Rachel Wells - A Friend Called Alfie

I was so pleased to see Claire when she came home that I ran straight into her legs and gave them a welcoming rub. I was also happy to see that she had Sylvie with her.

Pickles had been very busy, exploring the house; he had tried to get into every cupboard, thankfully he didn’t succeed. Finally he found some food that the kids had dropped under the kitchen table, which he ate despite me telling him not to before he ran into a door. He was clearly in the learning stage of life, and only at the very beginning. After he’d eaten, he then ran up and down the kitchen for no apparent reason before jumping into the dog bed that Claire had put in the corner for him.

‘Are you alright?’ I had asked. He was breathing quite heavily and making a snorting, or snuffling noise.

‘I have had so much fun with you this morning, Alfie, but I’m tired now so I might just close my eyes.’ As he had drifted off to sleep, I thought about joining him, I was so exhausted.

‘Oh my goodness he’s so cute,’ Sylvie said, picking him out of his bed and giving him a cuddle. I kind of understood how George felt, as I became invisible.

‘Isn’t he? The kids love him, and Polly is besotted. I think she wanted a third child, but Matt put his foot down, so Pickles has taken that place.’

‘Makes sense. I’ve always been more of a cat person myself, but he is adorable. Look at that little face.’ As Pickles wiggled into Sylvie’s arms, Claire gave me a head scratch.

‘Where’s George?’ she asked me.

‘Meow,’ I replied.

‘He’s at ours,’ Sylvie replied, ‘he came in just before I bumped into you.’

‘Right, shall I put the kettle on?’ Claire said.

‘Please, I’d love a coffee, but then I’m not sure I can bear to pull myself away from Pickles to drink it.’

‘Honestly, everyone adores him. But then we have to make sure Alfie and George don’t feel left out,’ Claire said. Ah, so someone had noticed us after all. I purred with pleasure.

‘Claire, you treat those cats as if they’re your children sometimes.’

‘They are.’ Claire shrugged and I purred in agreement.

‘So how are things with Marcus?’ Claire asked, and I settled down to listen to the latest news.

‘Good, we’re taking it slowly, what with all we’ve both been through, but it’s nice having him live so near, and he’s such a good man. Also, he grounds me, stops me from my you know, my darker thoughts, I guess.’

‘I heard a whisper that Harold thinks you are wonderful,’ Claire said with a laugh.

‘From Harold, that is a huge compliment,’ Sylvie laughed. Harold could be very grumpy but a bit like a chocolate, despite the hard exterior he had a soft centre.

‘And speaking of Harold, I have to go and see him in a bit, shall I take you, Pickles?’ Claire asked.

‘Woof,’ Pickles replied, and I knew that although he had no idea who Harold was, he very much wanted to go and I would be able to have a luxurious rest on my own.

After a frankly exhausting time with Pickles the pug, I went out to see if any of my friends were about. I hoped to bump into George who seemed to be giving the house a wide berth. I needed to talk to him because Pickles needed us, both of us, and I needed George to see that. I also could have used the help, having been run ragged by the puppy. And it was only day one.

I understood George had mixed feelings. Not only had I always told him to avoid dogs, but he was now supposed to accept someone into his life, his family, that he was unsure of.

I padded over to the area where we cats often hang out, sort of our recreation ground on Edgar Road. Nellie was there, lying near a bush, and Elvis was nearby playing with some leaves. I joined them.

‘Hey, Alfie,’ they both greeted me.

‘Have you seen George?’ I asked.

‘He came by earlier and said that he was going to see Harold.’

‘Right, and did he tell you about the puppy?’ I asked.

‘Yes, and I got the impression he’s not too impressed,’ Nellie said. ‘He said that dogs are dumb and he shouldn’t have to be nice to it.’

‘Pickles, not it,’ I said. ‘Goodness, this might be worse than I thought. I was afraid that this might happen, but Pickles is just a baby, and it looks like he’s a full member of the family now. They’re not going to give him back after all. And I wouldn’t want that to happen to any pet.’

‘A dog, in a cat’s world,’ Elvis mused.

‘What am I going to do? I’ve always been against dogs, but now I am babysitting one! Anyway, I like him, and I need to find a way to get George to do the same.’

‘Your life is always getting complicated, isn’t it?’ Nellie pointed out. She was right, it was. And now there was Pickles.

‘The lad is still hurting about Tiger, and now there’s yet another change in his life.’ Elvis could be a very wise cat when the mood took him.

‘I know, so I can’t be too demanding, but I think I need to get him to at least tolerate Pickles sooner rather than later. He’s going to be at our house a lot, and I don’t want George to go out every time he comes.’ I felt a shudder run through my fur at the thought of me having to babysit the dog alone. I didn’t want Pickles to come between us. ‘And when he’s a bit older we can probably go out and leave him. Or maybe Claire will take him with her more, dogs tend to go out with humans a lot, so it’s just in the short term. Hopefully.’ The idea that I could sell this to George cheered me.

‘Exactly, Alfie, this dog is now part of the family, so maybe you should just get George to think of him as his little brother and teach him what he knows,’ Nellie said.

‘What?’ I was confused.

‘Well, if they brought another kitten in he might be a bit jealous at first, but then you’d say he was a big brother and he had to teach the kitten to cat, so why don’t you give him that role with Pickles?’

‘You know, Nellie, you might have something there. I’ll tell him he’s a big brother now with responsibility, and if he teaches Pickles all he knows—’ I paused and tried not to think of all the scrapes George got himself in ‘—then he might accept him more readily. You guys are amazing, thank you. And where’s Rocky?’

‘Oh he was tired, so he went off for a nap. That cat likes its sleep.’

‘What cat doesn’t?’ I replied.

George appeared shortly afterwards, saving me from having to go and find him.

‘How was Harold?’ I asked. Harold and George shared a love of digestive biscuits, among other things. Harold dunked them in strong tea, until they were soggy and then fed them to George.

‘He was fine, good actually. It’s nice and quiet at his house. Not like ours,’ George replied in that stroppy way of his when he was sulking. ‘Although Claire took Pickles to see him earlier and even he said the dog was sweet.’ He stomped his paw.

‘George, I know you’re not happy about Pickles, but I need you to help me,’ I started, carefully.

‘Help you do what?’ George asked, sounding surly.

‘George, when you came to live with me, I was your dad straight away, and you were so tiny, there was so much for me to teach you.’

‘So?’ Gosh this boy could act like a teenager at times.

‘Well, you had me, and our cat friends, and Tiger mum to help you learn as you grew, so that made you very lucky.’

‘S’pose.’

‘Right, but Pickles, well he doesn’t have anyone to guide him, apart from us. And I know it’s different because he’s a dog but he doesn’t have any other dog friends. He probably misses his mum very much, he’s just a baby.’