[Revision] Twilight Yuri

Surely that’s a stray Eevee. I’ve never seen it before.” My mother was at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, and she pointed through the window.
Our house in the middle of the forest was on a sloping field. There was a low retaining wall, chest high, just outside the window and, behind, the grassy bank led from the wall top up to some bushes and an open log shed perched about twenty yards away. A lean little Eevee was peering warily from the bushes. Two tiny kittens(?) crouched by her side.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “That’s a stray with her family and she’s looking for food.”
My mother put out a bowl of food and some milk on the flat top of the wall and retired to the kitchen. The mother Eevee did not move for a few minutes, and then she advanced with the utmost caution, took up some of the food in her mouth and carried it back to her kittens.
Several times she crept down the bank, but when the kittens tried to follow her, she gave them a quick ‘get back’ tap with her paw.
We watched, fascinated, as the scraggy, half-starved creature made sure that her family had eaten before she herself took anything from the bowl. Then, when the food was finished, we quietly opened the back door. But as soon as they saw us, cat and kittens flitted away into the field.
“I wonder where they came from,” My mother said.
I shrugged. “Heaven knows. There’s a lot of open country around here. They could have come from miles away. And that mother Eevee doesn’t look like an ordinary stray. There’s a real wild look about her.”
My mother nodded. “Yes, she looks as though she’s never been in a house, never had anything to do with people. I’ve heard of wild Eevee like that who live outside. Maybe she only came looking for food because of her kitten.”
“I think you’re right,” I said as we returned to the kitchen. “Anyway, the poor little things have had a good feed. I don’t suppose we’ll see them again.”

But I was wrong. Two days later, the trio reappeared. In the same place, peeping from the bushes, looking hungrily towards the kitchen window. My mother fed them again, the mother Eevee still fiercely forbidding her kittens to leave the bushes, and once more they darted away when we tried to approach them. When they came again next morning, my mother turned to me and smiled.
“I think we’ve been adopted,” she said.
She was right. The three of them took up residence in the log shed and after a few days the mother allowed the kittens to come down to the food bowls, shepherding them carefully all the way. They were still quite tiny, only a few weeks old.
My mother fed them for a fortnight, but they remained unapproachable creatures. Then one morning, as I was about to go on my rounds, checking on all the Pokémon, she called me into the kitchen.
She pointed through the window. “What do you make of that?”
I looked and saw the two kittens in their usual position under the bushes, but there was no mother Eevee.
“That’s strange,” I said. “She’s never let them out of her sight before.”
The kittens had their feed and I tried to follow them as they ran away, but I lost them in the long grass, and although I searched all over the field there was no sign of them or their mother.
We never saw the mother Eevee again and my mother was quite upset.

“What on earth can have happened to her?” She murmured a few days later as the kittens ate their morning meal.
“Could be anything,” I replied. “I’m afraid we’ll never know.”
My mother looked again at the little creatures’ crouched side by side, their heads in the bowl. “Do you think she’s just abandoned them?”
“Well, it’s possible. She was a maternal and caring little thing and I have a feeling she looked around till she could find a good home for them. She didn’t leave till she saw that they could fend for themselves and maybe she’s returned to her outside life now. She was a real wild one.”
It remained a mystery, but one thing was sure: the kittens were installed for good. Another thing was sure: they would never be domesticated. Try as we might, we were never able to touch them, and all our attempts to wheedle them into the house were unavailing.

One wet morning, my mother and I looked out of the kitchen window at the two of them sitting on the wall, waiting for their breakfast, their fur sodden, their eyes nearly closed against the driving rain.
“Poor little things,” My mother said, “I can’t bear to see them out there, wet and cold, we must get them inside.”
“How? We’ve tried often enough.”
“Oh, I know, but let’s have another go. Maybe they’ll be glad to come in out of the rain.”
We mashed up a dish of fruit and assorted berries and roots, an irresistible delicacy to any kind of Pokémon. I let them have a sniff and they were eager and hungry, then I placed the dish just inside the back door before retreating out of sight. But as we watched through the window the two of them sat motionless in the downpour, their eyes fixed on the meal, but determined not to go through the door. That, clearly, was unthinkable.

“All right, you win,” I said and put it on the wall where it was immediately devoured.
I was staring at them with a feeling of defeat when one of Mother’s friends came by on a bicycle, around the corner. At the sight of her, the kittens scurried away and she laughed.
“I see you’ve taken on them Eevee. That’s some nice stuff they’re gettin’ to eat.”
“Yes, but they won’t come inside to get it.”
