Solomon’s Tale. Sheila Jeffries

was of no interest to a cat with a mission. The window was the only place to be, watching for Ellen.

      ‘He’s sick.’

      ‘Take him to the vet.’

      They did, and that was my first experience of the cat basket, a terrible cage that squeaks and bounces you up and down. Being a wise cat, I sat quietly, thinking how pointless it would be to waste my energy trying to escape.

      The vet held me firmly by the scruff while he ran his thumbs over my body. He squeezed my paws and all along my tail. Then he forced my mouth open to look inside. I noticed his fingers smelled like the kitchen floor. He put me down on a cold table and said something very insulting to a proud young cat like me.

      ‘Of course he’s the runt of the litter.’

      ‘But he’s very loving. He’s got a really special personality. If no one chooses him, we’re going to keep him.’

      My mum cat bullied me into eating, but still I pined for Ellen. Exploring the garden and seeking out high places to sit and watch for her became my favourite pastime.

      Seeing my angel was more difficult now that I was in a body. To see my angel on earth I had to concentrate on ignoring everything else, but even then it was disappointing to see her so mistily.

      ‘It’s no good just waiting, Solomon,’ she said. ‘Use your psi sense.’

      Midsummer morning was overcast and dark. I closed my eyes and used what the angel had called my psi sense. Immediately Ellen’s location was obvious. She was due south of here, and it was surprisingly easy for me to sense the direction. The distance came more slowly, chilling me with the realisation that Ellen’s house was hundreds of miles away. I looked at my delicate white-tipped paws and twitched my long whiskers. A hundred-mile journey was some challenge for the runt of the litter. That description stirred up enough anger to fire me into action. Without a backward glance I trotted down the road, to the south.

      And that is how I ended up inside the engine of a lorry.

      I had nothing to eat for hours and hours. Too scared to sleep, I used every thread of strength to stay on the vibrating shelf. The alternative was to fall onto the speeding tarmac, or to be mangled by the engine. The fumes and noise gave me a terrible headache. My skull felt like an eggshell. I was cold and starving.

      The hissing wheels sent filthy spray splattering in and soon I was wet through and spiky-looking. Ellen would not want me, I thought in despair. I was hardly cuddly and appealing.

      It was dark when I felt the lorry slowing down. Exhausted, I now lay stretched out limply, at the mercy of every bump in the road, and when at last the lorry stopped, I just lay there, drinking in the silence and stillness. I hurt all over.

      I dragged myself out. My legs were wobbly, and it was still raining. The lorry had parked outside a supermarket, but there were houses nearby. I sniffed the air. I could smell the delicious scent of a cake baking. Using my senses, I knew this was coming from Ellen’s kitchen.

      Trotting from one garden to the next, I made my way along the road until I came to an iron gate set deep in a thick hedge. I could smell the sparrows who were snuggled up in there, lucky things. They were asleep while I was wide awake, covered in oil, shivering and homeless. Now the rain was pelting down, covering the road in puddles. My little paws were drenched and freezing cold. Flashes of lightning and echoing booms of thunder frightened me as I cowered under the hedge. There was no way through, so I squeezed under the gate. Despite the rain I knew I must go out into the middle of the lawn to attract Ellen’s attention, and came face to face with the four staring windows and big brown door of a house.

      ‘You have to meow as loud as you can. Now,’ said my angel.

      So I did. Feeling small and dirty and spiky, I let rip with the meows. I wouldn’t have believed an exhausted kitten could make such a noise. My voice echoed all over the housing estate, and soon a window opened above me, and a face looked down. It was her. My beloved Ellen.

      ‘What on earth is going on?’ Ellen leaned out and saw me. Terribly ashamed of my appearance, I stuck my tail up, which is a cat’s way of smiling.

      ‘Oh look, there’s a tiny kitten! I’m going down.’

      Ellen picked me up and cuddled me against her heart, I could feel its soothing rhythm through my fur, and she could evidently feel mine for she said, ‘Your little heart is racing! Where have you come from?’

      I turned my pea-green eyes to gaze into hers. They were smoky blue in the summer darkness. Ellen still had long hair the colour of barley, just like I remembered. I patted it with my paw, intrigued to find it had become crinkly and fuzzed out around her head. Love glowed in her eyes, but her cheeks were thinner, and her hands felt different as she stroked me. They were tense and quick, less inclined to linger, and the healing light which used to shine around them was clouded. She seemed stressed, as if she had no time to use her healing gift. I knew that a storm was gathering, a storm right inside of Ellen. She was in trouble. And I was there to help.

      From now on, it was my job to protect Ellen and to stay by her side through thick and thin. This was my first chance to try and ease her pain and so, with exquisite slowness, I turned my head sideways to touch noses.

      ‘Oh you little darling!’

      That was the moment of bonding. As the clock struck midnight the rain began to fall in long needles of silver. Many times after that night I heard Ellen tell people how she had found me on midsummer night in a thunderstorm.

      ‘What a scruffy little object!’

      A man stood there, emanating resentment, and outside that was a hard cocoon of humour. He didn’t fool me.

      ‘You must bond with Joe too,’ said the angel.

      I hesitated, feeling afraid of the huge pink nose on Joe’s face. What if it sneezed? But I managed another nose touch and eye gaze. He did like cats, and he was stroking me gently. But I was not comfortable with those gingery eyes. They were too bright. Bright but not smiling.

      ‘He’s covered in black stuff!’

      Ellen put me down quickly and there were smears of oil from the lorry over her pale blue T-shirt. I paraded into the kitchen leaving little dark paw marks, my tail up straight with a kink at the top.

      ‘What a skinny little tail,’ said Joe.

      ‘He’s in such a mess, poor little thing.’ Ellen was nearly crying as she realised the state I was in. ‘Let him eat something first. Then I’ll give him a warm bath and dry him off.’

      Joe groaned.

      ‘Here we go again,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’ll be up half the night pampering him. I’m going to grab another beer and head back to bed.’

      He opened the fridge and took out a black and gold can. I meowed, thinking it was going to be milk for me. Then he said something alarming.

      ‘Don’t let Jessica see him. She’ll have him for breakfast.’

      Who, I wondered, was Jessica? A dog? A cross neighbour? Another cat?

      A cold feeling of betrayal washed over me. In the kitchen was a dish with ‘PUSSY’ on it and some half-eaten food. I collapsed on the floor, my heart pitter-pattering against the blue and white tiles. My bones ached and my wet fur felt heavy. The burning taste of oil was on my tongue. I felt like giving up.

      After coming all that way, Ellen already had a cat.

      Another cat had got there first!