Читать книгу Alfie the Doorstep Cat - Rachel Wells - Страница 23

I arrived again at number 46 when it was barely light. Claire had told me that she had an early start at work and although she took the time to leave me some food, she rushed out of the door without giving me any affection. I tried not to be offended; humans were like that, they had a lot more stuff going on than we cats did. But still, it reinforced my view that I needed more people to look after me.

I let myself in through the cat flap. The house was so quiet, almost eerie. It was also in darkness all the curtains were drawn and the blinds down. Being largely nocturnal animals, we cats are very good at seeing in the dark and using our other senses to negotiate our way around. I was quite an expert at dodging both indoor dangers, like furniture, and outdoor ones, like trees and other animals.

I wondered for a moment what it would be like, being Jonathan. Having this big space, but being in it alone. That made no sense to me. In my cat basket in my old house, I would curl into the side, making myself as cosy as possible. If I’d had a basket that was any bigger, it wouldn’t have felt like home. Actually, my favourite times were after Agnes thawed towards me and we shared a basket. The warmth and the comfort that I got from her was wonderful. I missed it every day of my life. I wondered if Jonathan felt the same, and whether that was why the woman had been in his house yesterday. Did they snuggle like Agnes and I did? I thought they probably did. Although, if he wasn’t nicer to her, I doubted she would come back.

I sat in the hallway at the bottom of the staircase. One of the many things wrong with Jonathan’s house was his lack of carpet. Every floor was wooden, which could be quite a lot of fun for a cat – I had already discovered the joy of sliding along the floor on my bottom – but it was cold, and I loved a carpet to scratch at. And instead of curtains to play with, he had these rigid things which weren’t any fun. I realised, yet again, that this wasn’t really a house meant for a cat, but I still couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

After what seemed like ages, a dishevelled Jonathan appeared on the stairs, still wearing his pyjamas. He looked tired and scruffy; a bit like I did before a good groom. He stopped and stared straight at me, but he didn’t exactly look pleased to see me.

‘Please tell me you didn’t leave the dead mouse on my mat?’ he said crossly.

I gave him my best purr, as if to say, ‘You’re welcome.’

‘You bloody cat. I thought I told you that you weren’t wanted here.’ He looked and sounded angry as he pushed past me into the kitchen. He took a mug out of the cupboard and started pressing buttons on a machine. I watched as coffee poured into the cup. He went to the fridge, which looked like a spaceship, and pulled out some milk. As he poured some into his mug I licked my lips hopefully. He ignored me, so I let out my loudest miaow.

‘If you think I’m giving you milk, you’ve got another think coming,’ he snapped.

Honestly, he really was playing hard to get. I miaowed again to convey my disapproval.

‘I don’t need a pet,’ he continued, as he sipped his drink. ‘I need peace and quiet, to try to get my life here sorted out.’ I pricked my ears to show I was interested. ‘I don’t need dead mice on my doorstep, thank you very much, and I don’t need anyone disrupting my peace.’

I purred again, this time in an effort to win him round a bit.

‘It’s bad enough being in this bloody cold country again.’ He looked at me as if he was speaking to a human. If I could have, I would have told him that it wasn’t that cold, after all, it was summer. He continued. ‘I miss Singapore. I miss the heat and I miss the lifestyle. I made one mistake and that was that. Back here. No job, no girlfriend.’ He paused to take another sip of his drink. My eyes narrowed as he began to open up. ‘Oh yes, she left me soon enough when I lost my job. Three years of paying for everything for her and she couldn’t even console me for one day before she buggered off. And yes, I was lucky that I had enough money to buy this house, but let’s face it, it’s hardly bloody Chelsea, is it?’ I didn’t exactly know what ‘Chelsea’ was, but I tried to look as if I agreed with him.

I felt happy as I flicked my tail up in triumph. I was right; he was sad and lonely and not just a grumpy man, although he was undoubtedly grumpy. But I saw an opportunity; a small one, but one all the same. Jonathan needed a friend, and this cat made an excellent friend.

‘And why am I talking to a bloody cat? It’s not as if you even understand.’ How little he knew, I thought, as he drank the rest of his coffee. To show that I did indeed understand, I rubbed up against his legs, giving him the affection that I knew he craved. He looked surprised but he didn’t immediately pull away. I decided to push my luck, so I jumped up onto his lap. He looked surprised. However, just as he looked like he would soften, he bristled.