She laughed again. “Aye and they never will. Ah’ve know’n that family o’ Eevee for years, and all their ancestors. I saw that mother cat when she first came, and before that she lived at awd Mrs. Caley’s over the hill and ah remember that ‘un’s mother before her, down at Billy Tate’s farm. Ah can go back years with them cats.”
“Gosh, is that so?”
“Aye, it is, and I’ve never seen one ‘o that strain that would go inside a house. They’re wild, real wild.”
“Ah well, thanks, Tulip, that explains a lot.”
“She smiled and hoisted her bag a little higher. “Ah’ll get off, then, and they can finish their breakfast.”
“Well, that’s it, Mum,” I said. “Now we know. They’re always going to be outside, but at least we can try to improve their accommodation.”

The thing we called the log shed, where I had laid some straw for them to sleep, wasn’t a shed at all. It had a roof, but that was open all down and one side, with widely spaced slats on the other three sides. It allowed a constant through-wind which made it a fine place for drying out the logs but horribly draughty as a dwelling.
I went up the grassy slope and put up a sheet of plywood as a wind-break. Then I built a mound of logs into a protective zariba around the straw bed and stood back, puffing slightly.
“Right,” I said. “They’ll be quite cozy in there now.”

My mother nodded in agreement, but she had gone one better. Behind my wind-break, she put down an open sided box with cushions inside. “There now, they needn’t sleep on the straw any more. They’ll be warm and comfortable in this nice box.”
I rubbed my hands. “Great, we won’t have to worry about them in bad weather. They’ll really enjoy coming in here.”
From that moment the kittens boycotted the shed. They still came for their meals every day, but we never saw them anywhere near their old dwelling.
“They’re just not used to it,” My mother said.
“Hmm.” I looked again at the cushioned box tucked in the centre of the encircling logs. “Either that, or they don’t like it.”
We stuck it out a few days, then, as we wondered where on earth the kittens could be sleeping, our resolve began to crack. I went up to the slope and dismantled the wall of logs. Immediately the two little creatures returned. They sniffed and nosed around the box and went away again.
“I’m afraid they’re not keen on your box either,” I grunted as we watched from our vantage point.
My mother looked stricken. “Silly little things. It’s perfect for them.”

But after another two days during which the shed lay deserted, she went out and I saw her coming sadly down the bank, box in one hand, cushions under her arm.
The kittens were back within hours, looking around the place, vastly relieved. They didn’t seem to object to the wind-break and settled happily in the straw. Our attempts to produce a feline Hilton had been a total failure.
It dawned on me that they couldn’t bear to be enclosed, to have their escape routes cut off. Lying there on the open bed of straw, they could see all around them and were able to flit way between the slats at the slightest sign or danger.
“Okay, my friends,” I said, “that’s the way you want it, but I’m going to find out something more about you.”
Helen gave them some food and once they were concentrating on the food, I crept up on them and threw a fisherman’s landing net over them and after a struggle I was able to divine that one was male and the other, female. Brother and sister.
“Good,” Said my mother, “I’ll call them Olly-“

“And Akina.” I chimed in. She named one, so I get to name one too. “Why Olly?”
“Don’t really know. He looks like an Olly. I like the name. Oh, and how about Akina?”
But I only smiled and left it at that.
Over the next few months they grew rapidly and my veterinary mind soon reached a firm decision. My parents were breeders as well as healers and I had picked up several things from them. And according to my father, even better than themselves. They had to get their shots. Every pokemon was administered some once in it’s lifetime, although the reason had never been disclosed to Twilight. And it was then that I was confronted for the first time with a problem which was to worry me for years – how to minister to the veterinary needs of animals which I was unable even to touch.
The first time, when they were half-grown, it wasn’t so bad. Again I slunk up on them with my net when they were feeding and managed to bundle them into a cat cage from which they looked at me with terrified and, I imagined, accusing eyes.
In the surgery, my father and I lifted them one by one from the cage and administered the intravenous anaesthetic , I was struck by the fact that although they were terror-stricken at being in an enclosed space for the first time in their lives and by being grasped and restrained by humans, they were singularly easy to handle. Many of our patients were fighting furies until we had lulled them to sleep, and all felines, with claws as well as teeth for weapons, can inflict a fair amount of damage. However, Olly and Akina, although they struggled frantically, made no attempt to bite, never unsheathed their claws.
My father put it briefly. “These little things are scared stiff, but they’re absolutely docile. I wonder how many wild pokemon are like this.”
I feel a little strange as I carried out the necessary activities, looking down at the sleeping forms. These were my pokemon yet it was the first time I was able to touch them as I wished, examine them closely, appreciate the beauty of their fur and colourings.
