anything… which is why my gramophone is on full-volume… and why I don’t plan to sleep tonight even though I am - as they say - more exhausted than a tap-dancing peacock.

At least I am home, I suppose. I was quite sure I would be stranded on that train platform for a whole other day but - as luck would have it - the billionaire ended up trying to get on the same train. Now, I know what you’re thinking… Agatha, billionaires don’t use public transport!… And usually you would be right, but you must understand that this was quite an extraordinary set of circumstances. The Dorset airspace was completely out of action because of the Skydiving Society’s Christmas Party (not that they actually need the airspace. They met for dinner and karaoke, but - purely in the name of respect - the council decided to ban all flying objects for the afternoon. Even the seagulls were swept up in a great purple net!).

Anyway, where was I, oh yes! My eggshell collage! Oh wait, no. That’s not right at all. I was telling you about the billionaire, wasn’t I? You’ll have to excuse me, dear friend. The screaming snoring fox is really rather off-putting.

Long-story short, the billionaire couldn’t use his private jet and, since his car was at the carwash and all of his taxi drivers had gone on holiday, he had no choice but to use the train.

I knew it was him because he was drinking a smoothie, and smoothies are very expensive these days. I also knew it was him because he was wearing a placard which said:

I am a billionaire, and I own a cat museum.

“I see you have been to the cat museum?” he smiled, taking a sip of his smoothie (which, it transpires, was actually made from blended twenty pound notes - which doesn’t, to me at least, sound very good at all. I tried to suggest adding some strawberries, but he was quite against the idea). “It’s quite remarkable isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. It is certainly something worth taking note of.”

(Remarkable comes from the french remarquer which means ‘to take note of'… the ghastly museum was, indeed, noteworthy - that is to say that it is significant enough for me to write about now.)

“I assume you are here to revel in my success.”

“I’m actually here to catch a train.”

“There is a lot to revel in though, so it might take you some time.”

He flexed his thumb muscles - I think to impress me, though it might be that he had cramp. I couldn’t quite tell, so I just nodded. When you’re not sure what to do, nodding is always a good idea.

“I am very busy though so you will have to revel in my greatness from a distance,” he snubbed, pushing me backwards with a solid gold cue stick.

Now, this of course suited me quite well - not only because flexed thumbs do not impress me, but also because there were cats purring around my ankles by this time and I didn’t want him to realise what I have done (I completely forgot to mention that I set cats free from the museum. I hear a group of them have formed a clan near Durdle Door and taken over at least one Morrisons). Thankfully, though, the billionaire was distracted by his flexing thumb and so didn’t notice the fifteen mewing cats.

Oh dear, I fear I have been rambling. All I really meant to say was that the billionaire sorted the train delays (it turns out that money and a few well-placed threats can do an awful lot). In no time, the train was off. Our carriage was quite full, as you’d expect, what with fourteen cats (one had to take an important phone call) and my hummus sandwich-bearing companion!

I will leave it there, my dear friend, and I hope you will write to me soon.

Your friend,

Agatha

P.S. Thank you, Lucía, for the paper. This letter would not have been possible without your help, and I actually rather enjoy the messy scrawl of pawprints. I think it gives my letter a vogueish edge.

P.P.S I am sure the snoring fox also sends his love, though I don’t want to wake him to check.