Читать книгу Alfie the Doorstep Cat - Rachel Wells - Страница 19

It had been a week since I’d been living with Claire and we had settled into quite a comfortable routine, although not an entirely healthy one. She cried a lot and I snuggled a lot, which suited me just fine. I loved to cuddle, and I had a lot of lost time to make up for. I just wished I could do something to stop Claire from crying so much. It was clear that she needed my help and I vowed I would give it in any way I could.

Claire had tried to phone the number on my disc again, then she’d phoned the telephone company and discovered it had been disconnected. She assumed I’d been abandoned, and that seemed to make her like me even more. She cried over it and said that she couldn’t understand how anyone could do that to me. She also said that she totally understood, as it had happened to her, although I was yet to discover the details. But I knew that I had a home with her. She started buying me cat food and special milk. She got me a litter tray, not that I really liked using them, and she was talking, luckily only talking, about taking me to the vet. Vets tended to poke around where they were not wanted, but she hadn’t called them so far, so paws crossed she’d forget about that.

Despite the almost constant crying, Claire was very efficient. She managed to get all her furniture arranged and her boxes unpacked in only a couple of days. She organised the house and it quickly looked like a home. Pictures were hung on the walls, cushions scattered literally everywhere, and suddenly warmth flooded into every room; I had chosen well.

However, as I said, it wasn’t a happy home. Claire had been unpacking and I had watched her, trying my best to work out her story. She arranged lots of photographs in the front room, telling me who was in them; her mum and dad, pictures of herself as a child, her younger brother, friends and extended family. For a while she was animated and happy, and I rewarded her positivity by brushing up against her legs the way she told me she liked. I did this a lot for her; after all, I needed her to love me so I wouldn’t have to go back to the streets again. I needed to love her, too, although I was finding this increasingly easy to do.

One evening, she unpacked a photo which she didn’t tell me about. It was a picture of her in a white dress, holding hands with a man who looked very smart. I’d learnt enough about humans to know that this was what they called a ‘wedding photo’, when two people joined together and said they would only mate with each other – something this cat certainly didn’t understand. She sank into the sofa, clutching the photo against her chest, and started sobbing loudly. I sat next to her, giving her my equivalent of a cry, which was a loud yowl, but she didn’t seem to take any notice of me. But then I started yowling in earnest; like Claire, I couldn’t stop, as my loss flooded my memory. Although I didn’t know if the man in the suit had left her, or died the way my Margaret had, I knew then that she really was on her own. Just as I had been. We sat side by side, her crying, me yowling, at the top of our voices.

After a couple more days, Claire left early in the morning, saying that she had to go to work. She looked a bit better, as she put on a smart outfit and brushed her hair. She even had some colour to her face, although I wasn’t sure it was exactly natural. I was also beginning to look better, even in a few short days. My fur was beginning to even out a bit and I was putting on weight again, now that I was eating so much and exercising so little. As we stood side by side, looking in Claire’s big mirror, I thought we made a very cute couple. Or we had the potential to be, at the very least.

But although Claire left food for me, I missed her company when she was at work and felt sad to be alone again. I had Tiger of course and we spent time together, our friendship growing as we chased flies, went for short strolls and basked in the sun in her back garden, but that was my cat friendship; I knew that more than anything now I needed humans I could rely on.

When Claire was out at work, it brought back unwelcome memories and made me think that it was time to carry on with my plan. If I was going to ensure that I was never on my own again, I would need more than one home. That was the sad fact of life.

I’d seen a ‘Sold’ sign go up outside number 46, at about the same time that one had been erected outside Claire’s house and I’d been scoping both, but of course Claire had arrived first. However, I’d noticed that 46 was now also occupied. This house was just far enough apart from Claire’s to give me a short walk. It was on the part of the road that had the larger houses – the ‘posh’ bit, as I had been told by the cats that lived here and who seemed very proud and a little bit boastful of the fact. It looked like it would be a good place to live too, for at least part of the time.

Edgar Road was an unusual road; because of the different types of houses, there was a real difference in the types of people who lived there. The house I had lived in with Margaret, the only house I had ever known, was a small house on a very tiny street – completely different to some of the huge houses that lined the far end of the road.

