Рейчел Уэллс: Alfie The Doorstep Cat

I rounded the corner and came face to face with a woman. She looked fairly young, although I wasn’t very good at judging age; all I could say was that her face wasn’t full of wrinkles, like Margaret’s. She was quite tall, very thin and had untidy dark-blonde hair and sad blue eyes. My first impression of her was that she gave me a nice feeling, and her sad eyes drew me to her strongly. My cat’s instinct told me that she needed me as much as I needed her. I, like most cats, didn’t judge humans on appearance; we read personality, and normally cats have a special talent for knowing who is good and who is bad. ‘She’ll do nicely,’ I immediately thought feeling pleased.

‘Who are you?’ she said, her voice suddenly soft; the type of voice so many people reserve for pets and babies as if we are stupid. I would have given her a disdainful look, but I needed to be charming. So instead I gave her one of my best grins. She knelt down beside me and I purred, moving slowly towards her, gently brushing her leg. Oh yes, I knew how to flirt when I needed to.

‘You poor thing, you look half starved. And your fur, it’s all patchy, as if you’ve been fighting. Have you been fighting?’ She sounded very tender and I purred in agreement. I had only seen my reflection in water lately but I knew from Tiger that I didn’t look my best. I just hoped that it didn’t put her off as I nestled into her legs again.

‘Oh, you are sweet. What’s your name?’ She looked at the silver disc hanging from my neck. ‘Alfie. Well, hello, Alfie.’ She gently picked me up and stroked my ‘patchy’ fur. It felt heavenly after all this time. I felt as if I was bonding with the lady, learning her smell, transferring mine and reminding me of my past, my kittenhood. I felt myself relax in a way I had only dreamt of recently.

Once again I purred my best purr and snuggled into her. ‘Well, Alfie, I’m Claire and although I’m pretty sure a cat didn’t come with the house, let’s find you something to eat. I’ll call your owner in a bit.’ I grinned again. She could try all she wanted, but the number on the disc wouldn’t work. I triumphantly strode next to her, tail upright, my way of saying a proper ‘hello’ to my new friend, as she went back to the front door, picked up two carrier bags and carried them into the kitchen.

As she unpacked her shopping, I looked properly at my new feeding area. The kitchen was small but modern. It had white shiny units and wooden work surfaces. It was clean and uncluttered. Mind you, I reminded myself, no one lived here properly yet. In my old house, which it still pained me to think of, the kitchen had been very old fashioned and cluttered. It was dominated by a huge sideboard and there were decorative plates everywhere. I accidentally broke one when I was very young. Margaret had been so upset that I didn’t go near them again. However, I doubted that Claire had any decorative plates. She didn’t look the type.

‘Here you go,’ she said triumphantly, laying down a bowl that she had unpacked and poured some milk into. She then opened a packet and laid some smoked salmon on a plate. ‘Oh, what a glorious welcome,’ I thought. Obviously I hadn’t expected her to have cat food, but at the same time I hadn’t imagined getting such a treat. I would have been happy with anything today, even just milk. I decided there and then that I liked Claire. As I ate, she picked a glass out of the same box that had contained the bowl and pulled a bottle of wine out of the carrier bag. She poured a glass, drank it greedily and then poured another. I raised my eyes in surprise. She must have been very thirsty.

I finished eating, and rubbed against Claire’s legs in thanks. She seemed a bit lost but then she looked at me.

‘Oh dear, I need to call your owners,’ she said, as if she’d forgotten. I miaowed to tell her I didn’t have any, but she didn’t seem to understand. She crouched down and looked at my silver disc. She punched the numbers into her phone and waited. Although I knew no one would answer, I still felt nervous. ‘That’s odd,’ she said. ‘The phone line is dead; there must be a fault. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kick you out. Stay here tonight and I’ll try again tomorrow.’

I purred very loudly in thanks, and felt immensely relieved.

‘But, if you’re going to stay for the night, you need a bath,’ she said, picking me up. I pricked up my ears in horror. A bath? I was a cat, I bathed myself. I cried, as if to object. ‘Sorry, Alfie, but you smell terrible,’ she added. ‘Now, I’ll just go and unpack some towels and then we’ll sort you out.’

I resisted the urge to jump out of her arms and run away again. I hated water and I knew what a bath meant, having had one at Margaret’s a long time ago when I came home covered in mud. It was an awful experience, although, I reasoned, not as bad as being homeless, so I decided to once again be a brave cat.

She put me in front of a big mirror in her bedroom while she went to find the towels. I looked and I yelped in surprise. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that I was looking at another animal; I looked even worse than I had initially felt. My fur was patchy, I looked so thin that I could see my bones poking through and despite my best efforts at cleaning myself, Claire was right, I looked dirty. I felt suddenly sad; it seemed that since Margaret’s death I had changed both inside and out.

Claire fetched me and took me to the bathroom where she ran the water and then put me gently in the bath. I screeched and wriggled a bit.

‘Sorry, Alfie, but you need a good wash.’ She looked a bit confused as she held a bottle in one of her hands. ‘It’s natural shampoo so it should be OK. Oh God, I don’t know, I’ve never had a cat before.’ She looked a bit upset. ‘And you’re not my cat. I hope your owner isn’t too worried.’ I saw a tear escape out of her eye. ‘This isn’t what was supposed to happen.’ I wanted to comfort her; she clearly needed it, but I couldn’t because I was still in the bath and I felt like I resembled a giant soap sud.

After the bath, which seemed to go on forever, she wrapped me in a towel and dried me off.

When I finally felt dry again, I followed Claire to the living room, where she slumped onto the newly delivered sofa and I jumped up next to her. It was every bit as comfortable as I had hoped, and she didn’t tell me off or try to push me down. Like polite strangers, I sat on one side, she on the other. She picked up her glass, took a smaller sip, and sighed. I studied her as she looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. There were boxes that needed unpacking, a television that sat in the middle of the room and a small dining table and chairs tucked into a corner. Apart from the sofa, it wasn’t organised and it wasn’t really home yet. As if Claire had read my thoughts, she took another sip of her drink and then she burst into tears.

‘What the hell have I done?’ she said, crying noisily.

Despite the noise, I was upset at how distraught she had suddenly become, but I knew what I had to do. It was as if there was a reason I was here now; I felt a sense of purpose. Perhaps I could help Claire as much as she could help me? I moved across the sofa and nestled into her, laying my little head gently on her lap. She automatically stroked me, and although she was still crying, I was offering her the comfort that I somehow knew she needed and she was doing the same for me. You see, I understood, because at that moment I knew with certainty in my heart that we were kindred spirits.

I had come home again.