Alfie the Doorstep Cat

by Rachel Wells

  ‘Oh, that would be so nice. Thank you, really, I’d love some female company. And you’re right, we’ll try the formula. I almost feel I have nothing left to lose.’

  ‘Good. I need the company too. My boys are lovely but I need the grown up. Sorry my English is bad.’

  ‘Not at all, it’s great! Blimey, I can’t speak any other languages.’ And as they chatted on, I could sense a friendship had been sealed.

  I watched them all get ready to go off. Thomasz had been reluctantly strapped into a pushchair, Aleksy walked next to it, Polly pushed her giant pram, and Henry was still not crying. Polly was so tall, thin and blonde and Franceska was what I would call sturdy. She wasn’t fat but whereas Polly looked as if she would fall over if I so much as brushed her legs, Franceska looked like she could withstand any storm. But she was very lovely with her dark, short gleaming hair, and brown eyes, which lit up when she smiled. She had one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen.

  Before they left the garden, they stopped and said goodbye to me. Aleksy asked me to come back soon, and I purred, because I would come and see the lovely boy; I felt that he would be my friend.

  They definitely looked like opposites as they started down the road together; one so fair, one so dark, one tall, one short, but I knew instinctively that they would fit together, and I did feel that, however unwittingly, I had helped with this. I didn’t mean to boast but I did feel that credit should be given to me.

  I was intrigued by these women’s stories and I really hoped to spend more time with them, together. I liked the idea of us all hanging out on the front lawn, I would never be bored with that. And my friendship with Aleksy and Thomasz would grow because every little boy deserved a cat. It was a good day all round. Friendships had begun, and who knew where they would take us?

  Being a doorstep cat was not for the faint-hearted.

  As the weeks passed, I was very busy as I tried to juggle my four homes. I was beginning to learn that being a cat with four families wasn’t as easy as I had first thought it would be. It was rewarding, but hard work. I was starting to devise a schedule, but it was proving tricky.

  Claire was becoming more relaxed with every passing day and I knew this was the healing process, because of course, I’d been through it myself. I could see in her what I felt in me.

  Not that you ever become completely healed, you understand. There will always be a part of you that is still healing, still hurting, but that becomes a part of your character and you learn to live with it. That’s what I think happens, anyway, because that’s how it feels to me. But I loved to see Claire smiling and looking so much better. She was putting on a bit of weight too, she didn’t look so much like a scrawny sparrow any more. She had more colour in her cheeks and she was getting better looking by the day.

  There had been a lot of women at Jonathan’s house. Although they were not appearing quite as frequently any more, there was still an alarming number, it seemed to me. But to his credit, now that he was working, he was more sensible with his time; going to bed early and either working in the evenings, or going to the gym. He was looking better for it too; he was quite handsome to start with, but he was even more so now he didn’t scowl quite so much.

  I had been splitting my evenings between Claire and Jonathan so far. So long as I saw them both at some point, they seemed happy. On the whole, Claire would arrive home from work earlier than Jonathan, so we would dine together, and we would hang out for a bit. We cuddled while she read a book, watched TV, or chatted on the phone with a glass of wine, and then I’d take that as my cue to visit Jonathan.

  I would head off to greet him on his return from work. He often worked in the evenings, which wasn’t much fun for me, so I had a new routine at night time. I’d go out for a long walk or run to get some exercise. I had put on weight, what with all the extra meals, but I was still far from being as fat as the ginger cat a few doors down, who could barely move and would easily be outmanoeuvred by any mouse.

  I would go and see Tiger, and we would sometimes hang out with some of the neighbourhood cats; even the mean ones seemed to be used to me, now. After socialising, I would decide where to sleep. I alternated between Claire’s and Jonathan’s, but the problem was that both of them seemed to quite like to see me first thing in the morning. If I slept at Claire’s, I would wake at the same time as her and scoot over to go and see Jonathan before he left for work, and vice versa. It could be exhausting, but I tried my best to fit everyone in. Keeping them happy was far from an easy task though, and my life was incredibly complex.

