Рейчел Уэллс - Alfie The Doorstep Cat

‘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.

I called for Tiger at about lunchtime, as I wanted to show her the flats at number 22. We took a leisurely stroll up there – Tiger wasn’t one for rushing around when she didn’t need to – and we stopped only to tease a big ugly dog, who was shut in his front garden. The game was to go right up to the gate, and poke a paw through, making him lunge forward. Tiger and I would then jump back, which made us very happy. The dog got so angry; he was barking wildly, and flashing his snarling teeth at us. It was most fun. The dog tried to jump up, but everyone knows that cats can jump higher than dogs. I didn’t think we would ever tire of this game but eventually, Tiger wanted to stop.

‘I think we’ve embarrassed him enough,’ she said. I flashed him my best cat grin as we stalked off. If he had been free he wouldn’t have thought twice about chasing us and frightening us half to death. That was the way of the world.

The flats at number 22 were still empty when we got there, but as we went to the small front lawn, Tiger gave me her approval. We decided to take the back way home, so we could jump up and balance on fences, to make a change. We chased the odd bird, too, for added entertainment. It was a lovely afternoon.

I had a short cat nap and was waiting for Claire when she got home, which seemed to please her. She gave me a big, bright smile.

‘Alfie, we have a guest for dinner tonight,’ she said, sounding excited. She went off to shower. When she came back downstairs she was wearing a pair of jeans and a jumper, not pyjamas. She started cooking and although she poured a glass of wine as she did this, for once she wasn’t crying. She fed and petted me, as she pulled things out of the fridge and put them in a pan. She was happier than I had ever seen her as she hummed to herself, and I wondered if the man in the picture was coming round. I felt afraid for her as well as optimistic.

The doorbell went and she rushed to open the door. When she did, I saw a woman who looked around the same age as Claire standing there, holding out some flowers and wine.

‘Hi Tasha, come in,’ Claire smiled.

‘Hi Claire, what a gorgeous house,’ Tasha exclaimed, cheerily, as she entered.

I watched them as Tasha took her coat off and Claire asked her if she wanted a glass of wine, before they sat down at the small dining table.

‘You’re my first proper visitor,’ Claire said. I felt a little bit put out; I was her first proper visitor, surely?

‘Well, cheers to that and welcome to London! It’s good to see you out of the office.’

‘Is it always that crazy at work?’ Claire asked.

‘Yes, or even crazier!’ Tasha laughed and I immediately liked her. I settled myself under the table and brushed against her leg. She rewarded me by stroking my tail in a very lovely way – something I really enjoyed. I wanted Claire and Tasha to be friends, so I could be friends with her too.

I was right, it seemed Tasha’s visit was doing her good as Claire did eat properly and I hoped that perhaps she was turning a corner. When I began to stop pining for Agnes my appetite came back, perhaps hers was too.

‘So, tell me what brought you to London?’ Tasha asked.

‘It’s a long story,’ Claire replied, and she poured them both more wine before she started talking.

I stayed still under the table, huddled in the warmth of Tasha’s leg, and listened as Claire filled in the blanks of her recent life. As she spoke, I could hear her voice change but I knew she wasn’t crying; she went from sad, to angry, and back to sad again.

‘I married Steve, after we’d been together for three years. We lived together for a year and he proposed as soon as we moved in.’

‘When did you get married?’ Tasha asked.

‘Just over a year ago. I hadn’t had much luck in love, to be honest. My mum always said I was a late starter. I didn’t really have a relationship until I went to university! I was studious, I guess. But then I met Steve. I was living in Exeter, in Devon, working for a marketing consultancy, and I met him at a party. He was handsome and lovely. I fell for him straight away.’

‘Right,’ Tasha said, draining her glass and pouring more drinks.

‘I thought he was the perfect man; funny, kind and charming. And when he proposed I thought I’d burst with happiness. I was about to turn thirty-five, I wanted children really badly, and he agreed. We said that we’d get married and enjoy a bit of a honeymoon, then try for a baby.’ Claire wiped a tear from her eye. She was being stronger than I’d ever seen her, but her sadness was all around us.