‘The Cat’

What was that smell? The darkness of the night seemed to make it stronger somehow; even more delicious. It was certainly a fishy smell. Could it be herring or maybe salmon? No, she knew what it was now – definitely sardine. Although she didn’t know that was what it was called, she had smelt it before, but had never tasted it. She was very curious, even though curiosity is famously risky for a cat.

She trotted briskly across the silent roadway and slipped through the bushes on the other side. The smell was definitely getting stronger; she must be getting closer. A harsh white light spilled out of a window above her and with one light-footed bound she was in the midst it. She walked along the narrow windowsill as if on a catwalk. She came to the open window where the aroma was at its most intoxicating.

The man stood with his back to her in his kitchen. He was whistling to himself as he tossed the fishes in his pan making them sizzle and smell irresistible. Then he turned around toward the sink, where he slid the small shoal of little fish from the pan onto a plate, and a bed of bread ready to receive them. The sight of the Cat, so close, took him by surprise. The Cat eyed him unblinkingly and then dropped her gaze to the fishes that lay served up between him and her.
         “Hello,” he said warmly. “Where did you come from?”
         He didn’t seem to realise it, but this was something of a foolish question. The Cat had been here all along. This was her patch. It was actually he who was new to the neighbourhood. So the real question was: Where had he come from? But the Cat was unconcerned and so decided to overlook his ignorance. What she was most interested in was the meal on his plate.
         “Would you like some?” asked the man, seeing where her hungry eyes were fixed. “I bet you would,” he answered for her.
         He cut one of the little fish in half, blew on it twice to cool it, and dropped it onto the windowsill beside her. She sniffed it. It was definitely what she had smelt from across the street. But could she trust this stranger? Of course she could, she thought, as she bit into the little slice of heaven.
         The fact that there would be dinner waiting for her at home tonight was the furthest thing from the Cat’s mind. Mmm. This fish was, without doubt the tastiest fish she had ever eaten, and tastiest of any food she knew of. She looked at the man, who had by now put a second slice of bread on top of his first and was biting into the fish meal himself.
         “Mmm,” he agreed.
         This seemed like someone she could spend time with, The Cat decided.

Licking her lips, The Cat could still taste the sardines as she pushed through her cat-flap back at home. There, in front of her on the floor, was her dinner in her bowl. She gave it a sniff. It was good food, nice food, nutritious food, and formulated especially for cats. She had always enjoyed her meals here, but now this seemed bland compared to the oily fish she had tasted across the road. She walked past the bowl without touching it. Every room in the house was warm and this evening she walked past her own basket and curled up on the second stair for a nap. She drifted off into sleep and dreamt of sardines.

The next day the Cat found herself drawn again to the house across the street. She made sure that it was around meal time, in the hope of being given more fish. This time she strode boldly in through the open doorway, intrigued by a new smell.
         “Hello, Pus,” said the man as he turned to see her.
         The Cat was a little irritated. She already had a name and it wasn’t “Pus”, but she decided to let it slide for now. What was this new smell?
         “Fancy some hot dog?” asked the man and tossed a piece of sausage onto the floor.
         This tasted, well, unusual, to the Cat – meaty, but not meaty at the same time, and quite salty. It was a new and interesting experience for the Cat but, despite reservations, she decided to like it.
         It was this, and all the other exotic and interesting foods that seemed to be on offer, that persuaded the Cat to spend more and more time at the house across the street. The man not only gave her tasty food, but didn’t worry her with those tablets and smelly drops on the back of her neck that she got at home. Most importantly, there seemed to be no threat that the man in this house would take her to see the Nasty Lady with her sharp needles and who poked around in her mouth and ears.

After a few days she stopped going home at all.

This new house grew cold as the winter days drew in, but most of the time there was a log fire burning in the living room. The heat radiated from the hearth and the Cat enjoyed lying in the glow of it. Nowhere else felt warm enough for her. When the man sat down in his easy chair, to watch the flickering box in the corner, the Cat would bound up onto the man’s knees and nuzzle into him just as she had done so often with her owner, back at home. He would stroke her head and scratch behind her ears. It was warm and cosy and loving, just as she knew that a home should be. These were some of the things she had loved about her owner’s home. But here she had it all but without the negatives. The man in the house didn’t give her food at the regular times she had been used to, it was only ever scraps from his own plate. But what food there was was usually delicious and interesting. It kept the Cat coming back for more.

