Alfie the Doorstep Cat. Rachel Wells

for at least part of the time.

      Edgar Road was an unusual road; because of the different types of houses, there was a real difference in the types of people who lived there. The house I had lived in with Margaret, the only house I had ever known, was a small house on a very tiny street – completely different to some of the huge houses that lined the far end of the road.

      Claire’s house was medium sized, and this house – number 46 – was among the best. It was bigger than Claire’s house; taller and wider, and the windows were large and imposing. I could imagine myself sitting on a windowsill looking out of one of them quite happily. As it was a big house, I assumed that a family would be living there and I quite liked the idea of being a family cat too. Now, don’t get me wrong, I liked Claire very much and had grown extremely fond of her. I had no intention of abandoning her, but I needed to have more than one home – just to make sure I didn’t end up alone again.

      It was dawn when I turned my attention to number 46. A very slick car with only two seats was parked outside, which worried me, as that didn’t seem to be appropriate for a family. But still, I had already made my decision, so I wanted to investigate further. I made my way round to the back of the house where I found, to my delight, that there was a cat flap waiting for me.

      I found myself in a very smart room with a washing machine, dryer and huge fridge freezer. It loomed over me, like a giant, making a loud humming noise that hurt my ears. I pushed through an open door and walked into an enormous kitchen, which was dominated by a large dining table. I felt as if I’d struck gold; a table that big would definitely need lots of children around it, and everyone knew that children loved cats. I’d be spoilt. I felt my excitement grow; I really wanted to be spoilt.

      Just as I was dreaming of all the food, games and cuddles I’d get, a woman and a man entered the room.

      ‘I didn’t know you had a cat,’ she said, screeching slightly. The pitch of her voice was quite high, a bit like a mouse. I was disappointed to see that she didn’t look at all motherly; she wore a very tight dress with shoes that were almost higher than me. I wondered how on earth she managed to breathe or walk. She also looked like she hadn’t seen any grooming in a while. Now, I’m not a judgemental cat as a general rule, but I pride myself on always taking care of my appearance. I started to clean my paws and lick down my fur in the hope that she’d take the hint.

      Her voice was like the woman in one of the soap operas I used to watch with Margaret. EastEnders, I think it was called.

      I blinked at the man to say ‘hello’ but he didn’t blink back.

      ‘I don’t,’ he replied in a cold voice. I looked at him. He was tall with dark hair and quite a handsome face, but he didn’t look very friendly and as he looked me over, he began to seem a bit cross.

      ‘I moved in a couple of days ago and only just noticed that there’s a bloody cat flap which I’ll have to block up before all the scraggy neighbourhood cats take up residence here.’ He glared at me, as if to convey that he was talking about me. I shrank into myself defensively.

      I couldn’t believe my ears. This man was horrible and it was a huge disappointment that there were no children around. There were no toys in the kitchen anyway, and these two didn’t seem to be capable of looking after a cat or a child. It looked as if I had got it very wrong. So much for a cat’s intuition.

      ‘Oh, Jonathan,’ the lady said. ‘Don’t be so mean. He’s a cute little thing. And he might be hungry.’ I instantly regretted my unkind thoughts; this lady might look like a mess but she was kind. My hope began to rise.

      ‘I know very little about cats and I don’t care to know more,’ he replied, sounding haughty. ‘But I do know that if you give them food they’ll come back, so let’s not go there. Anyway, I have work to do. I’ll show you out.’

      The woman looked as upset as I felt, as Jonathan led her to the door. I curled myself up, trying to look my youngest and cutest for his return. But instead of melting, as I expected, he picked me up and threw – literally, threw – me out of the front door. I landed on my feet, so luckily I was unhurt.

      ‘New house, new start, not a new bloody cat,’ he said, as he slammed the door in my face.

      I shook myself off, mortally offended. How dare that man treat me like that? I also felt sorry for the woman he threw out. I hoped he hadn’t manhandled her in the same way.

      I suppose that should have been the end of my attempt to make a home out of number 46, but then, I’m not a cat to give up easily. I couldn’t believe that the man, Jonathan, was as horrible as he seemed. Using my cat senses, I got the feeling that he was more miserable than mean. After all, when the lady left, he was clearly alone, and I knew all about how hideous that could be.

      I rushed back to Claire’s to see her before she went to work. I could tell she’d been crying, because she was putting lots of stuff on her face to hide it. When she’d finished making herself look nice (which took her much longer than it took me), she fed and petted me, before grabbing her bag and leaving the house again. I walked her to the door, rubbing myself against her legs, purring and trying to convey that I was there for her.

      And wishing that there was more I could do to make her feel better.

      ‘Alfie, what would I do without you?’ she rewarded me by saying, before she left. I preened myself. After being horribly rejected by Jonathan, it was nice to be appreciated. I was falling in love with this sad young lady that I somehow knew I needed to help. People accuse us cats of being self-centred and egotistical but that is often far from the case. I was a cat who wanted to aid those in need. I was a kind, loving type of cat with a very special new mission to help people.

      I should have left Jonathan and number 46 alone, but something drew me back. My Margaret used to say that angry people were really just unhappy people, and she was the wisest person I’d ever met. When I first moved in with her, Agnes was very angry and Margaret said that it was because she was worried I would take her place. Agnes confirmed this, when she thawed towards me. I learnt then that anger and unhappiness were fine basket mates.

      So I returned to number 46. The car was absent from the front so the coast was clear. Feeling brave, I went through the cat flap and took a look around. I’d been right, the house was big and looked as if it should contain a family but, on closer inspection, it was a manly space. There were no soft touches, no floral patterns, no pink. It was all gleaming surfaces, glass and chrome. His sofa was the sort that I’d seen in some of the smart looking furniture shop windows I’d passed on my travels; metal and cream, which would never suit children – or cats, for that matter. I walked across the sofa, back and forth a few times, feeling satisfied. My paws were clean though, so I wasn’t being that naughty – I just wanted to test it out. I made my way upstairs, where I found four bedrooms; two had beds, one was an office, and the last was full of boxes. This house had no personal touches. No happy photos, nothing to suggest that anyone lived there apart from the furniture. It seemed as cold as the big, scary fridge freezer.

      I decided that this Jonathan man would be something of a challenge. After fending for myself for so long, I knew what I was capable of. This man clearly didn’t like me, or any cat for that matter, but that wasn’t a new experience for me. As I thought of Agnes again, her near-black face popped into my head and made me smile. I missed her so much, it was like there was a part of me missing.

      Agnes was the opposite to me in every way; a very gentle old cat. She would spend most of her time sitting in the window on a special cushion watching the world go by.

      When I arrived, a playful bundle of fluff, she immediately took umbrage.

      ‘If you think you’re staying in my house, you can think again,’ she hissed at me when we first met. She tried to attack me a couple of times but I was too fast for her, and Margaret would chastise her before making even more of a fuss of me, giving me treats and buying me toys. After a while, Agnes decided that she would reluctantly accept me as long as I didn’t bother her, and slowly, I charmed her and won her round. By the time the vet said that she had to go to cat heaven, we were family and we loved each