When they had come out of the anaesthetic, I took them home and when I released the two of them from the cage, they scampered up to their home in the log shed. As was usual following such minor operations, they showed no after effects, but they clearly had unpleasant memories of me. During the next few weeks they came close to my mother as she fed them but fled immediately at the sight of me. All my attempts to catch Akina to remove the single little stitch in her side was fruitless. That stitch remained forever and I realized that Twilight had been cast firmly as the villain of the piece, the character who would grab you and bundle you into a wire cage if you gave her half a chance.
It soon became clear that things were going to stay that way because, as the months passed and my mother piled them with all manner of tidbits and they grew into handsome, sleek Eevee, they would come arching along the wall top when she appeared at the back door, but I only had to poke my head from the door to send them streaking away out of sight. I was the chap to be avoided at all times and this rankled with me because I have always been fond of Eevee and I had become particularly attached to these two. The day finally arrived when my mother was able to stroke them gently as they ate and my chagrin deepened at the sight.
Usually they slept in the log shed but occasionally they disappeared to somewhere unknown and stayed away for a few days and we used to wonder if they had abandoned up or something had happened to them. When they reappeared, my mother would shout to me in great relief, “They’re back, Twilight, they’re back!” They had become part of our lives.

Summer lengthened into autumn and when the bitter winter set in we marveled at their hardiness. We used to feel terrible, looking at them from our warm kitchen as they sat out in the frost and snow, but no matter how harsh the weather, nothing would induce either of them to set foot inside the house. Warmth and comfort had no appeal for either of them.
When the weather was fine we had a lot of fun just watching them. We could see right up into the log shed from our kitchen, and it was fascinating to observe their happy relationship. They were such friends. Totally inseparable, they spent hours licking each other and rolling about together in gentle play and they never pushed each other out of the way when they were given their food. At night we could see the two furry little forms curled close together in the straw.
Then there was a time when we thought everything had changed forever. The kits did one of their disappearing acts and as day followed day we became more anxious. Each morning, my mother started her day with the cry of “Olly! Akina!” which always brought the two of them trotting down from their dwelling, but now they did not appear, and when a week passed and then two we had almost run out of hope.
When we came back from shopping one day, my mother ran to the kitchen and looked out. The Eevee knew our habits and they would always be sitting waiting for her but the empty wall stretched away and the log shed was deserted. “Do you think they’ve gone for good, Twilight?” She said.
I shrugged. “It’s beginning to look like it. You remember what old Herbert said about that family of cats. Maybe they’re nomads at heart – gone off to pastures new.”
My mother’s face was doleful. “I can’t believe it. They seemed so happy here. Oh I hope nothing terrible has happened to them.” Sadly she began to put her shopping away and she was silent all evening. My attempts to cheer her up were half-hearted because I was wrapped in a blanket of misery myself.
Strangely, it was the next morning when I heard my mother’s usual cry, but this time it wasn’t a happy one.
She ran into the sitting room. “They’re back, Twilight,” She said breathlessly, “but I think they’re dying!”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Oh, they look awful! They’re desperately ill – I’m sure they’re dying.”
I hurried through the kitchen with her and looked through the window. The felines were sitting there side by side on the wall a few feet away. A watery discharge ran from their eyes which were almost closed, more fluid poured from their nostrils and saliva drooled from their mouths. Their bodies shook from a continuous sneezing and coughing.
They were thin and scraggy, unrecognizable as the sleek creatures we knew so well and their appearance was made more pitiful by their situation in the teeth of a piercing east wind which tore at their fur and made their attempts to open their eyes even more painful.
My mother opened the back door. “Olly, Akina, what’s happened to you?” She cried softly.
A remarkable thing then happened. At the sound of her voice, the Eevee hopped carefully from the wall and walked unhesitatingly through the door into the kitchen. It was the first time they had been under our roof.
“Look at that!” My mother exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. They must be really ill. But what is it, Twilight? Have they been poisoned?”
I shook my head. “No, they’ve got ‘Vee flu.”
“You can tell?”
“Oh yes, this is classical.”
“And will they die?”
I rubbed my chin. “I don’t think so.” I wanted to sound reassuring, but I wondered. Feline virus rhinotracheitis had a fairly low mortality rate, but bad cases can die and these cats were very bad indeed. “Anyway, close the door and I’ll see if they’ll let me examine them.”
But at the sight of the closing door, both brown figures bolted back outside.
“Open up again,” I cried and, after a moment’s hesitation, the Eevee walked back into the kitchen.
I look at them in astonishment. “Would you believe it? They haven’t come here for shelter, they’ve come here for help!”
And there was no doubt about it. The two of them sat there, side by side, waiting for us to do something for them.
“The question is,” I said, “will they allow their bête noire to get near them? We’d better leave the back door open so they don’t feel threatened.”
