Halfway up the stair...

Halfway up the stairs, the concrete cat winked at me. I don’t know whether it’s a trick of the light – the landing window is just behind it – or whether is really does wink. Anything can happen in this place.

The cat’s name is ‘Catatonic’. That is not its real name, of course. It was renamed – along with the other eleven – when Freddie bought them from a local sculptor, and dotted them around the building.
They are all different in concept and style; happy, sad, sly, wistful, contented… different expressions on their feline faces. They are painted in a variety of colours to match their personalities: waistcoats, bow ties, dresses, pinafores… Catatonic is a dull golden colour with what look like patches cross-hatched on his coat. He has a resigned, world-weary expression. But he seems happy enough.

I am on my way to see Amanda.
She won’t like it when I advise her of the forthcoming (possibly) nuptials. I have been rehearsing my announcement: Amanda, I should like to invite you and Freddie to my wedding; Amanda, I am thinking of getting married; Amanda, Anastasia and I are betrothed…
No – none of these sound right. But nothing is going to sound right, is it? To Amanda?

The concrete cat guarding Amanda’s office door – a fierce ginger-tom – is called ‘Cataclysmic’. I keep well away from it.
I realise I am breathing heavily. Am I out of condition? Or just nervous?
Why should I be nervous? She’s only my therapist. Well, she is, isn’t she!
I knock.
‘Come’
I take a deep breath, and open the door.
And there she is: my inquisitor, my tormentor; my comfort, my healer; my Venus in a white coat.