This new house had no cat-flap and so there were times when the Cat would go out, but when she returned she could find no way in. Now the weather was cold the back door would be shut more often than not. She would stand at the door, or on the windowsill, mewing. Sometimes the man would hear and let her in, but sometimes he would not. Sometimes she would find herself shut out all night. And sometimes she would not have eaten all day. It was at times like these that she would have to look for her own food.

It was on one such night that she came across some of the neighbourhood scavengers.
         “Who’s that there?” snarled the Fox, as he looked up from the rubbish bin he had just knocked over.
         The Cat stepped cautiously out of the shadows to show herself.
         “It’s just a cat,” commented a voice, just over her shoulder.
         She turned to see and realised that she was now standing in between the Fox and a rat.
         “It’s a good job there is plenty here for all of us,” said the Fox. “Or you two would be my starter and desert.”
         “As if you’re the great ‘unter,” sneered back the Rat, rather boldly. “All you ever eat is ‘uman leftovers, like the rest of us. You ain’t never caught a mouse, never mind a rat.”
         The Rat was large and chubby with a long skinny, scaly tail. Though he clearly had little respect for the Fox, the Cat noticed that he kept a healthy distance between the two of them. The Fox put his head down into the mess of papers and cartons to sniff out the food left in them. It didn’t smell quite right to the Cat, but she was now very hungry.
         “Can I have some?” she begged, taking another step towards the Fox.
         “Wait your turn!” snarled the Fox, bearing his sharp teeth at her. “There’s a pecking order on the street. And I’m at the top of it.”
         “I’m sorry,” blurted out the Cat, backing away.
         “When I’ve had my fill you can fight over what’s left with that vermin,” he said, nodding towards the Rat.
         “Although, I was ‘ere before you,” pointed out the Rat, not wanting to lose his place. “Just wait your turn,” he added, as he scratched his neck with his back leg where the fleas were biting.
         And even though the Cat was now so very hungry, that was what she did. She wasn’t like these other two. She was no alley cat; she had only ever eaten from a human hand.
         “Where’s your owner anyway?” probed the Rat, seeing that he now had the upper hand. “Why’re you trying to steal food from outcasts like us? Don’t no one care for you?”
         The Cat felt suddenly defensive.
         “It’s not that I’m not cared for. I am very well looked after, actually. I’m just locked out at the moment.”
         “Utter rubbish,” scoffed the Fox, looking up from his makeshift meal. He looked skinny, in the moonlight, with patches of bald skin on his back and his legs. “You’re not so cute anymore,” he went on. “You’re a fat cat that no one wants.”
         There was nothing the Cat could say in response to this. She had been aware of how sluggish and heavy she had become, but now the Fox’s cruel words cut deep. He had noticed her size and she felt ashamed. Although her hunger was giving her pain, nothing was as painful as the shame she felt now and she retreated back into the shadows, leaving the other two to their scavenging. What the Cat was yet to realise, was that all the fatty scraps she had given had not been good for her. She was no longer sleek and muscular, but overweight and heavy on her feet.

Over the next few weeks, she would continue to eat what she was given at the man’s house and, whenever she was locked out, she would have to seek out her unkind, low-life friends and share the rotten leftovers from the human bins with them.

