Walking the Cote D'Azur region with a local guide
Who happened to be The Cat
In my previous post about writing techniques I confessed that… I talk with my characters. This post marks the beginning of Unscripted Chats series, where I converse with different characters from my novels-in-progress.
The Beginning
It was a late November when they moved in.
I was living in Cap D’Ail* since September, when it was hot outside and a sauna inside. But starting from November, my apartment gradually turned into a freezing cave as there was no heating.
On the day when they moved in, I was sitting on the bench in the tiny garden - part of the premises. It was much warmer outside. The view of the Mediterranean sea was breathtaking. It enchanted me so I didn’t hear the great gates opening.
That’s why I was so surprised to see a small car parking in the always empty spot. It was an old but very well kept Citroen of an unusual terracotta color.
A woman, a girl and a cat were out of the car. Being a cat person, I focused my attention on the magnificent ginger. He was big and fluffy, with a luxurious tail. His face had a human expression of a content person who had finally reached his destination. The Cat** was sitting close to the car, observing his people.
The girl was no more than five years old, adorable in her lady-like clothes, holding a tiny lady bag in both hands. She was looking at her mother, who was about to take bags from the trunk.
I came to them offering help. We exchanged several polite words in French with the woman. I took one bag, while she had another, plus a rucksack. The girl took her mother’s hand, and The Cat followed us. They entered the apart on the first floor with a huge terrace.
I was outside the next day, too. I was jotting down ideas marching into my head, creating an exciting chaos. When I took a quick break - flexing my fingers - I saw The Cat. He was sitting next to me, his profile a depiction of the Egyptian feline in all its majestic ignorance. The only movement noticeable was a delicate trembling of his whiskers.
Then he turned his head in a cat-like slow, gracious movement. He was now looking into my eyes. Just like yesterday, I saw a human expression on his face. This time it was a «friendly and a bit nosey neighbor» one. I couldn’t help it, I talked to him (I’m a cat person, ffs!):
“Hello, you don’t mind me sitting here, right?”
“Not at all,” he answered.
«Good afternoon,» said the cat. Its voice sounded like the voice at the back of Coraline’s head, the voice she thought words in, but a man’s voice, not a girl’s.
(Coraline Jones by Neil Gaiman)
“This view is phenomenal,” I said the most trivial thing.
“I guess it’s the best thing in your apartment.”
“You know the house?”
“Yes. My folk have been living here for ages.”
He talked without looking at me. I enjoyed observing his profile and listening to his smooth, deep voice of an experienced lecturer. Or, of a stage actor.
“This house,” he continued, “used to be a grand hotel popular among Russian nobility and the tsar’ family. Predominantly men, since some rooms belonged to celebrated Russian ballerinas. There was a famous cafeteria, too, where a woman - Natalia - cooked the most delicious blinis with caviar.”
He licked his mouth graciously. I could imagine his ancestor strolling around the premises, sniffing the air, and waiting for a gourmet dish nonchalantly.
“Then tsars went out of fashion in Russia,” he said. “the grand hotel was downgraded into a military hospital. The famous cafeteria started serving something I can’t call food. The glamour faded away, and so did the nobility. The war was raging. I heard, and it’s only a rumor, that some ballerinas were working at the hospital.”
I didn’t like the thought that my apartment was a hospital room where soldiers were dying.
“After that gloom period,” The Cat said as if he read my mind, “the house was bought by someone and it stood empty for a while. Unable to sustain this enormous property, that someone has gifted it to the French government. The latter turned it into a residential building with ridiculously expensive apartments.”
I sighed, remembering the cost of my rent.
“Do you like walking?” Asked The Cat without turning to face me.
“Yes! In almost four months of living here, I walked every day. It’s the most efficient exercise for me.”
“I walk to reflect,” he said, and I heard a note of disappointment in my words.
“Walking helps me to write,” I tried to rehabilitate.
He finally turned to face me.
“Ah! Good,” he sounded relieved. “Would you mind if I join your walk some time?”
“Yes! Please do.”
The Cat jumped down from the bench, stretched and strolled towards the garden next to our premises. I remembered it was named after a Russian ballerina.
*Cap D’Ail is a tiny town bordering Monaco.
**The Cat: the main character of «A Cat, A Girl, A Woman Travel In A Terracotta Car» novel-in-progress.
Book recommendation:
Literary Cats
https://uk.bookshop.org/p/books/literary-cats-judith-robinson/6830831?ean=9781851245734
Thank you for reading!
Please be aware that:
English is not my native language
I keep «author’s style» intact (including grammar mistakes) as a proof of authenticity (no ai involved)
I’m a coffee maniac
Ah, just lovely!
Lovely and it instantly prompted me to plan a trip around Nice this spring. 🤩
Look forward to reading more!