Alfie the Doorstep Cat. Rachel Wells

      ‘It’s not going to take too long to pack up the house,’ Linda said.

      ‘Linda, you’re so optimistic; look at all the junk your mother collected,’ Jeremy replied.

      ‘That’s unfair. She’s got some nice china and you never know, some of it might be worth something.’

      I was pretending to be asleep but my ears were pricked up, listening to what was being said as I tried to stop my tail flicking in agitation. I was curled up on Margaret’s favourite chair – or rather, the chair that had been her favourite – watching her daughter and son-in-law discuss what would happen; determining my future. The past few days had been so terrifyingly confusing, especially as I didn’t fully understand what had happened. However, what I did understand as I listened, trying my best not to cry, was that life would never be the same again.

      ‘You’ll be lucky. Anyway, we should call a house clearance place. Lord knows we don’t want any of her stuff.’ I tried to sneak a look without them noticing. Jeremy was tall, grey haired and bad tempered. I had never really liked him, but the woman, Linda, had always been nice to me.

      ‘I’d like a chance to keep a few of Mum’s things. I’ll miss her.’ Linda started crying and I yearned to yowl along with her, but I kept quiet.

      ‘I know, love,’ Jeremy’s voice softened. ‘It’s just that we can’t stay here forever. Now the funeral’s over, we need to think about getting the house on the market and, well, if we get it packed up, we can be off in a few days.’

      ‘It just seems so final, though. But you’re right, of course.’ She sighed. ‘And what about Alfie?’ I bristled. This was what I was waiting for. What would happen to me?

      ‘We need to put him in a shelter I suppose.’ I felt my fur stand on end.

      ‘A shelter? But Mum loved him so much. It seems so cruel to just get rid of him.’ I wished I could voice my agreement with her; it was beyond cruel.

      ’But you know we can’t take him home. We’ve got two dogs, love. A cat just won’t work for us, you know that.’

      I was incensed. It wasn’t that I wanted to go with them, but I absolutely couldn’t go to a shelter.

      Shelter. My body shuddered at the word; such an inappropriate name for what we in the cat community thought of as ‘death row’. There might be a few lucky cats who got re-homed, but then who knew what happened to them? Who was to say that the family that re-homed them would treat them well? The cats I knew unanimously agreed that a shelter was a bad place. And we knew full well that for those that weren’t re-homed, the death sentence loomed.

      Although I considered myself a handsome cat with a certain kind of charm, there was no way I was going to take that risk.

      ‘I know you’re right, the dogs would eat him alive. And they’re very good at these shelters these days, so he might be re-homed quickly.’ She paused as if she was still mulling things over. ‘No, it has to be done. I’ll call the shelter in the morning and the house clearance company. Then I guess we can get an estate agent round.’ She sounded more sure of herself and I knew my fate had been sealed unless I did something about it.

      ‘Now you’re thinking straight. I know this is hard, but Linda, your mum was very old and honestly, it’s not like it was a huge surprise.’

      ‘That doesn’t make it easy though, does it?’

      I put my paws over my ears. My little head was reeling. In the past two weeks I had lost my owner, the only human I’d ever really known. Life had been turned upside down and I was heartbroken, desolate and now, it seemed, homeless. What on earth was a cat like me supposed to do?

      I was what was known as a ‘lap cat’. I didn’t feel the need to be out all night hunting, prowling or socialising, when I had a warm lap, food and comfort. I also had company; a family. But then it was all taken away, leaving my cat heart totally broken. For the first time ever I was all alone.

      I had lived in this small terraced house with my owner, Margaret, almost my whole life. I also had a sister cat called Agnes, although she was more like an aunt, being so much older than me. When Agnes went to cat heaven, a year ago, I felt a pain that I had never thought possible. It hurt so much that I didn’t think I would ever recover. But I had Margaret, who loved me very much, and we clung together in our grief. We had both adored Agnes and we missed her with every ounce of our beings, united in our suffering.

      However, I recently learnt how incredibly cruel life could be. One day, a couple of weeks ago, Margaret didn’t get up from her bed. I had no idea what was wrong or what to do, being a cat, so I lay next to her and yowled as loudly as I could. Luckily, a nurse who came to see Margaret once a week was due, and when I heard the doorbell I reluctantly left Margaret’s side and leapt out of the cat flap.

      ‘Oh my, what’s wrong?’ the nurse asked, as I wailed for all I was worth. When she pushed the doorbell again, I pawed at her, gently but insistently trying to convey that something was wrong. She used the spare key and found Margaret’s lifeless body. I stayed with Margaret, knowing she was lost to me, as the nurse made some phone calls. After a while, some men came to take her away and I couldn’t stop yowling. They wouldn’t let me go with Margaret, and that was when I realised that my life, as I knew it, was over. Margaret’s family were called and I yowled some more. I yowled myself hoarse.

      As Jeremy and Linda continued talking, I quietly jumped off the chair and left the house. I prowled around looking for some of the other cats to ask advice from, but it was pretty much tea time so I struggled to find anyone. However, I knew a nice elderly cat called Mavis who lived down the street, so I went to seek her out. I sat outside her cat flap and miaowed loudly. She knew that Margaret had died; she’d seen her being taken away and had found me shortly afterwards pining after her. She was a maternal cat, a bit like Agnes, and she had taken care of me, letting me yowl until I could yowl no more. She had stayed with me, sharing her food and milk with me, until Linda and Jeremy arrived.

      Hearing my call, she came out of the cat flap, and I explained the situation to her.

      ‘They can’t take you?’ she asked, looking at me with sad eyes.

      ‘No, they say they have dogs and, well, I don’t want to live with dogs anyway.’ We both shivered at the thought.

      ‘Who would?’ she said.

      ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I lamented, trying not to cry again. Mavis nestled her body into me. We hadn’t been close until recently, but she was a very caring cat, and I was grateful for her friendship.

      ‘Alfie, don’t let them take you to the shelter,’ she said. ‘I’d take care of you but I don’t think I can. I’m old and tired now and my owner isn’t much younger than Margaret was. You have to be a brave little cat and find yourself a new family.’ She rubbed her neck into mine affectionately.

      ‘But how do I do that?’ I asked. I had never felt so lost or scared.

      ‘I wish I had the answers, but think what you have learnt lately about how fragile life is, and be strong.’

      We rubbed noses, and I knew that I had to leave. I went back to Margaret’s house one last time so I could remember it before I left. I wanted a picture to lock in my memory and take on my journey with me. I hoped it might give me strength. I looked at Margaret’s trinkets, her ‘treasures’ she called them. I looked at the pictures on the wall that had been so familiar to me. I looked at the carpet, worn where I had scratched at it when I was too young to know better. This house was me, and I was it. And now I had no idea what was to become of me.

      I had little appetite but I forced myself to eat the food that Linda had given me (after all I wasn’t sure when I would get to eat next), and then I took one final, lingering look around the home that had been mine; that had always kept me warm and safe. I thought about the lessons I’d learnt. In my four years in this house I had grasped a lot about love, and about loss. I had once been taken care of, but not any longer.