TT 7 - A Black Cat that Doesn't Exist

Michael arrives at the Vicarage at seven prompt, a £7.99 bottle of red in his hand. Douglas answers the door. He is chewing and seems surprised. "Hullo", he says, a slight question in the greeting. Then he spots the wine and his expression changes. "Ah, yes, yes, of course...", he opens the door wider and steps back "...come on in."
As Michael enters the hallway he can see into the dining room. The Carduggan family are clearly in the middle of their evening meal.
"Come in, come in." Douglas ushers him into the dining room, and pulls out a chair. "Do sit down."
"Oh, hello Michael, how nice to see to you." Alison says brightly.
Sian smiles briefly. Suzie Carduggan, who is only ten, is less successful at concealing her surprise and simply stares. Douglas whispers something to his wife and she disappears into the kitchen.
"Just fetching another plate." Reverend Carduggan beams at him.
Michael puts the wine on the table. "I brought this. Just some plonk from the Co-op, I'm afraid." Douglas glances at the label. "Ah, that's very kind of you." He puts it on the dresser behind him.

Micheal is utterly confused. He was sure Douglas said Friday at seven. The truth is, the Reverend has been so preoccupied with Cleanth Morgan's oddly crisp rejection of his invitation to dinner he has forgotten to tell Michael. Alison returns from the kitchen with a plate. She has also rustled up some french bread and a bowl of salad to supplement the half portion of lamb stew left in the casserole dish on the table. Suzie whispers something to Sian.
"Don't whisper at the table please." Alison says, then smiles sweetly at Michael.
"So - how is the opus coming along?
"Oh, pretty well, thank you. I hope to submit...hand it in...by the end of the month."
"What happens then?" Alison profers the salad bowl.
"Well, then I have to wait for the viva."
"What's a 'viva'?" Sian asks, hanging her elbow over the back of her chair and running her finger distractedly around the rim of her empty water glass.
"Well, it's like an interview,really. You have two examiners, one from the University and one from outside, and, well, you have to defend your thesis, basically. And if everything goes well, um..." He raises his eyebrows "well...you get your PhD." He tips his head from side to side as though it's not much odds to him either way.
"Oh." Sian begins to swivel the glass between her fingers.
"Ah, so they let you know their decision right away then?" Douglas says, his cheek resting in the palm of his hand.
Michael suspends his forkful of lamb in mid air "Um, yes, that's right, Douglas."
"And then you'll be 'Doctor Glebe'. Alison says, cheerfully.
"Well..." Michael taps the table and suppresses a smile, "touch wood!" He puts the barely warm lump of meat into his mouth and starts to chew. The others, he notices, have already finished.

Alison keeps up a string of polite questions but Suzie slides down in her chair and begins to swing her legs under the table. After a while, Alison says, "Perhaps you ought to go and feed the rabbit before it gets dark, sweetie."
Suzie is about to say something but Alison raises her eyebrows meaningfully. "Oh yes" says Suzie, "the rabbit...I'll just go and feed it."
"Actually...", Sian, who has been sneaking anxious glances at her watch, spots her chance, "I was thinking I ought to take Toffee for a walk before it gets dark."
"Oh, don't worry, Dad can take him later." Alison says, sensing an exodus.
"Oh, it's OK, I'll do it. I could do with some fresh air." Sian says, and suddenly energetic, she calls 'walkies' in the direction of the kitchen before Alison can object, and is up from the table with such speed she even beats their panting, tail-wagging Golden retriever to the front door.

Michael has finally finished. Alison gathers the plates.
"Thank you very much, Alison, that was delicious." Michael smiles up at her.
"Oh, you're most welcome." It suddenly strikes Alison that Michael Glebe really is a very good looking young man.
"Really, delicious." Michael nods his head and narrows his eyes in an expression of satisfied approval and it's almost a wink.
"Well, I'll leave you two gentlemen to the port and cigars'. Alison says, her voice rising by a third, and she leaves the room humming the allegro from Mozart's clarinet concerto. "Ill put some coffee on" She trills back from the kitchen.
Douglas clears his throat. "Cleanth Morgan, my publisher friend, he wasn't able to make it I'm afraid."
"That's a shame."
"Well, some other time. Some other time."
Michael folds his hands in his lap and smiles, "Yes, of course".
"Let's open this chap?" Douglas grabs the bottle of wine from the dresser.

Michael suddenly sits forward and puts both his hands flat on the table. "What's the difference between a philosopher, a metaphysician and a theologian?" he says, as his host rummages through the dresser drawer for a corkscrew.
"Ah-hah - go on, I don't know this one!"
"A philosopher believes he can go into a completely dark room and find a black cat that doesn't exist. A metaphysician goes into a dark room and looks for a black cat even though he knows it doesn't exist. A theologian goes into the dark room, looks for the black cat that doesn't exist, and after a while he calls out...'Ah, I've found it!'"
Douglas pops the cork. "Oh very good, very good." He puts two glass on the table and fills them with red wine. Both men grasp the slender glass stems, sit back in their chairs, and happily blow down two oboes that don't exist.