Читать книгу Alfie in the Snow - Rachel Wells - Страница 7

I was lying on the sofa, in my favourite spot, the winter sun shining down on me through the window, when my kitten, George, leapt on me. Argh, he wasn’t such a little kitten any more; I was winded and a bit squashed.

‘George,’ I said, trying to squirm out from under his weight. ‘You have to stop doing that, you’re flattening me.’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ he replied, with his charming grin and his head tilted to one side. As usual, I melted. My boy was just too adorable, even if he was getting too heavy to jump on me. I couldn’t have been prouder of what a fine young tom he was growing into. ‘But I have news.’ He sat next to me and licked his paws. George did like to draw out any announcements. He was a fairly dramatic kitten. Unlike myself, of course.

‘Go on, George, tell me the news,’ I coaxed, thinking it would be about a funny-shaped cloud he had seen this morning, or a similar Georgeism.

‘There’s a big van parked outside so new people are moving in next door.’ He looked very pleased with himself, as well he might. I pricked up my ears. New people! On Edgar Road! Well, was there anything better for a doorstep cat like myself? Only a van full of pilchards could beat that.

My name is Alfie, and I’m a doorstep cat. Which basically means I have different families and homes I visit. I do live in one main house, here with my kitten George, in Edgar Road. Our humans are Claire and Jonathan and their children, Toby and Summer. But there is another family on this road we spend time with, Polly and Matt and their children Henry and Martha, and yet another family, who live a few streets away, Franceska, Tomasz and their children Aleksy and Tommy. Phew, it’s a lot of families and friends to keep track of. I met them when I moved to Edgar Road after an arduous journey, having been homeless after my old owner, Margaret, died, but that does feel like another lifetime. They say cats have nine lives, well I reckon I’ve used a few of those up to get to where I am today, although I still have plenty left.

I do credit myself with bringing all my families together and now they love each other the way I love them all. We even have a holiday home together, Seabreeze Cottage, which is in Devon, and we spend time there when we can. But London is our main home, on Edgar Road, where we spend most of our days. There’s always something going on here. Never a dull moment. Or if there is, it doesn’t last.

Up until now we were experiencing quite a quiet time. Winter was upon us, the nights were drawing in and the air had started biting. I was becoming a bit of a fair-weather cat, preferring not to spend too much time out in the cold and rain. However, my kitten, George, loved being out in all weathers. That’s youth for you. Just don’t seem to feel the cold. But I did take my constitutional every morning and evening, and I would brave the cold to seek out my friends, the neighbourhood cats and my cat girlfriend Tiger. But now it was cold and darker in the evenings, I preferred to stay in the warm as much as was possible.

But not now. This removal van I had to see. It was still exciting to see new people. Once a doorstep cat, always a doorstep cat, after all. So George and I bounded out to see what we could discover.

We made our way next door. I knew the house well – not too long ago my first girlfriend, the one before Tiger, Snowball, lived there. She was my first love and it wasn’t the easiest of starts but after many attempts to woo her she came round to my way of thinking eventually. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not exactly a cat lothario, I’ve only been in love twice, once with Snowball and now with Tiger, who is a mum to George. And George is adopted; he’s not my natural kitten but he, Tiger and I are a family.

Because I’ve learnt through the years that family comes in all shapes and sizes and no one is the same. But as long as you have love then you have family.

‘Look, Dad,’ George said, his eyes as wide as saucers. We stopped on the pavement and looked at the large van. The back door to the van was open and men were unloading boxes. I gestured for George to follow me and we snuck into the back garden where I knew we would find big patio doors to look through. My first thought whenever I saw new people was, were they in the market for a part-time cat? My second was that I sincerely hoped they didn’t have a dog.

We peered through the glass door, making sure not to be too visible in case we upset anyone (or dog). I could see activity. In the kitchen a woman, perhaps a similar age to Claire who, I believe, was in her forties but didn’t like to talk about it, was unpacking. Near her was a younger girl; she was tall and slim, perhaps a teenager? She was attached to a device, a phone. Aleksy had one and didn’t tear his eyes away from it for a minute if he could help it. His mum despaired. Tommy, who was younger than Aleksy, had one too but he was more interested in sports, so he was a whole different kettle of fish. Yum.

Suddenly, my excitement increased as I spotted what looked like a cat bed.

‘Oh George, I think a cat lives here,’ I said. Which of course meant the owners probably wouldn’t want another two cats but this cat could maybe be our new friend, which was even better. You could never have too many friends. We craned our necks a bit further and I spotted a tail. Quite an interestingly patterned tail. As the cat turned to face us, we both gasped. This cat’s fur had white, black and light brown markings, a pretty tail, pointed black and brown ears and exotic features. It was fairly small and sleek and I had never seen a cat quite like it, definitely unusual. I guessed she was female as she looked far too pretty to be a male, and she was a good few years younger than me but perhaps a similar age to George.

‘Wow, she looks lovely,’ George said. I raised my whiskers. I didn’t want him getting a crush on her just yet, not until we knew her character. George had developed quite a thing for a cat when we’d spent our first summer in Devon. Chanel was the meanest cat I’d ever met, but George had been smitten and he’d pined for her all summer. His crush had also led to the near drowning of her, him and Jonathan, but thankfully they’d all survived. I wasn’t sure I was ready to cope with that again, just yet.

‘Perhaps we’ll wait until we meet her, eh George,’ I said. ‘You can’t keep falling in love with just looks you know, personality matters.’

