Page 3 - and the man who loved cats

had been last week. It was one of those "what
happened locally one hundred years ago" articles.
On this day, a servant girl had drowned herself
nearby because, they guessed, she had been
desperately lonely. It was known that she suffered
bouts of depression and this coupled with the fact
that she had been found naked with no evidence
of foul play – her clothes, in a neatly folded pile,
had been discovered first – hinted strongly at
suicide. And as his father read he had thought, if
only I had lived then. Loneliness was not
something particular to this day and age. If only I
had known her. Or rather, if only she had known
me. I would have shown her. I would have loved
her. I am so full of love. I have so much to give.
And she could not have helped but love him too.
Of course he got depressed. Everyone got
depressed, didn't they? But they would have
helped each other. Given the chance he would
have saved her. And now, miraculously some
greater power had given him his chance. History
was repeating itself, but this time he was there to
change the outcome.

"I'm off," he had announced, knocking back the
last of his tea. His father looked up from his paper

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