  During the day, when Claire and Jonathan were at work, I would go to the number 22 flats. This was perfect for me. I would often stand at Franceska’s door and miaow, and after a while, either she or Aleksy would let me in. They would give me fish, normally sardines, but the best thing was that Aleksy would play with me, and we would have so much fun. I would roll onto my back and he would tickle my tummy, which had become my new favourite game. The household was happy for the most part. Sometimes when Thomasz was napping and Aleksy was playing I would find Franceska in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking as if she was miles away. I knew she was missing her home still, although she was the most resilient of the adults I spent time with because she mainly hid it, and made sure her house was full of laughter. But I often thought her head was sometimes in Poland, even if her body was here; the way that when I had lived on the streets, my head and heart were far away, with Margaret and Agnes, even though I didn’t quite know where they were.

  One weekend, I was over at Franceska’s flat. Claire had gone out for the day with Tasha, Jonathan had gone to meet friends for something he called ‘brunch’, so I went to Franceska’s house and her husband, the big Thomasz, let me in. They all made their usual fuss of me and he seemed like a very nice man. He played with the children, while Franceska cooked a big lunch for them all. He was very affectionate, both with her and the boys and I could see that although she found life hard sometimes, she was surrounded by love. It made me feel better because she deserved it very much. It was such a warm, loving family, it tickled my whiskers.

  Sometimes I saw Polly and baby Henry with Franceska. As it was summer, they would often be on the front lawn. They had taken to having coffee together while the boys all sat on a blanket. Well, Henry would lie on the blanket, but he didn’t cry as much and he seemed to find the older boys’ presence calming. They would shake rattles at him, and they even managed to make him giggle quite a lot. Polly still seemed very uptight though, and I rarely saw her smile. There was something unnerving about the way she was.

  Not only did the women look different from each other, but also as mothers they couldn’t be further apart. Franceska was so calm with her boys, and they were such happy children. Polly was wound up tightly and she held Henry as if he was made of glass. She seemed so awkward, even when she was feeding him, and she seemed to cry as much as Claire had in the early days. Franceska kept saying it was tiredness, and that was why she was so emotional, but I wondered if it really could be that. Since giving the baby the formula he was apparently sleeping more. Not a huge amount, but enough to make a difference, so surely she should be better?

  Franceska would often take both of them into her flat where they would feed the boys, and she would try to get food into Henry. He seemed happier when he was there, as well. He didn’t cry as much and he smiled and laughed; I wondered sometimes if Polly noticed. She was so sad and I didn’t know if she even registered half of what was going on. I was more worried about her than I was about any of the others, but despite that, I had decided to stop going to her flat – it just wasn’t a good idea. Polly tolerated me, but she still treated me with suspicion, although I got the feeling that she needed me more than my other families. I just didn’t quite know why.

  I watched these humans, who were all so different in many ways to my Margaret. Not only were they considerably younger, and less wrinkly, but they were unlike her in other ways too. Claire w
as blossoming, and had almost totally changed from the thin, shaggy, crying woman I first met. She still had moments of sadness, normally when it was just the two of us, but they were getting fewer and fewer. Jonathan was still complex, but he was also becoming happier; I think it wasn’t just the job, but the new friends he was making at work. Not just women with big boobs and shiny hair. However, I still thought he was too solitary. He didn’t have people round to the big, empty house apart from the women. He did go out a bit, about as much as Claire, but still, he had moments of looking as if he had lost something. It was how I’d looked when I woke up every day just after Agnes died. I would wake up and before I remembered what had happened I would look for her. It seemed that Jonathan was looking for someone who wasn’t there, too.

  Franceska was more like Margaret than the others; she seemed so solid and sensible, and although she was obviously missing home, she seemed the most sorted out of everyone. Polly was the opposite. So fragile that she looked as if she would break at any time, although sometimes I wondered if she was already broken.

  Each of them needed me in their own ways and I vowed every day that I would be there, and I would help them all.