Claire’s house was medium sized, and this house – number 46 – was among the best. It was bigger than Claire’s house; taller and wider, and the windows were large and imposing. I could imagine myself sitting on a windowsill looking out of one of them quite happily. As it was a big house, I assumed that a family would be living there and I quite liked the idea of being a family cat too. Now, don’t get me wrong, I liked Claire very much and had grown extremely fond of her. I had no intention of abandoning her, but I needed to have more than one home – just to make sure I didn’t end up alone again.

It was dawn when I turned my attention to number 46. A very slick car with only two seats was parked outside, which worried me, as that didn’t seem to be appropriate for a family. But still, I had already made my decision, so I wanted to investigate further. I made my way round to the back of the house where I found, to my delight, that there was a cat flap waiting for me.

I found myself in a very smart room with a washing machine, dryer and huge fridge freezer. It loomed over me, like a giant, making a loud humming noise that hurt my ears. I pushed through an open door and walked into an enormous kitchen, which was dominated by a large dining table. I felt as if I’d struck gold; a table that big would definitely need lots of children around it, and everyone knew that children loved cats. I’d be spoilt. I felt my excitement grow; I really wanted to be spoilt.

Just as I was dreaming of all the food, games and cuddles I’d get, a woman and a man entered the room.

‘I didn’t know you had a cat,’ she said, screeching slightly. The pitch of her voice was quite high, a bit like a mouse. I was disappointed to see that she didn’t look at all motherly; she wore a very tight dress with shoes that were almost higher than me. I wondered how on earth she managed to breathe or walk. She also looked like she hadn’t seen any grooming in a while. Now, I’m not a judgemental cat as a general rule, but I pride myself on always taking care of my appearance. I started to clean my paws and lick down my fur in the hope that she’d take the hint.

Her voice was like the woman in one of the soap operas I used to watch with Margaret. EastEnders, I think it was called.

I blinked at the man to say ‘hello’ but he didn’t blink back.

‘I don’t,’ he replied in a cold voice. I looked at him. He was tall with dark hair and quite a handsome face, but he didn’t look very friendly and as he looked me over, he began to seem a bit cross.

‘I moved in a couple of days ago and only just noticed that there’s a bloody cat flap which I’ll have to block up before all the scraggy neighbourhood cats take up residence here.’ He glared at me, as if to convey that he was talking about me. I shrank into myself defensively.

I couldn’t believe my ears. This man was horrible and it was a huge disappointment that there were no children around. There were no toys in the kitchen anyway, and these two didn’t seem to be capable of looking after a cat or a child. It looked as if I had got it very wrong. So much for a cat’s intuition.

‘Oh, Jonathan,’ the lady said. ‘Don’t be so mean. He’s a cute little thing. And he might be hungry.’ I instantly regretted my unkind thoughts; this lady might look like a mess but she was kind. My hope began to rise.

‘I know very little about cats and I don’t care to know more,’ he replied, sounding haughty. ‘But I do know that if you give them food they’ll come back, so let’s not go there. Anyway, I have work to do. I’ll show you out.’

The woman looked as upset as I felt, as Jonathan led her to the door. I curled myself up, trying to look my youngest and cutest for his return. But instead of melting, as I expected, he picked me up and threw – literally, threw – me out of the front door. I landed on my feet, so luckily I was unhurt.

‘New house, new start, not a new bloody cat,’ he said, as he slammed the door in my face.

I shook myself off, mortally offended. How dare that man treat me like that? I also felt sorry for the woman he threw out. I hoped he hadn’t manhandled her in the same way.

I suppose that should have been the end of my attempt to make a home out of number 46, but then, I’m not a cat to give up easily. I couldn’t believe that the man, Jonathan, was as horrible as he seemed. Using my cat senses, I got the feeling that he was more miserable than mean. After all, when the lady left, he was clearly alone, and I knew all about how hideous that could be.

I rushed back to Claire’s to see her before she went to work. I could tell she’d been crying, because she was putting lots of stuff on her face to hide it. When she’d finished making herself look nice (which took her much longer than it took me), she fed and petted me, before grabbing her bag and leaving the house again. I walked her to the door, rubbing myself against her legs, purring and trying to convey that I was there for her.

And wishing that there was more I could do to make her feel better.

