Sheila Jeffries - Solomon’s Tale

‘You wretched cat. GET OUT!’

What a shock. Could that really be Ellen’s sweet soft voice shrieking like that? At me? Kittens can move even faster than cats, and I shot straight under the piano, despite being mid-yawn.

I stayed under the piano and watched the commotion as Ellen evicted Jessica and cleaned up the mess she had made in bringing a dead bird through the cat flap. This was the first of many such episodes. Jessica was outrageous. She tore up carpets, shredded furniture, and bolted her food, especially if she’d stolen it. And if she was shut outside she would rap imperiously on the window, and glare with square eyes until she was let in. Worst of all, she scratched Ellen’s young son John and made him cry, and the crying started Ellen worrying. Then Ellen’s worrying sent Joe into a temper.

On that first morning I felt clean and optimistic. This was my old home where I’d shared Ellen’s childhood. My desire to see the stairs was overwhelming and I longed for Ellen to open the door into the hall. Persuading humans to open doors is achieved by sitting elegantly close to the door with your chin tilted up. Keep gazing at the handle and eventually they will get the message. It’s telepathy at its most basic.

‘He wants to explore.’

Joe opened the door for me. He obviously liked cats.

Walking into the hall was breathtaking. I remembered the fun we’d had in this lovely house. Those incredible stairs were still there, and they were perfect. To a kitten born in a bungalow, stairs were the ultimate in dry cat gymnasiums and power perches. The best spot was the post halfway up where the stairs turned left. From here you could see out of the landing window, sunbathe, and get attention from whoever came up or down. The scent told me that Jessica had already claimed it, and I soon discovered how cheekily she sat there, reaching out a draconian paw to swipe anyone who failed to acknowledge her as they passed by.

Jessica didn’t want to share the stairs with me at first, but she couldn’t resist showing off, streaking upstairs like a rocket. There she liked to lie in wait for me with her chin on the carpet and do a star-shaped pounce at me which was scary. The adrenalin was addictive. As I settled into my new home, Jessica and I would spend wild evenings pelting up and down stairs with flat ears and loopy tails, our flying paws thundering on the carpet. ‘Mummy, LOOK!’ John squealed when we started chasing each other up and down, making all three of them laugh at us, until the house was full of flying cats and giggling.

The happiness filled the walls with diamond stars and, when we finally slept, the house hummed contentedly. ‘It’s just the fridge humming,’ Jessica said, but I knew it wasn’t. Jessica was a switched-off adult cat. She had disapproving whiskers. I was young and still attuned to the spirit world. Happiness was definitely a cloud of singing stars, an energy you could generate.

As much as I loved my new home, naturally I was jealous of Jessica. Day and night my brain echoed with the thought, I am Ellen’s cat. Not you. It’s all wrong. Being an advanced cat, I tried to stay cool, but it hurt.

Seeing Jessica on Ellen’s lap was almost more than I could bear. One day, whilst Jessica was curled up on her knee, I sat on the floor and stared at Ellen, feeling jealous and lonely. Her eyes shone back at me thoughtfully, and she reached down and lifted me up onto her shoulder.

‘Are you a jealous little cat?’ she crooned. ‘There’s no need to be, darling. I love you to bits and I hope you can stay with us.’

I heard Jessica growl, but Ellen just stroked her until she was quiet again.

‘You’re very beautiful,’ whispered Ellen, looking at me. ‘And you’re like the cat I had when I was a child. Don’t you worry, you little sweetheart, I’m going to look after you, and there’s enough love for both you and Jessica.’

After that, I felt much better. I purred and buried my face in the soft glittery scarf Ellen was wearing.

My best move was making friends with John. He hated Jessica and screamed if she went near him, and he even ran away from strange cats in the street, running as fast as his little legs would carry him. Jessica had made him frightened of all cats.

So I spent a long time purring and rubbing against John as he sat playing on the floor. I never messed with his Lego or ran off with his teddy bear like Jessica did. I didn’t want to make John cry, so I approached him gently, always purring, and one day he stretched out his little hand and touched my fur. I crept close and pretended to go to sleep curled up against his legs, still purring of course. John kept very still and began to stroke me.

‘Nice cat,’ he said to Ellen.

‘He’s not like Jessica. He’s a kind, loving cat,’ Ellen said, and after that John wanted to hold me and even play with me. I’d made a big effort to be good, and it was worth it.

‘We’re going to keep you, little cat,’ Ellen told me joyfully a week later. ‘No one has claimed you. We’d better give you a name.’

I looked squarely into her eyes and radiated ‘Solomon’ to her. To my surprise she got it right. Ellen really was quite psychic.

‘I’ll call you Solomon,’ she said, ‘because you’re so wise. You are exactly like the cat I had as a child, and he was called Solomon. You don’t make trouble like Jessica. I’m so glad we can keep you.’

In that golden moment I understood the wisdom of the angel. She had planned for me to take that long journey and arrive on Ellen’s lawn looking pathetic. Even if I’d been born in the same street, Ellen would not have come looking for me since she already had Jessica. Appealing to Ellen’s motherly need to shelter a lost kitten had ensured me a place in her home and in her heart.

I couldn’t believe that this slim, stressed woman with dark circles under her eyes had once been a free spirit, a happy child who would dance barefoot on the lawn or who loved putting on her beloved pink ballet shoes and twirling all over the house, over the beautifully polished wood floors which were now covered in a tatty old carpet. I’d encouraged her by scampering about, making her laugh while she was dancing, and watching her eyes sparkle with creative energy.

I wondered why Ellen never danced now. She didn’t play the piano either. One day when Joe was out and John was asleep, I sat on it and just looked at Ellen. I knew she was telepathic so I sent her my thoughts. It worked.

‘Are you trying to tell me something, Solomon?’ she asked.

I put my chin on the polished top of the piano and I could sense the silent strings inside, waiting to be played. I dreamed of the rippling music Ellen used to play when she was a child, and sent the dream into her mind.

She looked at the clock, then sat down and opened the lid. I was thrilled. My fur tingled as I waited for the music to begin.

It didn’t work out as I’d expected.

Ellen sat there with her long fingers over the black and white keys, frozen and silent. Then, she slammed the lid down and burst into tears. She flung herself onto the sofa, sobbing and sobbing.

Horrified, I crept close to her, purring and licking the tears from her hot cheeks. It was all I could do.

I wanted to understand, so I remembered my previous life and why Ellen had cried when she was a child. When Ellen was ten years old, I’d wanted to give her a present to show how much I loved her. I knew she liked robins because there were cards all over her bedroom with pictures of them. So early one morning I headed out into the frosty garden and caught one for her. As I ran up the stairs with the robin’s soft body in my mouth, I was excited. It was the first bird I’d ever caught, and I was going to put it right on Ellen’s bed for her. A real robin!