We should never have called him Church. We thought it was clever to name him after the cat in Pet Cemetery: it wasn’t. He was cute enough as a kitten (all kittens are) but once he could roam the neighbourhood things changed.
That’s when he started bringing things home: found things.
At first they were small: an odd sock, an old toothbrush, half a porn magazine. He would lay them reverently on my bed; carefully consider the final position and then meow once. We all laughed about it. It was cute; we even encouraged him.
Inevitably, the situation got worse.
I wasn’t really worried when he brought in that huge bath towel, it must have weighted as much as him. I took a photograph of him lying among the fluffy folds of pink before I returned the towel to my neighbour’s washing line. At least I assumed that’s where it came from; and the neighbours never said anything so it must have been theirs.
That summer I began to suspect we had a serious problem.
It was one of those perfect orange suburban afternoons, still with a hint of braai smoke and the far off shrieks of children in the air, when I heard Church noisily entering our kitchen window with a chicken. Not a live chicken; nor even a dead pet chicken: a beautifully glazed and roasted chicken – fresh out of the oven. A fine sage and onion stuffing aromatically teased the senses. I could have gone door to door among my neighbours, but I could hardly return their lunch (Church had helped himself to the best part of the left breast and my housemates had eaten most of the rest). And a sincere apology does little to replace your family’s Sunday lunch.
It was the day we found the money that I started to sweat.
Church brought it back wrapped in a dirty yellow plastic bag. There was about R6000 in all; neatly bundled with elastic bands; the serial numbers in sequence. By the time we realised what it was he had strewn it about my bed and rolled in it with near human glee. We considered calling the cops. We discussed it. But I couldn’t imagine them believing my story and we really needed the money that year.
I suppose we should have told someone; it would have made things easier the next month when Church dragged home a human hand.