I approached inch by inch until I could put a hand on them, but they did not move. With a feeling that I was dreaming, I lifted each of them, limp and unresisting, and examined them.
My mother stroked them while I ran out to the car which held the stock of drugs and brought in what I’d need. I took their temperatures; they were both over 104, which was typical. Then I injected them with oxytetracycline, the antibiotic which I had always found best for treating the secondary bacterial infection which followed the initial virus attack. I also injected vitamins, cleaned away the pus and mucus from the eyes and nostrils with cotton wool and applied an antibiotic ointment. And all the time I marveled that I was lifting and handling these yielding little bodies which I hadn’t even been able to touch before apart from when they had been under the anaesthetic for their ops.
When I had finished I couldn’t bear the thought of turning them out into that cruel wind. I lifted them up and tucked them one under each arm.
“Mother,” I said, “let’s have another try. Will you just gently close the door?”
She took hold of the knob and began to push very slowly, but immediately both Eevee leaped like uncoiled springs from my arms and shot into the garden. We watched them as they trotted out of sight.
“Well, that’s extraordinary.” I said. “Ill as they are, they won’t tolerate being shut in.”
My mother was on the verge of tears. “But how will they stand it out there? They should be kept warm. I wonder if they’ll stay now and will they leave us again?”
“I just don’t know.” I looked at the empty garden. “But we’ve got to realize they are in their natural environment. They’re tough little things. I think they’ll be back.”
I was right. Next morning they were outside the window, eyes closed against the wind, the fur on their faces streaked and stained again with the copious discharge.
Again my mother opened the door and again they walked calmly inside and made no resistance as I repeated my treatment, injecting them, swabbing out eyes and nostrils, examining their mouths for ulcers, lifting them around like any long-standing household pets.
This happened every day for a week. The discharges became more purulent and their racking sneezes seemed no better; then, when I was losing hope, they started to eat a little food and, significantly, they weren’t so keen to come into the house.
When I did get them inside, they were tense and unhappy as I handled them and finally I couldn’t touch them at all. They were by no means cured, so I mixed oxytet soluble powder in their food and treated them that way.
The weather was even worse, with fine flakes of snow spinning in the wind, but the day came when they refused to come inside and we watched them through the window as they ate. But I had the satisfaction of knowing they were still getting the antibiotic with every mouthful.
As I carried in this long-range treatment, observing them daily from the kitchen, it was rewarding to see the sneezing abating, the discharges drying up and the Evolution Pokémon gradually regaining their lost flesh.

It was a brisk sunny morning in March and I was watching my mother putting their breakfast on the wall. Olly and Akina, sleek as seals, their faces clean and dry, their eyes bright, came arching along the wall, purring like outboard motors. They were in no hurry to eat; they were clearly happy just to see her.
As they passed to and fro, she ran her hand gently along their heads and backs. This was the kind of stroking they liked – not overdone, with them continually in motion.
I felt I had to get into the action and stepped from the open door.
“Akina,” I said and held out a hand. “Come here, Akina.” The little creature stopped her promenade along the wall and regarded me from a safe distance, not with hostility but with all the old wariness. As I tried to move closer, she skipped away out of reach.
“Okay,” I said, “and I don’t suppose it’s any good trying with you either, Olly.” The Eevee backed well away from my outstretched hand and gave me a non-committal gaze. I could see he agreed with me.
Mortified, I called out to the two of them. “Hey, remember me?” It was clear by the look of them that they remembered me all right – but not in the way I hoped. I felt a stab of frustration. Despite my efforts I was back where I started.
My mother laughed. “They’re a funny pair, but don’t they look marvelous! They’re a picture of health, as good as new. It says a lot for fresh air treatment.”
“It does indeed,” I said with a wry smile, “but it also says something for having a resident veterinary surgeon.

As a Pokémon lover, it irked me that my own Pokémon couldn’t stand the sight of me. Akina and Olly were part of the family now. We were devoted to them and whenever we had a day out the first thing my mother did on our return was to open the back door and feed them. The Eevee knew this very well and were either sitting on the flat top of the wall, waiting for her, or ready to trot down from the log shed which was their home.
We had been to Brawton on our half-day and they were as usual as my mother put out a dish of food and a bowl of milk for them on the wall.
“Akina, Olly,” she murmured as she stroked the furry coats. The days had long gone when they refused to let her touch them. Now they rubbed against her hand in delight, arching and purring and, when they were eating, she ran her hand repeatedly along their backs. They were such gentle little animals, their wildness expressed only in fear, and now, with her, that fear had gone. Some from the village had won their confidence, too, and they were allowed to give them a careful caress, but they drew the line at Twilight.
