Update on Neville

Relieved to report that Neville's operation was unqualified success. In theatre for two hours - long time for mouse surgery, apparently. Was allowed to see him briefly in intensive care, as considered to be next of kin: bit strange, given that we are different species, but apparently Neville estranged from immediate family as they resent his ambitions and consider he has abandoned his working class origins.

Once moved from intensive care to high dependency unit, went through difficult spell. Neville confused and disorientated. On learning this, rushed home to find anything which might remind white mouse of his identity. Needing support, and as Saussure and Notsaussure on holiday, texted Oscar.


He appeared at flat soon after and we discussed what to take to hospital. I found copy of his DVD on breakdancing for elderly cats. Oscar, wise as always, suggested taking photo of shrine to Granny Elena, and for possible strong impact, piece of wood from kitchen floor - still to be repaired by Neville, but won't give him hard time about this until fully recovered. In moment of brilliant inspiration, Oscar found section of rusty pipe - bound to help Neville's memory return, as accustomed for some time to communicating with Granny Elena in Moscow.














Found tartan shopping bag on wheels - emptied it of Justice Chatterton's favourite golf clubs - which in the commotion had returned to Edinburgh with us in helicopter, presumably ending all chances he had of winning lawyers' championships in St Andrews.






Doorbell rang as we were leaving. My heart sank - Knew without answering it would be Henri. Sure enough, it was the guinea pig, clutching a copy of his recipe book Guineapigging Out.


Oscar explained what had happened, and then explained that the recipe book - dear to Henri's heart - wasn't an appropriate object to jolt Neville out of disorientated mode. Henri accepted this as graciously as he could and wandered off, nodding when I called to him that he could visit Neville when he'd been moved to surgical ward.





Transported objects to hospital. Moved beyond tears when played DVD to Neville and he blinked in recognition then his head began swaying ever so slightly to the music.

Finally, Neville has asked me to convey his thanks to all the readers who have sent in cards and jars of peanut butter. He intends, in time, to write to each of you to let you know how much your good wishes meant to him and have sped up his recovery.



Purrs Bakhtin

Neville's accident

Went to St Andrews to meet advocate by the bunker of 5th hole as agreed. Justice Chatterton in bit of a state, unable to decide what clubs to use, flinging discarded ones everywhere. Then to my surprise, he suggested I caddy for him in return for free legal services. Too good an opportunity to turn down. As we were about to start, felt twitching movement in tartan shopping bag with wheels - brought on instinct it might be useful. Seconds later, Neville jumped out. Annoyed to see him as had persuaded him - or so I thought - of capability of checking out Chatterton's suitability to represent me in libel case (see recent letters).



Introduced him to Chatterton, who nearly freaked out. Turns out Neville had strangely calming influence on the lawyer, and a hitherto unobserved ability for lateral thinking. Within minutes, mouse had suggested Chatterton select his favourite clubs and put them in tartan shopping bag with wheels, which he, Neville, would be responsible for wheeling round golf course. Chatterton delighted and obviously impressed by idea, and soon two irons, a wedge, a chipper and two putters were secured in shopping bag. Wasn't sure white mouse able to pull such a weight but Neville, sensing my reservations, flexed muscle of left leg and informed me he'd been working out with twigs by dustbin and consuming sports' medicine products for last month.




















Continued round course, Chatterton now smiling as Neville led the way, pulling tartan shopping behind him. By seventh hole, Neville now so buoyed up by sense of purpose was advising lawyer on which putter to use.







Between their conversations, managed to ask Chatterton what experience he had in defending clients accused of libel. His answer 'adequate' seemed to me to be too vague but on point of asking him to be more specific when Chatterton shouted to Neville and me to get out of the way. I scampered aside in time but there was a sickening thud and Neville collapsed, knocked out by golf ball almost half his size. Rushed up to him. Trickle of blood oozing from left temple. My heart raced as realised knew nothing about first aid. Chatterton stood, as if transfixed. Another golfer bustled up, took Neville's pulse and shook his head. 'Is he dead?' I managed to miaow. 'No', golfer said, 'but we must get him to hospital immediately.' I looked at Chatterton who was now on his mobile phone, barking out instructions. When he finished his call, he turned to me. 'I know someone in the Scottish Ambulance Service. He owes me a favour.'




Next ten minutes a blur. Other lawyer was holding Neville in his large right hand. 'It's all right. My kids have mice, I know what to do.' He'd placed a cotton hanky over Neville's body. 'Important to keep him warm.' 'But you moved him,' I said, suddenly remembering a programme on serious injuries. 'Trust me,' the man said.