Not everything she was fed agreed with her. One day, the Man was eating cheese and grapes from a plate on the arm of his easy chair. Any grapes, that were a bit too soft for him, he tossed to the Cat. The Cat wolfed each one down and, after they had both finished, she nuzzled up to him for a nap. Before long she awoke with an intense pain in her tummy. She stood up and started to heave uncontrollably.
         “No, No, No!” shouted the Man and pushed her off him and onto the floor. At that moment a horrible bitter, acidy taste frothed up across the roof of the Cat’s mouth and out onto the rug.
         “Oh no, you wretched creature!” the man shouted at her. “Get out!”
         And while she was still retching, he kicked her.
         “Out, Out, Out!” he barked, as he chased her into the darkness.
         The Cat had never been sick before and never, ever been treated this way. This man who had been so kind to her had suddenly turned. Now, no matter how much she begged, at the back door or window, he would not let her in. He didn’t seem to care that she now had no one to feed her. All she could do was to seek out the Fox and the Rat because, between them, they seemed to have a nose for the edible rubbish.
         Because the Cat now had less to eat, she quickly lost all the weight she had put on. Even so, she didn’t feel any better; she felt worse. Although she remained cautious of getting too close to the Fox, with all those sharp teeth, she had been eating next to the Rat. Her skin grew itchy and she was sure she could see fleas moving under her fir.
         “I don’t like ‘em either,” commented the Rat as he watched her look down at her fir that seemed to be moving on its own. “But all my relatives ‘ave ‘em too. You just can’t avoid ‘em ‘round here.”

Her companions seemed more accepting of her now that she had fallen out of favour with the humans and was now as dirty and smelly as they were. But then, one day, she saw the Fox sniffing where the Cat had just left her cat dirt.
         “There’s something moving in there,” he observed.
         “Where?” The Cat was beside him, looking down, forgetting about his sharp teeth for once. “What is it?” she asked, greatly alarmed.
         “Worms, I’m afraid,” he concluded grimly. “I get them all the time. Must be something we ate,” he smirked.
         The Cat was horrified. How had it come to this? She couldn’t live with these creatures any longer she was catching awful things from them.
         So she left them and hunted for whatever food she could find on her own. But now her nose and eyes were running, and she kept sneezing too. This was something that neither the Rat nor the Fox suffered from.
         “What has happened to me?” she wailed.

It was now that her thoughts returned to her original home. The owner there, her owner, had never let her catch worms, or fleas or let her get fat, or thin, or get sick. She had been safe with him. Although she shuddered at the memory of the trips in her cat case to the Nasty Lady with the sharp little needle, at least her owner had kept her well. Things had started to go wrong when she moved out. Maybe, she thought, it would be better for her to try eating from her owner’s bins. That might be healthier for her, at least. It was then that she remembered the food that he had fed her. And for the first time in a long time she longed for simple, safe food again. But she was sure that her owner had given up on her, just like she had on him. It was now several months since she had left. Her basket would be gone, along with her bowl. Her cat-flap would have been locked up long ago, that is unless she had been replaced by a new pet. Her heart ached at the thought. How she hated herself for ever having left. She would return, she decided, but she must stay out of view. She couldn’t risk the Owner catching sight of her.