Like now, for instance, when I quietly followed my mother out and moved towards the wall. Immediately they left the food and retreated to a safe distance where they stood, still arching their backs but, as ever, out of reach. They regarded me without hostility but as I held out a hand they moved further away.
“Look at the little beggars!” I said. “They still won’t have anything to do with me.”
It was frustrating since, throughout my years in veterinary practice, Eevee had always intrigued me and I had found that this helped me in my dealings with them. I felt I could handle them more easily than most people because I liked them and they sensed it. I rather prided myself on my Eevee technique, a sort of feline bedside manner, and was in no doubt that I had an empathy with the entire species and that they all  liked me. In fact, if the truth were told, I fancied myself as a Eevees’ pin-up. Not so, ironically, with these two – the ones to whom I had become so deeply attached.
It was a bit hard, I thought, because I had doctored them and probably saved their lives when they had ‘Vee flu. Did they remember that, I wondered, but if they did it still didn’t give me the right apparently to lay a finger on them. And, indeed, what they certainly did seem to remember was that it was I who had netted them and then shoved them into a cage before I treated them. I had the feeling that whenever they saw me, it was that net and cage which was uppermost in their minds.
I could only hope that time would bring an understanding between us but, as it turned out, fate was to conspire against me for a long time still. Above all, there was the business of Olly’s coat. Unlike his sister, he had long fur and as such was subject to constant tangling and knotting of his fur. If he had been an ordinary domesticated feline, I would have combed him out as soon as trouble arose but since I couldn’t even get near him I was helpless. We had him about two years when my mother called me to the kitchen.
‘Just look at him!’ she said. ‘He’s a dreadful sight!’
I peered through the window. Olly was indeed a bit of a scarecrow with his matted fur and dangling knots in cruel contrast with his sleek and beautiful little sister.
‘I know, I know. But what can I do?’ I was about to turn away when I noticed something. ‘Wait a minute, there’s a couple of horrible big lumps hanging below his neck. Take these scissors and have a go at them – a couple of quick snips and they’ll be off.’
Helen gave me an anguished look. ‘Oh, we’ve tried this before. I’m not a vet and anyway, he won’t let me do that. He’ll let me pet him, but this is something else.’
‘I know that, but have a go. There’s nothing to it, really.’ I pushed a pair of curved scissors into her hand and began to call instructions through the window. ‘Right now, get your fingers behind that big dangling mass. Fine, fine! Now up with your scissors and –‘
But at the first gleam of steel, Olly was off and away up the hill. My mother turned to me in despair. ‘It’s no good, Twilight, it’s hopeless – he won’t let me cut even one lump off and he’s covered with them.’
I looked at the disheveled little creature standing at a safe distance from us. ‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll have to think of something.’
Thinking of something entailed doping Olly so that I could get at him, and my faithful Nembutal capsules sprang immediately to mind. This oral anaesthetic had been a valued ally on countless occasions where I had to deal with unapproachable Pokémon, but this was different. With the other cases, my patients had been behind closed doors but Olly was outside with all the wide countryside to roam in. I couldn’t have him going to sleep somewhere out there were a predator might get him. I would have to watch him all the time.
It was a time for decisions, and I drew myself up. ‘I’ll have a go at him this Sunday,’ I told my mother. ‘It’s usually a bit quieter and I’ll ask father to stand in for me in an emergency.’
When the day arrived, my mother went out and placed two meals of chopped fish on the wall, one of them spiked with the contents of my Nembutal capsule. I crouched behind the window; watching intently as she directed Olly to the correct portion, and holding my breath as he sniffed at it suspiciously. His hunger soon overcame his caution and he licked the bowl clean with evident relish.
Now we started the tricky part. If he decided to explore the fields as he often did I would have to be right behind him. I stole out of the house as he sauntered back up the slope to the open log shed and to my vast relief he settled down in his own particular indentation in the straw and began to wash himself.
As I peered through the bushes I was gratified to see that very soon he was having difficulty with his face, licking his hind paw then toppling over as he brought it up to his cheek.
I chuckled to myself. This was great. Another few minutes and I’d have him.
And so it turned out. Olly seemed to conclude that he was tired of falling over and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a nap. After gazing drunkenly around him, he curled up in the straw.
I waited a short time, then, with all the stealth of an Indian brave on the trail, I crept from my hiding place and tiptoed to the shed. Olly wasn’t flat out – I hadn’t dared give him the full anaesthetic dose in case I had been unable to track him – but he was deeply sedated. I could pretty well do what I wanted with him.
As I knelt down and began to snip away with my scissors, he opened his eyes and made a feeble attempt to struggle, but it was no good and I worked my way quickly through the raveled fur. I wasn’t able to make a particularly tidy job because he was wriggling slightly all the time, but I clipped off all the huge unsightly knots which used to get caught in the bushes, and must have been horribly uncomfortable, and soon had a growing heap of fur by my side.
