.

get around the intimidating Agnes, then surely Jonathan would be cat’s play?

      After stalking round his house wondering what he would do with all that space, I decided that I would go out and get him a gift. Despite the fact that hunting wasn’t my favourite pastime, I wanted to make friends with him and this was the only way I knew how.

      My cat comrades from my time on the streets had given me mixed messages. Some of them took their gifts in constantly, despite the fact that at times, it made their owners angry. Others, like me, were smarter about when it was appropriate. It was, after all, our way of showing we cared. And I presumed that Jonathan was a man who liked to hunt, he seemed quite like an Alpha Tom, so I was pretty sure he would appreciate a gift. It would show him that we had something in common.

      I called for Tiger and asked if she wanted to join me.

      ‘I was sleeping. Why can’t you be a normal cat and hunt at night?’ she sighed, although she reluctantly agreed to come with me.

      She was right, cats normally hunted at night, but in my time on the streets I had learnt that it was also possible to find prey during the day which was my preference. I started prowling, and it didn’t take long for me to locate a juicy mouse. I crouched down low ready to pounce and then I quickly went in for the kill. The mouse ran one way then the other so I had difficulty trapping it with my paw. I flicked this way and that as it continued to elude me.

      ‘You are such a terrible hunter,’ Tiger laughed as she stood back watching.

      ‘You could help me,’ I hissed but she laughed again. Finally, just before I ran out of patience the mouse ran out of energy. I pounced again and at last I had it in my paws.

      ‘Do you want to come with me to take it to Jonathan’s?’ I asked.

      ‘Yes, I want to see your second home,’ Tiger replied.

      I decided that as I wanted Jonathan to like me, I wouldn’t decapitate the mouse, and so I carefully carried it in my mouth through the cat flap. I deposited it by the front door, so there was no way that he could miss it. I briefly wished that I could write, because if I could, I’d leave a note saying, ‘Welcome to your new home,’ but instead I could only hope he would get my lovely message.

      I was late getting back to number 78, because Tiger and I had been lurking in the bushes, playing with falling leaves and waiting for Jonathan to get back. But as it got later, the sky began to darken and I started to get hungry. Due to my sacrifice of the mouse, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast so, reluctantly, I made my way back to Claire.

      I let myself in through the cat flap and found her in the kitchen.

      ‘Hello, Alfie,’ she said, bending down to give me a stroke. ‘Where have you been today? she asked. I replied with a purr. She reached into the cupboard and brought down a tin of cat food. She opened a carton of special cat milk.

      ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ I thought, as I tucked in. When I’d eaten, I cleaned my whiskers thoroughly, while I watched Claire tidy up. I was learning more about Claire every day. Despite the fact that she seemed depressed, she was also very clean and tidy – that explained my horrible bath. She wouldn’t even leave an empty glass on the side in the kitchen. Everything was washed up, and put away. She was the same with her clothes. The house was immaculate, and she cleaned all surfaces frequently. More than was necessary, I thought. She had bought me special bowls to eat from and she’d place them on the floor for me, but when I’d finished dining, she would scoop them up and clean them immediately, and then she would spray and clean the floor. I was a pretty fastidious cat when it came to personal hygiene, but being with Claire made me clean myself more than usual; I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t worthy of her spotless house. And I especially didn’t want another bath.

      Every day when she got back from work, which she had told me was in a big office, doing something called ‘Marketing’, she would shower – she was always moaning about the dirt in London – then she would change into pyjamas, pour herself something to drink, and go and sit on the sofa. She would then normally start to cry. It had become a set routine in the short time that I’d been here.

      She did eat, but very little, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was really quite bony, the way I had been when I’d first arrived here. I knew I needed to try to get her to eat more food but I had no idea how. She seemed to drink quite a lot from a fancy glass, though. She always kept a bottle of wine in the fridge and she would empty it almost nightly. It made me think of the homeless people who had threatened to eat me. I know she wasn’t like them, but Button had explained the human concept of being drunk and I think Claire spent most nights a little bit so. After all, it was usually after a couple of these drinks that she would start crying. And although I would always comfort her when she did this, whatever I did, I couldn’t get her to stop. It made me sad, because all I wanted to do was to make her smile or at least put a stop to her tears.

      So far, I had tried playing ‘hiding behind the curtains’, to make her laugh, but she had acted as if I was invisible. I even fell off the windowsill once in my attempt to cheer her up and she didn’t notice that either, despite the fact that I yelped in pain. I tried crying with her; purring, nuzzling into her with my little warm head, giving her my precious tail to play with, but to no end. When she got very sad she would shut everything out, including me.

      At night, when she went to bed, I would go and sleep on an armchair next to her. She put a blanket on it for me, so it was perfectly comfortable, and it meant I could keep an eye on her. I would doze a bit but for most of the night I would watch her sleep, trying to make her feel that she wasn’t on her own. When her alarm went off in the morning, I would gently jump on her and lick her nose. I wanted her to feel loved when she opened her eyes every day, just as I did.

      But still, I felt sad myself, sometimes. Worrying about Claire was emotionally tiring, but I hoped that if I just stuck to my plan to help her, somehow I would know what to do; the answers had to be there somewhere.

      We had just gone into the sitting room that evening; her with her glass, me with my catnip toy that she had kindly bought me, when the doorbell rang. She looked a bit surprised as she went to open the door. I followed her protectively, touching her legs as she walked. A man stood on her doorstep. At first, I wondered if it was the man from the photo, but on closer inspection it wasn’t, although I did recognise him from some of the pictures. It was Tim, Claire’s brother. She didn’t look very happy to see him, though.

      ‘Didn’t take long for you to embrace the cliché,’ he said.

      ‘What are you talking about?’ she snapped.

      ‘Single women and cats. Sorry Claire, only joking.’ He smiled, but she did not and neither did I; we both stood aside and let him in. We followed him into the living room.

      ‘What are you doing here, Tim?’ she asked, as she gestured for him to sit down. I stayed by her side.

      ‘Can’t I visit my sister?’ he replied. He tried to stroke me but I arched myself away from him; I wasn’t sure if he was friend or foe. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.

      ‘Alfie, he came with the house. Anyway, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? It’s not as if you could have been just passing.’

      ‘I’m only an hour and a half away, Claire, and it was a spur of the moment thing.’

      Claire seemed to be scrutinising him as she sat down in an armchair. I jumped onto her lap, trying to give Tim a haughty look, although I’m not sure I pulled it off. Sometimes it’s hard being as cute as me; people and cats don’t take me seriously.

      ‘Why didn’t you call me, at least?’ she pushed.

      ‘OK, let’s cut to the chase. I’m guessing you’re not going to offer me a drink?’ he asked. She shook her head resolutely.