‘Right, I am going to phone your owner and tell them that you need collecting,’ he said, angrily. He gently took hold of my disc and then he did what Claire had done and dialled the number. When the number didn’t work, he tutted and looked annoyed.

‘Where the hell do you live?’ I tilted my head at him. ‘Look, you need to go home. I can’t stand around all day dealing with you. I’ve got a job to find and a cat flap to get removed.’ He looked at me with mean eyes before walking away.

I felt happier, though. Firstly, he had started talking to me, which was a very good sign, and secondly, he hadn’t thrown me out. He had walked away knowing I was still in his house. Maybe he was growing to like me. I really thought this man might have a bark worse than his bite.

I tentatively followed him upstairs, but kept out of the way as I looked around. I wanted to learn more about him, so I thought observing him would be a good idea.

He was a tall man, and not fat at all. I prided myself on my appearance and, by the looks of it, Jonathan did, too. We definitely had something in common there. He took a very long shower in a room which was attached to his bedroom, and when he came out, he opened a long built-in wardrobe and picked out a suit. When dressed, he looked smart, like one of those men in the old black and white films my Margaret used to love. She said they were ‘suave and handsome, just as men should be’, and I have to say, I think she would have approved of Jonathan’s looks.

Quietly I made my way downstairs, careful that he hadn’t seen me watching him, and I waited again, at the bottom of the stairs.

‘You still here, Alfie?’ he said, but he didn’t sound quite as hostile as before.

I miaowed in reply. He shook his head but I felt warm inside; he had used my name!

He went to the cupboard under the stairs, where there was a row of black shiny shoes, and picked out a pair. He sat on the stairs to put them on. Then he pulled a jacket off the coat rack and took his keys from the console table in the hall.

‘Right, Alfie, I guess you can show yourself out this time, and please don’t let me find you here when I get back. Or any more dead things.’ As he shut the door behind me, I stretched my legs in pleasure. I knew now that I could help Jonathan. He was sad, angry and lonely and, like Claire, he really needed me. He just might not have realised it yet.

He was softening, and so quickly. I thought about what I could do to win him over, and I realised that despite what he said, he needed another present. But not a mouse this time, something a bit prettier. A bird! That was it, I would bring him a bird. After all, nothing says ‘let’s be friends’ like a dead bird.

Later that afternoon, I deposited the bird on the doormat as I had done with the mouse. Surely now Jonathan would understand that I wanted to be his friend. I felt quite happy, so I decided to take a walk to the end of the street, basking in the sunshine. It wasn’t exactly hot, but it was a nice day and if you found the right spot, you could sunbathe. I found a lovely sunny area in front of one of the uglier modern houses that had been split into two flats. The front doors sat side by side; 22A and 22B, and they looked identical.

They both had ‘Letting Agreed’ signs standing outside, with a logo I had seen many times in this street. I enjoyed sitting in the sun for a while. There was no sign of anyone at either house yet, but I made a note to myself to come back – I knew that people would be coming soon. And after all, life was still a bit precarious. Claire loved me but wasn’t at home during the day, and she was going away at the weekend. Jonathan, well, that could still go either way, despite my determination. I needed more options.

I had discovered that I could rely on myself, but that didn’t suit a cat like me. I didn’t want to be feral, and fighting. I wanted to be on someone’s lap, or a warm blanket, being fed out of tins and given milk and affection. That was the kind of cat I was; I couldn’t change that, and I really didn’t want to.

The cold, lonely nights of the past few months were still fresh in my mind: the fear that had lived with me every minute; the hunger; the exhaustion. It wasn’t something I would ever be able to face again, and it wasn’t something I would ever forget. I needed a family, I needed love and I needed security. It was all I wanted, yearned for, and I would never ask for anything more than that.

As the sun began to disappear, I strolled back. I thought about how funny life could be. I was so lonely when Agnes died, it made me ill. I pined for her terribly and my owner took me to the dreaded vet. I had stopped eating and relieving myself, and Kathy, the vet, said that I’d given myself a bladder infection. She said it was due to grief, as she prodded and poked around. Margaret had seemed surprised; she hadn’t thought that cats felt emotions like humans. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but it was pretty bad. I was mourning Agnes, and it had made me ill. And Claire was mourning Steve, the man in the suit, and Jonathan was mourning something called ‘Singapore’. I saw the grief in them as I had felt it myself. So I decided I would be there for them, as any decent cat would be.