Alfie The Doorstep Cat

Chapter Twelve

I was daydreaming about the past. About living in my old house with Margaret and Agnes. The day was cold, and Agnes was in a lot of pain. Margaret had phoned the vet, who had said the end was imminent. If Margaret wanted to take her in she would give Agnes something to help the pain; it was either that, or put her to sleep.

Margaret sobbed, a bit like Claire had been doing, tears filled with grief ran down her sunken cheeks. I wanted to join in, but Agnes was trying so hard to be brave that I suppressed my own emotion and I snuggled into her, hoping that I wasn’t adding to her pain. Margaret was getting ready to take her to the vet, which wasn’t very easy as Margaret was old and didn’t have a car – she could barely lift the cat carrier any more. She phoned her neighbour, a nice man called Don, who wasn’t much younger than Margaret and he said that he would take her. He was always happy to help Margaret. Agnes said that she thought at one stage they might end up together, after Don’s wife died a few years back, but Margaret was far too fond of her own company, as she was often heard to say.

‘All I need is myself and my cats,’ she used to say, laughing. I could almost hear her voice now.

Back then, I had to stay at home while they took Agnes to the vet. Left in the house alone, I yowled louder than I ever had before. I was so scared about losing Agnes. Even if she came home, I knew there wasn’t much longer in her, I’d heard Margaret talking about that.

Agnes did come home, and I was so excited. I was so thankful, I licked her. I had thought I would never see her face again, and although she was quiet, she was there, by my side, where she should have been. I was euphoric. But by the morning she was gone. I knew because I slept with her and at some point when I woke I noticed her heart had stopped beating. I had gone from feeling so happy to completely wretched in the space of a few hours.

At that point in time, it was the worst day of my life.

My sad thoughts were interrupted by a key in the door, followed by howls of laughter and a clacking of heels. The house remained in darkness as I heard footsteps enter the room and then, just as I was about to stretch, someone fell on me.

I yelped as loudly as I could. A woman’s voice screamed. Jonathan put on the light and looked a bit cross.

‘What are you doing on my sofa?’ he asked, sounding angry. I would have liked to have asked him the same thing; after all, I was there first. Instead I jumped off and stood in the room surveying the situation.

The woman wasn’t the woman from before. She was tall and thin and had a very short skirt which showed off very long legs.

‘Is that your cat?’ the woman asked, slurring her words slightly. What was it with humans getting drunk?

‘No, it’s my bloody squatter,’ Jonathan replied glaring at me. I didn’t know what a squatter was, but it didn’t sound good. The woman approached him again and flung her arms around him. As they started kissing, I decided that it was time for me to leave. After all, I had often heard it said that three was a crowd.

It was light outside as I awoke on Claire’s bed. Skipping downstairs, I stopped to eat one of the bowls of food that Claire had left for me and drink some water, before taking an early morning walk. It wasn’t exactly Jonathan’s prawns, but at least I was well fed. I decided to give him a wide berth until later, when perhaps his guest had left. So instead I went to check on the progress of the number 22 flats.

Although it was early, the tall woman and the baby were there in the front garden and the man was unloading furniture from a white van. The woman, despite her beauty, looked very worried. She was constantly biting her lip and sighing. Yet again, it seemed I was drawn to a human in need. Although I didn’t know what her need was yet.

‘I’ve got to go and feed Henry,’ she said, as the sound of a baby’s wail started up from inside.

‘OK, Polly, I’ll carry on here.’

I followed the woman inside; it was a house without stairs, all on one level. It was a fairly small space that looked as if it was almost ready to be lived in. There was a serious amount of unpacking to do, but there was a large grey sofa and a matching chair, which Polly went to sit on, with her baby. She stuck him to her chest and he stopped crying immediately. I was incredibly curious; I’d seen this on television but not in real life. It brought back very vague and unreliable memories of how my mother used to nurse me before we were weaned and I went to live with Margaret. It made me feel even more nostalgic about my past. Suddenly the woman looked at me. I blinked in greeting but as I prepared to introduce myself, she screamed loudly. The baby started crying and the man ran into the room.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his voice full of concern.

‘There’s a cat here!’ she shrieked, as she tried to resettle the baby back on her. I was a little offended; I hadn’t had quite that reaction before. Not even from Jonathan.

‘Polly, it’s a cat, I’m not sure you need to be quite so upset.’ Matt spoke gently, as if he was speaking to a child. Her baby was quiet again but now it was Polly’s turn to start crying. I realised I might have made a huge mistake; this woman clearly had an extreme phobia of cats. I wasn’t sure that such a thing existed but she certainly seemed scared of me.

‘But I’ve read that cats kill babies.’ I yelped as if I’d been hit. I’d been accused of many things in my life; killing birds and mice and even, if needs must, the occasional rabbit, but I’d never killed a baby. Perish the thought.

‘Pol,’ the man went and knelt down next to her. ‘Cats don’t kill babies. They just say to make sure they are not in the room when the baby is in their cot, in case they go and sleep on them and accidentally smother them. This cat is awake, and you’ve got Henry.’ I liked him even more than I had at first; his voice was gentle and full of patience.

‘Are you sure?’ She seemed more than a little neurotic to me. I could tell that there was something wrong with this woman. Not in the way there was with Claire, but there was definitely something that wasn’t right.

‘How on earth can the cat kill Henry while you’re here?’ He came over and picked me up. He was a nice man, I decided; he held me firmly but gently. You can tell a lot from a man from the way they hold you. Jonathan was a little too rough, but this man was just right.

‘Matt, I just …’ Polly looked upset still.

‘His name is Alfie,’ he said, reading my tag. ‘Hello, Alfie,’ he added, giving me a stroke. He had nice hands and I rubbed my head against him. ‘Anyway, he doesn’t live here, Polly, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. He must have just crept in while the front door was open. Where do you live?’ he asked me, and I gave him my most charming miaow.

‘How can you be sure that he doesn’t live here?’

‘He’s got a name tag. There’s a number on it. I’ll call it if it’ll make you feel better.’

‘No, no, I’m sure you’re right. Just make sure you put him out.’

Polly still looked unsure. The baby seemed to be asleep on her and I felt that although this man was nice, there was definitely sadness in the small, square room.

‘Right, well, I’ll go and finish unloading. Come on Alfie, time for you to go home.’ He carried me outside and gently put me on the doorstep. I hadn’t had a chance to look round the rest of the flat, but I didn’t want to risk upsetting Polly again.

I had a few hours to fill before dinner time so I thought that perhaps it was time to find Jonathan another present. After all, now I was winning him over, I needed to step up my charm offensive. It would be useful to have him onside because I definitely had my work cut out with Polly.