  I had survived, and now I had to help others survive, too.

  The problem was that my lifestyle was so busy I couldn’t be in four places at once, but if my plan was to work I really had to be.

  ‘It’s hard work,’ I told Tiger.

  ‘Having four homes would be. Four sets of humans to keep happy.’ Tiger shuddered. ‘My one home is enough for me, although I understand.’

  ‘I can’t be alone again. I have to make sure that there will always be someone to take care of me, Tiger.’

  ‘I know. And anyway most cats think loyalty is overrated.’

  ‘But I’m fiercely loyal; just to four different families. I have to learn to spread myself thinly.’

  ‘Alfie, stop being dramatic. My owners are married, and although they don’t have children, if anything happens to them … Well, before meeting you, I hadn’t even thought about it.’

  ‘I hope what happened to me doesn’t happen to you, but you’re lucky because if it does, you’ll have me to take care of you.’

  ‘Thanks Alfie, you’re a good friend.’

  ‘Tiger, I wouldn’t want anyone, cat or human, to go through what I’ve been through. I’ve learnt the importance of compassion the hard way. I know what it’s like when there is none. And although I was lucky to find some along my journey and in my homes now, I know how incredibly crucial it is to our survival. For all of us.’

  ‘You’ll never be alone again now,’ Tiger pointed out, kindly.

  It was true, compassion needed others. That was my lesson. It was through the compassion of other cats as well as other humans that I survived after Margaret died. It made me realise, life was a funny thing; as much as I would welcome being reunited with Agnes and Margaret, there was a part of me that wanted to survive, to carry on living, and I didn’t understand it.

  I was asleep at Claire’s, on her sofa in the living room. I wasn’t necessarily banned from sleeping on the sofa, but Claire did try, nicely, to encourage me to use my cat bed. However, the evening sun had been streaming through the window, making the spot I settled on deliciously warm and pretty irresistible – just what I needed after a difficult afternoon. I’d come home from Franceska’s house feeling hungry. I’d played with Aleksy for hours but there had been no sardines, no drink, nothing. Franceska hadn’t been as cheerful as normal; she seemed distracted, and although I tried to spend a bit of time with her on her own, she didn’t seem to notice me. I felt a little bit upset at being ignored. I knew that humans had problems, but that shouldn’t be an excuse for ignoring me – after all, I was there to help her when things were difficult! And there was no sign or sound of Polly and Henry. They returned home just as I was leaving, along with Matt. He was pushing the pram and she seemed a little bit more relaxed for once, but they were deep in conversation and they didn’t seem to notice me. It seemed I had become invisible to the adults of the number 22 flats.

  And that was just the start of it. As afternoon turned into evening, things got worse.

  Claire had been at home getting ready to go out, so although she had put some cat food and milk out for me, she didn’t have time for a chat, or any affection at all. She seemed very happy, and preoccupied with getting dressed up. She was wearing a very nice black dress and she put some high-heeled shoes by the front door. I’d never seen her wear heels that high, not even for work. She also spent ages on her hair, and putting lots of stuff on her face.

  When she had finished, I didn’t think she looked like my Claire any more.

  ‘Alfie, don’t wait up, I’m going out with the girls,’ she said, smiling, but she didn’t pick me up or stroke me; she probably thought I would mess up her dress with my cat hair. As if I would! I felt a little hurt again, although I knew it was selfish as I wanted her to be happy, so I tried to be glad for her. But I didn’t purr or even raise my whiskers for her when she left; I really did feel very down in the mouth.

  Bored and a bit lonely, I went to Jonathan’s but there was no sign of him. He hadn’t come back from work it seemed, and he hadn’t left me any food either. My empty breakfast dishes were still on the floor, just as I’d left them. Although I had still had enough to eat, I felt a bit disappointed, not just in the lack of food, but also the lack of attention.