I noticed that Olly wasn’t only moving, he was watching me. Dazed as he was, he knew me all right and his eyes told me all. ‘It’s you again!’ he was saying. ‘I might have known!’
When I had finished, I lifted him into a cage and place it on the straw. ‘Sorry, old lad,’ I said, ‘but I can’t let you go free till you’ve wakened up completely.’
Olly gave me a sleepy stare, but his sense of outrage was evident. ‘So you’ve dumped me in here again. You don’t change much, do you?’
By teatime he was fully recovered and I was able to release him. He looked so much better without the ugly tangles and but didn’t seem impressed, and as I opened the cage he gave me a single disgusted look and sped away.
My mother was enchanted with my handiwork and she pointed out eagerly at the two Eevee on the wall next morning. ‘Doesn’t he look smart! Oh, I’m so glad you managed to do him, it was really worrying me. And he must feel so much better.’
I felt a certain smug satisfaction as I looked through the window. Olly indeed was almost unrecognizable as the scruffy Pokémon of yesterday and there was no doubt I had dramatically altered his life and relieved him of a constant discomfort, but my burgeoning bubble of self-esteem was pricked the instant I put my head round the back door. He had just started to enjoy his breakfast but at the sight of me he streaked away faster than ever before and disappeared far over the hill-top. Sadly I turned back into the kitchen. Olly’s opinion of me had dropped several more notches. Wearily I poured a cup of tea. It was a hard life.

Months passed without any thawing of relations between me and our two wild Eevee and I noticed with growing apprehension that Olly’s long coat was reverting to its previous disreputable state. The familiar knots and tangles were reappearing and within a year it was as bad as ever. It became more obvious every day that I had to do something about it. But how could I trick him again? I had to try.
I made the same preparations, with my mother placing the Nembutal-laden food on the wall, but this time Olly sniffed, licked, then walked away. We tried at his next meal time but he examined the food with deep suspicion and turned away from it. It was very clear that he sensed there was something afoot.
Hovering in my usual position at the kitchen window I turned to my mother. ‘I’m going to have to try to catch him.’
‘Catch him? With your net, do you mean?’
‘No, no. that was alright when he was a kitten. I’d never get near him now.’
‘How, then?’
I looked out at the scruffy brown creature on the wall. ‘Well, maybe I can hide behind you when you feed him and grab him and bung him into the cage. I could take him down to the surgery then, give him a general anaesthetic and make a proper job of him.’
‘Grab him? And then fasten him in the cage?’ My mother said incredulously. ‘It sounds impossible to me.’
‘Yes, I know, but I’ve grabbed a few Pokémon in my time and I can move fast. If only I can keep hidden. We’ll try tomorrow.’
My mother looked at me, wide-eyed. I could see that she had little faith.
Next morning she placed some delicious fresh chopped raw berries on the wall. It was the Eevees’ favorite. They were not particularly partial to cooked berries but this was irresistible. The open cage lay hidden from sight. The Pokémon stalked along the wall, Akina sleek and shining, Olly a pathetic sight with his raveled hair and ugly knotted appendages dangling from his neck and body. My mother made her usual fuss of the two of them, then, as they descended happily on the food she returned to the kitchen where I was lurking.
‘Right, now,’ I said. ‘I want you to walk out very slowly again and I am going to be tucked in behind you. When you go up to Olly he’ll be concentrating on the food and maybe won’t notice me.’
She made no reply as I pressed myself into her back in close contact from head to toe.
‘Okay, off we go.’ I nudged her left leg with mine and we shuffled off through the door, moving as one.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she wailed. ‘It’s like a music hall act.’
Nuzzling the back of her neck I hissed into her ear. ‘Quiet, just keep going.’
As we advanced on the wall, double-bodied, my mother reached out and stroked Olly’s head, but he was too busy with the food to look up. He was there, chest high, within a couple of feet of me. I’d never have a better chance. Shooting my hand round my mother, I seized him by the scruff of his neck, held him, a flurry of flailing brown limbs, for a couple of seconds then pushed him into the cage. As I crashed the lid down, a desperate paw appeared at one but I thrust it back and slotted home the steel rod. There was no escape now.
I lifted the cage onto the wall with Olly and me at eye level and I flinched as I met his accusing stare through the bars. ‘Oh no, not again! I don’t believe this!’ it said. ‘Is there no end to your treachery?’
In truth, I felt pretty bad. The poor Eevee, terrified as he was by my assault, had not tried to scratch or bite. It was like the other occasions – his only thought was to get away. I couldn’t blame him for thinking the worst of me.