So it was that the Cat slunk quietly back into her old garden. The sights and smells were comfortingly familiar. She walked slowly to her old cat-flap. It would be locked for sure, but she could still visualise the layout of the kitchen – where her bowl used to be, the cosy corner with her basket, and of where she once slept safe on her owner’s lap whilst he had gently stroked her. Those had been better days. She couldn’t think now why she had ever left.
         But all this reminiscing wouldn’t fill her rumbling stomach. She went to the bin and tried to push it over the way that the Fox would have. She pushed and pushed, but couldn’t get it to budge.
         “Keeping a new supply to yourself are you?” the Fox snarled as he stepped from the shadow the garden trees.
         “Don’t like sharin’ all of a sudden?” came the familiar voice of his companion, still hanging back in the dark.
         Something churned in the Cat’s insides, something that was different to the hunger that was a constant now. It was the feeling that these two scavengers shouldn’t be here, not at her home, not in this special place. Just by their presence it felt like they were spoiling even her happy memories. But she reasoned that she was now scavenging just like them, mangy and diseased just like them. And she was spoiling this place just by being here herself. But she was hungry and so she put her disgust aside.
         “I’ll be happy to share, if you help me get into this bin,” she suggested to the Fox.
         The Fox snarled in contempt, gathered himself and leapt at the bin. Over it went first time, the lid falling open as the container hit the ground.
         “Jackpot!” screamed the Rat, excitedly running to and fro behind the Fox.
         The Fox started digging through the contents sending rubbish all over the lawn. The Cat backed away. This didn’t feel right, not right at all, to ruin her owner’s lovely garden.
         It was then that she caught sight of her bowl. What was it doing outside, to one side of the back door? Had her owner thrown it out? No. There was even some of her food that had been freshly set out into it. She rushed to it hungrily and started to eat it before the others could notice.
         She was gulping down what she now thought was the best food she had ever tasted when the back door swung open. The Cat was too absorbed in her meal to notice, but the Rat and the Fox had already dissolved into the night. The first thing the Cat knew about it was the feeling of two hands scooping her up under her chest. As she was lifted up high she came face to face with her owner.
         “There you are,” he announced triumphantly, rubbing his nose against hers. “Where did you go? I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been searching for you for months. Look,” he said showing her the poster that was taped to the outside of the door. There was a picture of her with the words “LOST CAT” printed above it. The Cat didn’t understand any of it, but recognised the poster as the same as others she had seen all around the neighbourhood.
         She could feel the love radiating from her owner. There was no hint of anger, impatience or disappointment from him. It was more than she could have ever hoped for and nothing like what she might of expected. But it was not as if everything could return to normal straight away. The Cat’s owner quickly noticed the fleas that were crawling through his pet’s hair.
         “Oh dear,” he said, “You are in a bad way aren’t you? Don’t worry, we can deal with this very quickly. But I’m afraid you’re not going to like it,” he warned her.
         Within minutes the Cat found herself in a frothy, but very wet bath. Her owner was right, she didn’t like it one bit. She felt panicky and struggled to get out. But her owner held her in and firmly reassured her,
         “I know, I know. But this will get rid of the horrid fleas and you’ll feel better before long.”
         This was exactly the kind of thing that had made the Cat want to leave in the first place. But the water was washing all the biting insects away and there was something soothing about that. So she decided to trust her owner and stopped struggling. After he had towelled her dry and played the hairdryer over her still damp fir, he put a few of the drops of the liquid she hated so on the back of her neck.
         “This will keep them away for good,” he told her.
         Because she still didn’t understand, she wasn’t reassured at all. But now that she was clean, he scooped her up into the biggest hug. She hadn’t felt love for so long and it made this cuddle extra special. She felt clean, she felt wanted, she felt cared for. She knew she was loved. And that night she slept safely and soundly in her own bed, in a way she hadn’t since the day she had left.

Early the next morning her owner lifted her into her travel carrier. She knew just what this meant – a trip to see the Nasty Lady. Now she was free from fleas, and she knew in her heart that her owner had not given up on her, even when she had given up on him, she decided to trust him. The Nasty Lady was just as scary, but while her owner was with her she would be brave. The Nasty Lady prodded her, felt her all over, looked in her mouth (and other places) and lastly did that thing that she hated the most – the sharp jab with the needle between her shoulder blades. Even though this all made her feel every uncomfortable, the loving look on her owner’s face reassured her that this was, in some strange way, all for her good.
         “These are worming pills,” the Nasty Lady told her owner. “Make sure she takes one every day until they are all gone.”

When they got home again, she didn’t even mind any more, that her owner crumbled up the de-worming pills into her food. She ate it all even though it tasted odd.
         “You will be right as rain again in a couple of weeks,” her owner reassured her. “Just don’t get lost again, please. It would break my heart.”
         And indeed she was back to herself again within a fortnight. The jab cleared up her runny nose and eyes and she put on the weight she had lost by eating the food whenever her owner gave it to her.

Everything was back to how it was before she had left. But somehow it was even better for the Cat, because she knew now just what she had lost. She would still slip out through her cat-flap to roam through the neighbourhood. She would sometimes see the Fox, mangy as ever, or the Rat, fat and unhealthy looking. She would feel sorry for them because they had no one to care for them, to look after them, to love them. She would often smell the aroma of fish cooking. But even though she could remember how good it tasted, she was never tempted away from home again.

© M Day 11-Oct-2024

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