  It made me realise that cats always need to have their wits about them. Just because I was no longer a homeless cat didn’t mean that I could take anything for granted. People were far from stable and reliable. Of course I wasn’t trying to exaggerate, I knew they were still there to take care of me, but I also needed to be more self-reliant and also perhaps a little less sensitive. After all, I’d been a street cat for a while, so there was no reason for me to have reverted to being quite so soft.

  But I still was. And I felt a little bit lost. I went for a walk, but I didn’t feel like making small talk with the other cats, not even Tiger. I was feeling sorry for myself. I wandered around Jonathan’s house, including the rooms that he never used, but that wasn’t much fun. I thought about hunting for a gift for him but I couldn’t be bothered; why reward him for his neglect? I felt a little bit sad as I decided to go back to Claire’s, and that’s when I fell asleep on the warm spot on the sofa.

  I was woken up by the sound of a key turning in the front door and giggling. I looked outside, where it was pitch black. Claire came into the living room, being held up by a man I’d never seen. I immediately stood up and raised my tail in suspicion, ready to rescue her, as a light flicked on.

  ‘Oh Alfie’s here, Alfie my lovely,’ Claire’s words sounded funny and slurry as I darted out of her way. I knew she was drunk. She wasn’t quite as bad, or mean, as the drunk people I had met on the street but she definitely shared common traits with them. If I let her pick me up, she would probably drop me, knowing my luck.

  ‘Right, well, Claire, you’re home safe and sound, so I better go.’ The man shuffled a bit, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  ‘Nooo Joe, stay for coffee.’ She burst out laughing, as if this was the funniest thing she had ever said. I didn’t think it was, though.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d better go, Claire. Honestly, you’ll thank me in the morning.’ The man looked quite nice, but he had hair the same colour as the fat ginger cat down the road.

  She flung herself at him, literally, and they both fell backwards onto the sofa. I bolted swiftly, only narrowly escaping getting squashed. Claire giggled again and Joe seemed to struggle a bit to free himself from her grip.

  ‘Claire, you’re a bit drunk,’ he persisted; he sounded a bit exasperated. It looked like that was an understatement. ‘I really ought to go but I promise I’ll call you.’

  ‘Please don’t go,’ she slurred, but he got up, kissed her on her cheek and let himself out. ‘Oh God, I’m such a loser,’ Claire cried as soon as the door closed. Al
armingly, she started sobbing like the old days. Then, instead of going to bed, she just curled up on the sofa and started snoring.

  Although I had seen this behaviour, I had no idea what to do, and actually there was nothing I could do but curl up next to her and snore along with her.

  She woke up the next morning, still on the sofa, and she really looked a mess.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, clutching her hair. ‘What on earth did I do?’ She looked at me. ‘Oh Alfie, I’m sorry, I hope you’re OK?’ She tried to get up. ‘My head is agony.’ She fell back again. ‘Oh God, oh God,’ she repeated, clutching her head as she moaned. I started miaowing, to let her know I was hungry.

  ‘Oh God, Alfie, can you keep it down, you sound like a fog horn.’ I didn’t know what that was, so I continued miaowing, and I didn’t understand why she was like this. If this was the result of being drunk, then why on earth did humans do it?

  Eventually she got up again and went to the kitchen. She drank a glass of water and then another one straight away. She went to the fridge and got some food out for me, which made her turn a funny colour as she put it on a plate.

  ‘Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said, as soon as she’d put it down. She rushed off. As I ate my breakfast, I didn’t really know what to think. It wasn’t a work day for Claire, which was probably lucky, as she looked dreadful. She returned looking pale, although she did have the remnants of the previous night’s make-up dotted around her face. She also smelt terrible (admittedly not as bad as the street drunks), although I accept that I have a heightened sense of smell, being a cat.

  ‘Oh Alfie, did that guy, Joe, come back here last night?’ I miaowed, hoping she would interpret that as a yes. ‘I just can’t remember. Oh no, he must hate me. I bet he can’t stand me now, and I quite liked him. Oh God, at my age I should know better. I am so embarrassed.’ I yelped really loudly. The last thing I ever wanted was to lose her now.