‘Alfie, what would I do without you?’ she rewarded me by saying, before she left. I preened myself. After being horribly rejected by Jonathan, it was nice to be appreciated. I was falling in love with this sad young lady that I somehow knew I needed to help. People accuse us cats of being self-centred and egotistical but that is often far from the case. I was a cat who wanted to aid those in need. I was a kind, loving type of cat with a very special new mission to help people.

I should have left Jonathan and number 46 alone, but something drew me back. My Margaret used to say that angry people were really just unhappy people, and she was the wisest person I’d ever met. When I first moved in with her, Agnes was very angry and Margaret said that it was because she was worried I would take her place. Agnes confirmed this, when she thawed towards me. I learnt then that anger and unhappiness were fine basket mates.

So I returned to number 46. The car was absent from the front so the coast was clear. Feeling brave, I went through the cat flap and took a look around. I’d been right, the house was big and looked as if it should contain a family but, on closer inspection, it was a manly space. There were no soft touches, no floral patterns, no pink. It was all gleaming surfaces, glass and chrome. His sofa was the sort that I’d seen in some of the smart looking furniture shop windows I’d passed on my travels; metal and cream, which would never suit children – or cats, for that matter. I walked across the sofa, back and forth a few times, feeling satisfied. My paws were clean though, so I wasn’t being that naughty – I just wanted to test it out. I made my way upstairs, where I found four bedrooms; two had beds, one was an office, and the last was full of boxes. This house had no personal touches. No happy photos, nothing to suggest that anyone lived there apart from the furniture. It seemed as cold as the big, scary fridge freezer.

I decided that this Jonathan man would be something of a challenge. After fending for myself for so long, I knew what I was capable of. This man clearly didn’t like me, or any cat for that matter, but that wasn’t a new experience for me. As I thought of Agnes again, her near-black face popped into my head and made me smile. I missed her so much, it was like there was a part of me missing.

Agnes was the opposite to me in every way; a very gentle old cat. She would spend most of her time sitting in the window on a special cushion watching the world go by.

When I arrived, a playful bundle of fluff, she immediately took umbrage.

‘If you think you’re staying in my house, you can think again,’ she hissed at me when we first met. She tried to attack me a couple of times but I was too fast for her, and Margaret would chastise her before making even more of a fuss of me, giving me treats and buying me toys. After a while, Agnes decided that she would reluctantly accept me as long as I didn’t bother her, and slowly, I charmed her and won her round. By the time the vet said that she had to go to cat heaven, we were family and we loved each other. I felt a physical pain as I remembered how Agnes would groom me, just as my mother had done when I was born.

If I could get around the intimidating Agnes, then surely Jonathan would be cat’s play?

After stalking round his house wondering what he would do with all that space, I decided that I would go out and get him a gift. Despite the fact that hunting wasn’t my favourite pastime, I wanted to make friends with him and this was the only way I knew how.

My cat comrades from my time on the streets had given me mixed messages. Some of them took their gifts in constantly, despite the fact that at times, it made their owners angry. Others, like me, were smarter about when it was appropriate. It was, after all, our way of showing we cared. And I presumed that Jonathan was a man who liked to hunt, he seemed quite like an Alpha Tom, so I was pretty sure he would appreciate a gift. It would show him that we had something in common.

I called for Tiger and asked if she wanted to join me.

‘I was sleeping. Why can’t you be a normal cat and hunt at night?’ she sighed, although she reluctantly agreed to come with me.

She was right, cats normally hunted at night, but in my time on the streets I had learnt that it was also possible to find prey during the day which was my preference. I started prowling, and it didn’t take long for me to locate a juicy mouse. I crouched down low ready to pounce and then I quickly went in for the kill. The mouse ran one way then the other so I had difficulty trapping it with my paw. I flicked this way and that as it continued to elude me.

‘You are such a terrible hunter,’ Tiger laughed as she stood back watching.

‘You could help me,’ I hissed but she laughed again. Finally, just before I ran out of patience the mouse ran out of energy. I pounced again and at last I had it in my paws.

‘Do you want to come with me to take it to Jonathan’s?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I want to see your second home,’ Tiger replied.

I decided that as I wanted Jonathan to like me, I wouldn’t decapitate the mouse, and so I carefully carried it in my mouth through the cat flap. I deposited it by the front door, so there was no way that he could miss it. I briefly wished that I could write, because if I could, I’d leave a note saying, ‘Welcome to your new home,’ but instead I could only hope he would get my lovely message.