Two hours later, Neville was in Intensive Care at the Sick Animals Hospital in Edinburgh. As I watched his inert body, tears streamed down my face. Remembered all the mocking comments I'd made about his shrine to Granny Elena in the kitchen, my impatience with his inability to sort out floorboards mess, my scathing remarks when he wanted to help me write her memoirs, my lack of interest in his DVD on breakdancing for elderly cats.

There was a commotion by the door. 'You can't go in there,' a nurse was screeching.
'It's a matter of the utmost urgency,' a familiar voice said.
I turned round to see Henri carrying a soup dish. While the nurse reconsidered, he scuttled past her.
'Saussure explained what happened. I googled for recipes for mice with head injuries, and I've made this.'
Stunned, I peered at the congealed green mass.















Just then, two porters wheeled in a trolley, and asked me to move aside.
'What's happening?' I managed to ask.
'The surgeons need to operate,' one said.
'He'll be okay, won't he?' Henri asked.
'I've worked here for over ten years,' the other porter said. 'And I've never known a surgeon lose a mouse with a head injury.'
'Look after him,' I said, as they wheeled Neville off.



Purrs Bakhtin

Whatever next?

Granny Elena had great saying: When something horrible is happening round you that's out of your control, focus on something that is within your control.

For new readers, the horrible thing is being summoned to court for alleged (Saussure advised me to think of it like this) libel of lecturer in creative writing at renowned Fritzonian Institute. Am on verge - hopefully - of appointing well-known and intimidating advocate to defend me - when and if he finishes golfing holiday in St Andrews.

Woke this morning at six o'clock and decided that rather than try to get back to sleep - have been experiencing insomnia recently, no doubt due to stress - would get up, have quick breakfast and return to writing major project. This consists of first 20,000 words of memoirs about Granny Elena, beloved daughter of famous Mikhail Bakhtin, Russian philosopher and literary critic. Ate half a tin of Whiskers before going to desk. Opened journal at last entry and stared at it, waiting for inspiration. None came. Tried writing 'don't know what to write,' several times. Nothing happened.




Scampered through to kitchen to find remains of double cream, gift from Maya and Véronique when they visited recently. Finished it off while staring at journal. Then sniffed catnip plant which Notsaussure in unusually optimistic mood bought last week. Idea was that this would improve my mood. Sniffed for several minutes before returning to desk.



Read through notes on Granny's wonderful Sunday afternoon sessions with Bakhtin, teasing out his ideas on heteroglossia. Must have overdone catnip sniffing, which rather than acting as stimulant, made me drowsy. Nodded off on armchair.





Awoke to strange noise from the street. Staggered over to window. Amazed at what greeted me. Cars pulling to side of street, policemen in yellow gilets; shields and teargas cannisters at the ready.



And what for? Procession marching down street, led by Henri and Oscar clasping large banner saying 'Save our cat. Bakhtin is innocent.' Behind him were Cindy, Maya and Véronique and other students from our class, plus hangerson in the form of chimps, gorillas and even an orangutan.

Later learned of break-in at Edinburgh Zoo and of subsequent escape of all members of the ape family plus one parrot.



As I watched, more and more animals flocked to join procession: gulls, stray dogs and cats, rodents. Just like scene from Dr. Doolittle. Humans on both sides of street watching, gobsmacked.



Parrot now flying around squawking obscenities. Policemen getting rattled and preparing to use tear gas, when Henri, dropping banner, rushed up to them, opened a copy of his recipe book and showed them pictures. Perfect deflection from irritation with anti-social parrot. Once they looked mollified, Henri returned to head of procession and raised his side of banner.





Banner now fluttering like mad with Henri, never slow to miss opportunity for blatant self-promotion, started handing out his cookery book, Guineapigging Out, despite Oscar's apparent disapproval. Suddenly, procession stopped and followers turned to stare up at window of flat. Noticed arrival of white mouse, Neville, now perched on Oscar's shoulder and waving to me.

Pulled back in horror. Saussure and Notsaussure appeared by my side. As usual the twins had opposing views. Saussure convinced this would help sway public opinion, Notsaussure reminding him any jurors participating in or even observing demonstration wouldn't be eligible for jury service.




Experienced wonderful moment then. Long term readers will remember that Notsaussure has phobia about being photographed. Today he informed me he admired my fortitude so much he'd decided he was fed up being such a wimp about having his photo taken and asked me to photograph him and use photo in this letter before he changed his mind. So I did. Saussure is on the left, Notsaussure, the right. At risk of appearing disloyal, wish to point out that neither is as sweet as they look, though both display both loyalty and resourcefulness in times of crisis ( in Notsaussure's case, only in extreme crisis as he is not big on positivity).