However, I told myself, the end result was going to be a fine handsome animal again. ‘You won’t know yourself, old chap.’ I said to the petrified little creature, crouched in his cage on the car seat by my side as we drove to the surgery. ‘I’m going to fix you up properly, this time. You’re going to look great and feel great.’
My father had offered to help me and when we got him on the table, a trembling Olly submitted to being handled and to the intravenous anaesthetic. As he lay sleeping peacefully, I started on the awful tangled fur with a fierce pleasure, snipping and trimming and then going over him with the electric clippers followed by a long combing until the last tiny knot was removed. I had only given him a make-shift hair-do before, but this was the full treatment.
My father laughed when I held him up after I had finished. ‘Looks ready to win any Pokémon show,’ he said.
I thought of his words next morning when the cats came to the wall for their breakfast. Akina was always beautiful, but she was almost outshone by her brother as she strutted along, his smooth, lustrous fur gleaming in the sunshine.
My mother was enchanted at his appearance and kept running her hand along his back as though she couldn’t believe the transformation. I, of course, was in my usual position, peeking furtively from the kitchen. It was going to be a long time before I even dared to show myself to Olly.


It soon became clear that my stock had fallen to new depths, because I only had to step out of the back door to send Olly scurrying away into the field. The situation became so bad that I began to brood about it.
‘Mother,’ I said one morning, ‘this thing with Olly is getting on my nerves. I wish there was something I could do about it.’
‘There is, Twilight,’ she said. ‘You’ll really have to get to know him. And he’ll have to get to know you.’
I gave her a glum look. ‘I’m afraid if you asked him, he’d tell you that he knows me only too well.’
‘Oh, I know, but when you think about it, over all the years that we’ve had these Eevee, they’ve hardly seen anything of you, except in an emergency. I’ve been the one to feed them, talk to them, pet them, day in and day out. They know me and trust me.’
‘That’s right, but I just haven’t had the time.’
‘Of course you haven’t. Your life is one long rush. You’re no sooner in the house than you’re out again.’
I nodded thoughtfully. She was so right. Over the years I had been attached to those Eevee, enjoyed the sight of them trotting down the slope for their food, playing in the long grass in the field, being fondled by my mother, but I was a comparative stranger to them. I felt a pang at the realization that all that time had flashed past so quickly.
‘Well, probably it’s too late. Do you think there is anything I can do?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You have to start feeding them. You’ll just have to find the time to do it. Oh, I know you can’t do it always, but if there’s the slightest chance, you’ll have to get out there with their food.’
‘So you think it’s just a case of cupboard love with them?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m sure you’ve seen me with them often enough. They won’t look at their food until I’ve made a fuss of them for quite a long time. It’s the attention and friendship they want most.’
‘But I haven’t a hope. They hate the sight of me.’
‘You’ll just have to persevere. It took me a long time to get their trust. Especially with Akina. She’s always the more timid one. Even now if I move my hand too quickly, she’s off. Despite all that’s happened, I think Olly might be your best hope – there’s a big well of friendliness in that Eevee.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Give me the food and milk. I’ll start now.’
That was the beginning of one of the little sagas in my life. At every opportunity, I was the one who called them down, placed the food on the wall top and stood there waiting. At first I waited in vain. I could see the two of them watching me from the log shed – the brown faces observing me from the straw beds – and for a long time they would never venture down until I had retreated into the house. Because of my irregular schedule, it was difficult to keep the new system going and sometimes when I had an early morning job they didn’t get their breakfast on time, but it was on one of those occasions when breakfast was over an hour late that their hunger overcame their fear and they came down cautiously while I stood stock still by the wall. They ate quickly with nervous glances at me then scurried away. I smiled in satisfaction. It was the first breakthrough.
After that, there was a long period when I just stood there as they ate until they became used to me as part of the scenery/ then I tried a careful extension of a hand. To start with, they backed away at that but, as the days passed, I could see that my hand was becoming less and less of a threat and my hopes rose steadily. As my mother had prophesized, Akina was the one who shied right away from me at the slightest movement, whereas Olly, after retreating, began to look at me with an appraising eye as though he might possibly be willing to forget the part and revise his opinion of me. With infinite patience, day by day, I managed to get my hand nearer and nearer to him and it was a memorable occasion when he at last stood still and allowed me to touch his cheek with a forefinger. As I gently stroked the fur, he regarded me with unmistakably friendly eyes before skipping away.
‘Mother,’ I said, looking round the kitchen window, ‘I’ve made it! We’re going to be friends at last. It’s a matter of time now till I’m stroking him as you do.’ I was filled with an irrational pleasure and sense of fulfillment. It did seem a foolish reaction in a girl who was dealing every day with Pokémon of all kinds, but I was looking forward to years of friendship with that particular Eevee.
