Alfie the Doorstep Cat. Rachel Wells

no protection. I was among the unfortunate cats that had to fend for themselves; living in fear, always feeling hungry and tired. Never feeling quite their best; never looking anything near their best. I had now joined their ranks and it felt horrible.

      I gratefully ate and drank and then went on my way, thanking and bidding farewell to the kindly cat. I didn’t even know her name.

      My state of mind reflected my physical being. Grief was such a part of me; causing me physical pain in my heart as I missed Margaret with every fibre of my fur. But I had known love; the love of my owner and my cat sister, and I owed it to them, to their love, to carry on. Now, with food in my tummy, I felt renewed energy as I prepared to do just that.

      A few days passed, increasing the distance between my old home and wherever I was heading. I met some kind cats, some angry ones, and many mean dogs that delighted in barking at me but thankfully couldn’t get me. I was kept on my toes, literally, as I danced and jumped and ran away, and I could feel my energy depleting all the time. I learnt to fight back when I needed to; although aggression didn’t come naturally to me, it seemed survival did. As I dodged cars, cats and dogs, I was slowly developing a more streetwise persona.

      However I was getting thinner by the day; my once gleaming fur was patchy and I was cold and tired. I barely knew how I was surviving and I had never imagined that life could ever be like this. I was sadder than I had ever been and more lonely than I thought possible. When I slept, I had nightmares, and when I woke, I remembered my predicament and cried. It was a horrible time and sometimes I just wanted it all to be over. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could carry on.

      I was learning that the streets could be mean and unforgiving. Physically and mentally it was taking its toll on me and I was beginning to feel so downhearted that it was a struggle to put one paw in front of the other.

      The weather reflected my mood. It was cold and raining, and I felt a chill in my bones as my fur never seemed to be fully dry. In the time that I had been homeless – searching for my future, the kind family – the sweet little girl hadn’t materialised. No one had come to my rescue so far and I was beginning to think that no one would. To say I was feeling sorry for myself was an understatement.

      Once again, I came to a main road. Roads still filled me with fear; I’d got better at crossing them, but I still felt as if I was taking my life in my paws every time I stepped off a kerb. I had learnt to take my time when crossing, even if I had to wait for a very long time. So I sat, head moving side to side until there was a break in the traffic that made it safe enough. Despite this I still ran as fast as I could and ended up breathless on the other side. Unfortunately, I had been so busy concentrating on getting across the road that I hadn’t noticed the small fat dog standing on the other side of the road. He squared up to me, snarling, showing his sharp teeth and dribbling saliva. Unfortunately there was no lead or owner in sight.

      ‘Hisssss,’ I replied, trying to deter him, although I was terrified. He was so close to me I could smell him. He barked at me and suddenly lunged forward. Despite my fatigue I leapt back and started running, but I could feel his breath on my tail. Increasing my speed I dared to look back and could see him coming after me, snapping at my heels. For such a fat dog he was quick and I could hear him barking furiously as I ran. I rounded a corner and came upon an alleyway. I swerved and sprinted down it as fast as my legs would take me. After what felt like miles I slowed and hearing only silence I looked back; thankfully the dog was nowhere to be seen. I’d managed to escape.

      Heart pounding, I slowed my pace, and made my way down the alley which led to some allotments where people grew vegetables. As it was still pouring with rain there were only a couple of people about, so despite my dampness and fatigue, I strode confidently to find shelter. One of the allotments had a shed with a door that was slightly ajar. I was too tired to worry about what might lie in wait inside, and gently nudged the door open with my nose. I was so cold and insecure, I feared that if I didn’t find somewhere dry to rest soon I would become very sick.

      I slunk into the shed and was grateful to see a blanket at one end. It was musty and a bit rough; it certainly wasn’t the luxury I had been used to in my old life but at that moment in time it was like a palace to me. I curled up and tried to rub my fur dry as best I could, and despite being half-starved, I couldn’t face going to find any food.

      I could hear the rain hitting the shed as I cried, silently to myself. I had always been a very spoilt cat, I saw that now. If I thought of all the things I took for granted when I lived with Margaret, it was a very long list. I knew I would be fed, loved, warm and cared for. I spent cold days sitting by a warm fire in Margaret’s living room. I spent cold days sunning myself by the window. I was mollycoddled and my life was one of pure luxury. It was funny how it was only now it was gone that I realised how lucky I had been.

      And now what was to become of me? When Mavis had told me to leave I really didn’t foresee what would happen. I didn’t think I would be here, wondering if I could carry on. I really wasn’t sure that I could continue. Was my journey going to end here in this shed, on a smelly blanket? Was that my fate? I hoped not, yet I didn’t know what the alternative was. I knew that feeling sorry for yourself was wrong but I couldn’t help it. I missed my old life so badly and I just didn’t know what would become of me.

      I must have fallen asleep because I was awoken by a pair of eyes staring at me; I blinked. There was a cat stood in front of me, as black as night, eyes shining like torches.

      ‘I don’t mean any harm,’ I said immediately, thinking that if she wanted to fight I would let her finish me off.

      ‘I thought I smelt a cat. What are you doing here?’ she asked, although not aggressively.

      ‘I wanted to rest. A dog chased me and I just ended up here. It was warm and dry and so …’

      ‘Are you a street cat?’ she asked.

      ‘I’m not supposed to be but I guess I am at the moment,’ I replied sadly. She arched her back.

      ‘Look, this is my hunting ground. I’m a street cat and I like it that way. I get the rich pickings of the creatures that come here looking for food - mice, birds you know, anyway, I kind of call this my patch. I just wanted to check that you didn’t think you could take it over.’

      ‘Of course not!’ I was indignant. ‘I just needed shelter from the rain.’

      ‘You get used to the rain eventually,’ she said. I wanted to say, ‘perish the thought,’ but I didn’t want to upset my new comrade. I slowly stood up and moved toward her.

      ‘Does it get easier?’ I asked, wondering if this really was my future.

      ‘I don’t know, but you get accustomed to it.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘Anyway, come with me I’ll let you hunt with me and I’ll show you where to get a drink but then, in the morning you move on OK?’ I agreed her terms.

      I ate and drank but I didn’t feel better. As I curled up on the blanket again, and my new friend left me, I prayed for a miracle because as things stood I didn’t think I would come out of this journey alive.

      I set off again the next morning as promised, but I felt despondent. As a few more days passed I experienced a mass of contradictions. One day I would feel I couldn’t carry on; the weather, the hunger and the loneliness would get to the core of me. But then the next I would push myself further, telling myself I owed it to Margaret and Agnes not to give up. I would see-saw between feeling hopeless in my quest or determined not to fail.

      I got by with food and drink, and learnt to be more self-sufficient. I even began to get used