Was musing on this when phone went. 'Justice Chatterton here,' a deep voice informed me.
'It's my barrister,' I muttered to my flatmates.
'Just to let you know I've had to extend my golfing holiday as unexpectedly I've reached the semi-final of the lawyers' championship. I won't be returning for another week at least.'
'Oh,' I said, stumped for what else to say.
'We could meet, however,' he continued. 'If you're prepared to brief me on the golf course.'
'Won't that affect your performance?' I asked, the social skills instilled in me by Granny Elena and Auntie Misha, so deeply ingrained that they kicked into action, even at times like this.
'Nonsense,' he said. 'Welcome distraction. You know what these lawyers' events are like. Come next Tuesday. Meet me on the fifth hole at 10 o'clock, by the large bunker. Bound to be stuck there.'



'Well,' I said, as I hung up.
Saussure and Notsaussure were staring wide-eyed at me. Before they could say anything, Neville appeared and jumped into my arms. 'I'll have to come, too, you know,' he told me. 'Can't have you mucking up your first meeting with the man who has control over your future.'
Hearing those words once again brought home enormity of situation. As for Neville being there to advise me, along with Henri, he'd be at bottom of long list of more suitable supporters.



Purrs Bakhtin

Preparation for court trial

Must apologise for absence of letters recently. This is entirely due to exhaustion and lack of creative energy while working with lawyers preparing defence for trial. Auntie Mischa's lawyer - Kaminski - after conferring with colleagues - decided important to have human lawyer, as jury will be human, and as so-called libel committed against human, not animal. Agreed reluctantly. Was reading Auntie Mischa's email when doorbell rang and I found Véronique and Maya, who presented me with large carton of organic double cream. Most moved by their thoughtfulness. Invited them in and offered them some dog biscuits kept for such occasions.



Told them I had to trawl through lists of advocates to select one. Asked them to help. Advocates, apparently, are divided into groups, known as Stables. Cindy immediately went into attack of yelping, which is what she does when amused, and we made jokes about finding a horse to represent me. Eventually calmed down. Although situation serious, found it therapeutic to have such a good laugh. Finally selected chubby but affable looking man and phoned his clerk to see if he would be available to take on my case. Felt better when I'd done that, though may have to wait several days as man in question is on golfing holiday in St Andrews.





Turned out Cindy and Véronique had brought copy of defence prepared by Véronique. Explained it was advocate's job to do this, to which they replied they understood that, but useful to have list of points to support my position. And, of course, to pass on to advocate. Cindy even offered to take the bus to St Andrews, with a view to confronting advocate on golf course with urgency of situation. Explained this wouldn't be necessary, but thanked them profusely as could see they were so keen to help.





By now felt ready for some cream, so emptied half the container into my bowl and shoved it through to sitting room. Véronique and Cindy reading through Véronique's list, nodding intermittently. When asked to see list, Véronique produced a toy wig and shoved it on her head, perched herself on sofa and began reading:

Points to be raised in defence of Alexis Zilya Bakhtin
1. Russian by origin and therefore can't be expected to be familiar with libel laws in UK
2. Never mentioned the so-called victim of libel by name
3. Only wrote what others were thinking: 8 other students thought emphasis on Derrida's contribution to creative writing overdone, at expense of studying other literary theorists who could teach writing students, for example, Mikhail Bakhtin

At that point Véronique hopped off sofa and explained that although I might be embarrassed having my grandfather mentioned in court, the class were generally of the opinion that he had more to teach us about the writing craft than any of the other theorists we'd covered. Including Foucault, Cindy added proudly.





Véronique nodded in agreement and jumped onto sofa again. Before she could begin again, however, phone went. My heart raced. Normally friends contact me on my mobile. And flatmates never give out our landline number. I knew it must be for me, and something serious. Picked up the phone: 'Is that Alexis Zilya Bakhtin?' a male human voice asked. I squeaked out that it was. 'I am Maximilian Chatterton,' the voice said. 'I'm an advocate.... Shit - hang on a moment- just hit my ball into the bunker.... Bollocks....'



'It's the lawyer,' I told my friends.
They looked at each other. 'We'll be off then', Véronique said. 'Come on, Cinders.'

They left the flat and I perched myself on the sofa, clutching the phone. I now wished I hadn't eaten so much cream. I felt sick and my tail wouldn't stop twitching.

Purrs Bakhtin