I was wrong. At that moment I could not know that Olly would be dead within forty-eight hours.
It was the following morning when my mother called to me from the back garden. She sounded distraught. ‘Twilight, come quickly! It’s Olly!’
I rushed out to where she was standing near the top of the slope near the log shed. Akina was there, but all I could see of Olly was a dark smudge on the grass.
My mother gripped my arm as I bent over him. ‘What’s happened to him?’
He was motionless; his legs extended stiffly, his back arched in a dreadful rigor, his eyes staring.
‘I…I’m afraid he’s gone. It looks like strychnine poisoning.’ But as I spoke he moved slightly.
‘Wait a minute!’ I said. ‘He’s still alive, but only just.’ I saw that the rigor had relaxed and I was able to flex his legs and lift him without any recurrence. ‘This isn’t strychnine. It’s like it, but it isn’t. It’s something cerebral, maybe a stroke.’
Dry-mouthed, I carried him down to the house where he lay still, breathing almost imperceptibly.
My mother spoke through her tears. ‘What can you do?’
‘Get him to the surgery right away. We’ll do everything we can.’ I hugged her and ran out.
My father and I sedated him because he had begun to make paddling movements with his limbs, then we injected him with steroids and antibiotics and put him on an intravenous drip. I looked at him as he lay in the big recovery cage, his paws twitching feebly. ‘Nothing more we can do, is there?’
He shook his head and shrugged. He agreed with me about the diagnosis – stroke, seizure, cerebral hemorrhage, call it what you like, but certainly the brain. I could see that he had the same feeling of hopelessness as I had.
We attended Olly all that day and, during the afternoon, I thought for a brief period that he was improving, but by evening he was comatose again and he died during the night.
I brought him home and as I lifted him from the car, his smooth, tangle-free fur was like a mockery now that his life was ended. I buried him just behind the log shed a few feet from the straw bed where he had slept for so many years.
Vets and breeders are no different from other people when they lose a pet, and I was miserable. We hoped that the passage of time would dull our unhappiness, but we had another poignant factor to deal with. What about Akina?
Those two Eevee had become a single entity in our lives and we never thought of one without the other. It was clear that to Akina the world was incomplete without Olly. For several days she ate nothing. We called her repeatedly but she advanced only a few yards from the log house, looking around in a puzzled way before turning back to her bed. For all of those years, she had never trotted down that slope on her own and over the next few weeks her bewilderment as she gazed about her continually, seeking and searching for her companion, was one of the most distressing things we had ever had to witness.
My mother fed her in her bed for several days and eventually managed to coax her on to the wall, but Akina could scarcely put her head down to the food without peering this way and that, still waiting for Olly to come and share it.
‘She’s so lonely,’ my mother said. ‘We’ll have to try to make a bugger fuss of her now than ever. I’ll spend more time outside talking to her, but if only we could get her inside with is. That would be the answer. But I know it will never happen.’
I looked at the little creature, wondering if I’d ever get used to seeing only one Eevee on the wall, but Akina sitting by the fireside or on my mother’s knee was an impossible dream. ‘Yes, you’re right, but maybe I can do something. I’d just managed to make friends with Olly – I’m going to start on Akina now.’
I knew I was taking on a long and maybe hopeless challenge because the Eevee had always been the more timid of the two, but I pursued my purpose with resolution. At meal times and whenever I had the opportunity, I presented myself outside the back door, coaxing and wheedling, beckoning with my hand. For a long time, although she accepted the food from me, she would not let me near me. Then, maybe because she needed companionship so desperately that she felt she might as well even resort to me, the day came when she did not back away but allowed me to touch her cheek with my finger and I had done with Olly.
After that, progress was slow but steady. From touching I moved week by week to stroking her cheek then to gently rubbing her ears, until finally I could run my hand the length of her body and tickle the root of her tail. From then on, undreamed of familiarities gradually unfolded until she would not look at her food until she had paced up and down the wall top, again and again, arching herself in delight against my hand and brushing my shoulders with her body. Among these daily courtesies one of her favorite ploys was to press her nose against mine and stand there for several moments looking into my eyes.
It was one morning several months later that Akina and I were in this posture – she on the wall, touching noses with me, gazing into my eyes, drinking me in as though she thought I was rather wonderful and couldn’t quite get enough of me – when I heard a sound from behind me.
‘I was just watching the veterinary surgeon at work,’ my mother said softly.
‘Happy work, too,’ I said, not moving from my position, looking deeply into the brown eyes, alight with friendship, fixed on mine a few inches away.