‘Oh don’t worry, Dad, I’m not planning on falling in love with her. After Chanel I’m pretty much off girls for good.’

If only I could believe that.

We watched for a while longer, but there wasn’t much to see. Boxes being unpacked. The girl putting her phone down and petting the cat. They seemed serious and perhaps a bit sad too; being quite an intuitive cat I picked that up. We weren’t spotted and, after a while, George got bored and begged me to take him to the park. I reluctantly tore myself away, I was curious and I wanted to know more. They say curiosity killed the cat but not this one, no, curiosity is my middle name. Although not literally.

George went to play with Summer and Toby upstairs after the children had their tea. It was like having three children in the family. Toby and George had a special bond; Toby was adopted, like George in a way, and they both slept in the same bad every night, and had done since Toby came to live with us when George was tiny. Summer was younger, bossier and a ‘madam’, according to Claire, but she could pretty much do no wrong in my eyes. I loved all the children and part of my job was taking care of them.

I padded into the kitchen to see if there was any sign of dinner. Claire was cooking, and Jonathan had just got home from work. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer. My food bowl was still empty.

‘Oh Jon, can you feed the cats?’ Claire asked. ‘I think Alfie’s after some food.’

‘Meow.’ I was.

‘Sure, I’ll give them some left-over roast chicken,’ he replied as I licked my lips.

‘You really do spoil them,’ Claire said, almost chastising him but not quite. Thank goodness he did, otherwise we had to settle for food that came out of pouches. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t quite the same. For a cat I did have a pretty sophisticated palate and a love of fine dining.

I started eating, knowing George would be down later, but I was hungry. As I lapped my food, I listened to the easy conversation between Claire and Jonathan.

‘I was talking to Frankie and Polly about Christmas earlier,’ she started.

‘Already?’ Jonathan pretended to be not the biggest fan of Christmas, but deep down he loved it, especially with the children. We all loved it, and I pricked my ears as it sounded like news.

‘Jon, it’s less than two months away and you know how quickly it’ll come round. Anyway, we were saying that perhaps this year we can spend the day together, here.’

‘We were saying?’ Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

‘OK, I was. I was thinking about Devon, but then Matt has to work between Christmas and New Year, so they literally only have two days off and Frankie said it would be very nice to have Christmas in London.’

When Tomasz and Franceska had first arrived from Poland they had very little, but they worked hard, especially Tomasz and now he owns four restaurants. Not on his own – he has partners and Franceska works with him now the children are older. They are doing very well and I am incredibly proud of them. They also introduced me to sardines which remain, to this day, my second favourite fish.

‘I haven’t even spoken to work about time off yet, but I’m happy for Christmas in London.’

‘And Frankie said they would do all the side dishes, I’ll do the turkey and Polly will make the pudding.’

‘You mean she’ll buy it,’ Jonathan replied.

‘Well yes, we know Polly’s not much of a cook, but at least it’ll be from Waitrose.’

I licked my lips. Christmas dinner was one of my favourite meals. I even liked some vegetables, which Claire said was very unusual for a cat. I think cats, in my experience, like a far wider variety of food than anyone gives them credit for.

‘And it’ll be nice to be together,’ Claire said wistfully. Her parents went to Spain every year for Christmas now, where her brother lived, and Jonathan wasn’t close to his family, so our friends were our family. It wasn’t a bad family at all.

‘The excitement levels of Summer and Toby will be cranked up this year.’

‘Oh, Summer is already talking about what she wants. Although I ought to warn you, she wants a baby.’

‘A doll?’

‘No, for us to have another baby.’

Jonathan choked on his beer, his face turning a funny colour. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said that we had a lovely family already and, as Santa knew that, he’d probably not be able to send us a baby, and she then said perhaps a talking doll would do instead.’

‘Thank God for that.’ Jonathan started to return to a normal-ish colour. ‘It’s not just beyond Santa’s remit, it’s way beyond mine,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry darling, our family is perfect and I don’t want to change a thing,’ Claire said, going over to kiss him. Warmth flooded me as I let the feeling of happiness wash over me. Then I went to tell George it was time to wash his paws in time for dinner.

A parent’s work was never done.

Later that night, when George was tucked up with Toby and Summer was fast asleep, I set out to see my girlfriend Tiger. She lives just down the road and we usually met up most evenings, weather permitting – she’s even more of a fair-weather cat than I am – to watch the moon and chat about our day. We would also bring up any worries we had about George. We were parents first, which is what had prompted our friendship to develop into something more.

I sat on her back doorstep and meowed, which normally means she comes out. But she didn’t. I pushed the cat flap with my nose then waited but nothing. I couldn’t go in, her humans weren’t too keen on other cats in their house, although they tolerated George but not me. I guessed she had probably fallen asleep. Tiger wasn’t always the most active of cats.

I was about to give up and head home but I couldn’t resist going for one last look at our neighbours. As before, I found myself peering through the back doors, the house was fairly dark. But sitting at the table in the kitchen was the woman, in front of her was a glass of wine, and on her lap was the cat. The cat had her back to me, so no one noticed as I watched. The woman picked the glass up slowly and took a drink, before carefully placing it back on the table, and pushing her hair out of her eyes. I saw her head fall as she stroked the cat, and I saw what I thought were tears glistening in the darkness. Even from outside it was as if I could feel her sadness, her pain. I went home wondering what her story was, their story, and why she was upset. But I knew that somehow and at some point I would get to the bottom of it.

That was the kind of cat I was.