Cuckoo in the Nest by Nat Luurtsema

Author:Nat Luurtsema
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781444737172
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

On my day off I couldn’t face any more of this and I was staying in bed. After I’d finished learning about words, I then found Kanye West’s new album leaked online. And sweet Jesus, that combination of mainstream rap and mild law-breaking made me feel cool, so I thought I’d have a listen. I’ll admit, it was out of character but I already had my headphones in and I like Kanye – I always say the wrong thing at parties and then everyone hates me, so I warm towards a kindred spirit. I thought the album was pretty good (you can have that quote Kanye, you’re welcome). As a non-music fan, I enjoyed the fact that there was so MUCH else going on: noises, sounds, yelling.

I invariably get bored of songs halfway through and think, ‘yeah yeah, you’ve already said that’. I have been informed that this is ‘a chorus’, but to me it smacks of laziness. During one of Kanye’s songs there was a strange rasping sound, which seemed odd but I was humble enough to acknowledge that I was not an expert. Raspy noises were the new thing in rap, it would appear.

Or not, as ten minutes later I finished listening to the album and stepped out of my bedroom, to find cat vomit everywhere, in frankly mind-boggling amounts. I expected to see one of the cats lying deflated in a corner of the room like a whizzed-out balloon. It at least answered the question, no Kanye West was not pioneering a new raspy noise in rap. Actually, if we’re being honest, the Kanye West quip took about eight minutes to appear in my head. I’m pathologically terrified of vomit and so my first response was silent screaming terror and heart-flutters.

I picked my way through the vomit without looking at it or treading on it (this was tricky, but after seven years in London I’ve perfected the art of orienteering around pavement pizza without actually seeing it). Then I left the house. Where was I going? No idea, just anywhere AWAY from the vomit. It was purely coincidental that I was dressed – I would’ve left in nothing but socks and a watch if I had to. Then I made a difficult phone call:

‘Hello mum. When you get home there’ll be sick everywhere.’

‘I see.’ (Mum does a good Heavy Silence, she’s known for it.)

‘Right, it’s not my sick. It’s YOUR cat’s sick. I’m blameless. But also, I concede, useless. I’m neutral, just pretend I never came home last night.’

‘Can you clean it up?’

‘I can’t approach it without retching and swooning.’

‘Sigh.’

‘I’m sorry. I did try to throw a piece of kitchen towel over it but obviously as I couldn’t look at it, it was a little hard to aim. It might’ve landed on it, but there’s no guarantee. If anything, it’s probably just pointing at it. Sorry.’

I didn’t feel like I’d aced that situation, but Life was playing me on my weakest point there. If the cat had

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