Alfie The Doorstep Cat

Chapter Twenty

Being a doorstep cat was not for the faint-hearted.

As the weeks passed, I was very busy as I tried to juggle my four homes. I was beginning to learn that being a cat with four families wasn’t as easy as I had first thought it would be. It was rewarding, but hard work. I was starting to devise a schedule, but it was proving tricky.

Claire was becoming more relaxed with every passing day and I knew this was the healing process, because of course, I’d been through it myself. I could see in her what I felt in me.

Not that you ever become completely healed, you understand. There will always be a part of you that is still healing, still hurting, but that becomes a part of your character and you learn to live with it. That’s what I think happens, anyway, because that’s how it feels to me. But I loved to see Claire smiling and looking so much better. She was putting on a bit of weight too, she didn’t look so much like a scrawny sparrow any more. She had more colour in her cheeks and she was getting better looking by the day.

There had been a lot of women at Jonathan’s house. Although they were not appearing quite as frequently any more, there was still an alarming number, it seemed to me. But to his credit, now that he was working, he was more sensible with his time; going to bed early and either working in the evenings, or going to the gym. He was looking better for it too; he was quite handsome to start with, but he was even more so now he didn’t scowl quite so much.

I had been splitting my evenings between Claire and Jonathan so far. So long as I saw them both at some point, they seemed happy. On the whole, Claire would arrive home from work earlier than Jonathan, so we would dine together, and we would hang out for a bit. We cuddled while she read a book, watched TV, or chatted on the phone with a glass of wine, and then I’d take that as my cue to visit Jonathan.

I would head off to greet him on his return from work. He often worked in the evenings, which wasn’t much fun for me, so I had a new routine at night time. I’d go out for a long walk or run to get some exercise. I had put on weight, what with all the extra meals, but I was still far from being as fat as the ginger cat a few doors down, who could barely move and would easily be outmanoeuvred by any mouse.

I would go and see Tiger, and we would sometimes hang out with some of the neighbourhood cats; even the mean ones seemed to be used to me, now. After socialising, I would decide where to sleep. I alternated between Claire’s and Jonathan’s, but the problem was that both of them seemed to quite like to see me first thing in the morning. If I slept at Claire’s, I would wake at the same time as her and scoot over to go and see Jonathan before he left for work, and vice versa. It could be exhausting, but I tried my best to fit everyone in. Keeping them happy was far from an easy task though, and my life was incredibly complex.

During the day, when Claire and Jonathan were at work, I would go to the number 22 flats. This was perfect for me. I would often stand at Franceska’s door and miaow, and after a while, either she or Aleksy would let me in. They would give me fish, normally sardines, but the best thing was that Aleksy would play with me, and we would have so much fun. I would roll onto my back and he would tickle my tummy, which had become my new favourite game. The household was happy for the most part. Sometimes when Thomasz was napping and Aleksy was playing I would find Franceska in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking as if she was miles away. I knew she was missing her home still, although she was the most resilient of the adults I spent time with because she mainly hid it, and made sure her house was full of laughter. But I often thought her head was sometimes in Poland, even if her body was here; the way that when I had lived on the streets, my head and heart were far away, with Margaret and Agnes, even though I didn’t quite know where they were.

One weekend, I was over at Franceska’s flat. Claire had gone out for the day with Tasha, Jonathan had gone to meet friends for something he called ‘brunch’, so I went to Franceska’s house and her husband, the big Thomasz, let me in. They all made their usual fuss of me and he seemed like a very nice man. He played with the children, while Franceska cooked a big lunch for them all. He was very affectionate, both with her and the boys and I could see that although she found life hard sometimes, she was surrounded by love. It made me feel better because she deserved it very much. It was such a warm, loving family, it tickled my whiskers.

Sometimes I saw Polly and baby Henry with Franceska. As it was summer, they would often be on the front lawn. They had taken to having coffee together while the boys all sat on a blanket. Well, Henry would lie on the blanket, but he didn’t cry as much and he seemed to find the older boys’ presence calming. They would shake rattles at him, and they even managed to make him giggle quite a lot. Polly still seemed very uptight though, and I rarely saw her smile. There was something unnerving about the way she was.

Not only did the women look different from each other, but also as mothers they couldn’t be further apart. Franceska was so calm with her boys, and they were such happy children. Polly was wound up tightly and she held Henry as if he was made of glass. She seemed so awkward, even when she was feeding him, and she seemed to cry as much as Claire had in the early days. Franceska kept saying it was tiredness, and that was why she was so emotional, but I wondered if it really could be that. Since giving the baby the formula he was apparently sleeping more. Not a huge amount, but enough to make a difference, so surely she should be better?

Franceska would often take both of them into her flat where they would feed the boys, and she would try to get food into Henry. He seemed happier when he was there, as well. He didn’t cry as much and he smiled and laughed; I wondered sometimes if Polly noticed. She was so sad and I didn’t know if she even registered half of what was going on. I was more worried about her than I was about any of the others, but despite that, I had decided to stop going to her flat – it just wasn’t a good idea. Polly tolerated me, but she still treated me with suspicion, although I got the feeling that she needed me more than my other families. I just didn’t quite know why.

I watched these humans, who were all so different in many ways to my Margaret. Not only were they considerably younger, and less wrinkly, but they were unlike her in other ways too. Claire was blossoming, and had almost totally changed from the thin, shaggy, crying woman I first met. She still had moments of sadness, normally when it was just the two of us, but they were getting fewer and fewer. Jonathan was still complex, but he was also becoming happier; I think it wasn’t just the job, but the new friends he was making at work. Not just women with big boobs and shiny hair. However, I still thought he was too solitary. He didn’t have people round to the big, empty house apart from the women. He did go out a bit, about as much as Claire, but still, he had moments of looking as if he had lost something. It was how I’d looked when I woke up every day just after Agnes died. I would wake up and before I remembered what had happened I would look for her. It seemed that Jonathan was looking for someone who wasn’t there, too.

Franceska was more like Margaret than the others; she seemed so solid and sensible, and although she was obviously missing home, she seemed the most sorted out of everyone. Polly was the opposite. So fragile that she looked as if she would break at any time, although sometimes I wondered if she was already broken.

Each of them needed me in their own ways and I vowed every day that I would be there, and I would help them all.

I had survived, and now I had to help others survive, too.

The problem was that my lifestyle was so busy I couldn’t be in four places at once, but if my plan was to work I really had to be.

‘It’s hard work,’ I told Tiger.

‘Having four homes would be. Four sets of humans to keep happy.’ Tiger shuddered. ‘My one home is enough for me, although I understand.’

‘I can’t be alone again. I have to make sure that there will always be someone to take care of me, Tiger.’

‘I know. And anyway most cats think loyalty is overrated.’

‘But I’m fiercely loyal; just to four different families. I have to learn to spread myself thinly.’

‘Alfie, stop being dramatic. My owners are married, and although they don’t have children, if anything happens to them … Well, before meeting you, I hadn’t even thought about it.’

‘I hope what happened to me doesn’t happen to you, but you’re lucky because if it does, you’ll have me to take care of you.’

‘Thanks Alfie, you’re a good friend.’

‘Tiger, I wouldn’t want anyone, cat or human, to go through what I’ve been through. I’ve learnt the importance of compassion the hard way. I know what it’s like when there is none. And although I was lucky to find some along my journey and in my homes now, I know how incredibly crucial it is to our survival. For all of us.’

‘You’ll never be alone again now,’ Tiger pointed out, kindly.

It was true, compassion needed others. That was my lesson. It was through the compassion of other cats as well as other humans that I survived after Margaret died. It made me realise, life was a funny thing; as much as I would welcome being reunited with Agnes and Margaret, there was a part of me that wanted to survive, to carry on living, and I didn’t understand it.