I had come home again.
Chapter Seven
It had been a week since I’d been living with Claire and we had settled into quite a comfortable routine, although not an entirely healthy one. She cried a lot and I snuggled a lot, which suited me just fine. I loved to cuddle, and I had a lot of lost time to make up for. I just wished I could do something to stop Claire from crying so much. It was clear that she needed my help and I vowed I would give it in any way I could.
Claire had tried to phone the number on my disc again, then she’d phoned the telephone company and discovered it had been disconnected. She assumed I’d been abandoned, and that seemed to make her like me even more. She cried over it and said that she couldn’t understand how anyone could do that to me. She also said that she totally understood, as it had happened to her, although I was yet to discover the details. But I knew that I had a home with her. She started buying me cat food and special milk. She got me a litter tray, not that I really liked using them, and she was talking, luckily only talking, about taking me to the vet. Vets tended to poke around where they were not wanted, but she hadn’t called them so far, so paws crossed she’d forget about that.
Despite the almost constant crying, Claire was very efficient. She managed to get all her furniture arranged and her boxes unpacked in only a couple of days. She organised the house and it quickly looked like a home. Pictures were hung on the walls, cushions scattered literally everywhere, and suddenly warmth flooded into every room; I had chosen well.
However, as I said, it wasn’t a happy home. Claire had been unpacking and I had watched her, trying my best to work out her story. She arranged lots of photographs in the front room, telling me who was in them; her mum and dad, pictures of herself as a child, her younger brother, friends and extended family. For a while she was animated and happy, and I rewarded her positivity by brushing up against her legs the way she told me she liked. I did this a lot for her; after all, I needed her to love me so I wouldn’t have to go back to the streets again. I needed to love her, too, although I was finding this increasingly easy to do.
One evening, she unpacked a photo which she didn’t tell me about. It was a picture of her in a white dress, holding hands with a man who looked very smart. I’d learnt enough about humans to know that this was what they called a ‘wedding photo’, when two people joined together and said they would only mate with each other – something this cat certainly didn’t understand. She sank into the sofa, clutching the photo against her chest, and started sobbing loudly. I sat next to her, giving her my equivalent of a cry, which was a loud yowl, but she didn’t seem to take any notice of me. But then I started yowling in earnest; like Claire, I couldn’t stop, as my loss flooded my memory. Although I didn’t know if the man in the suit had left her, or died the way my Margaret had, I knew then that she really was on her own. Just as I had been. We sat side by side, her crying, me yowling, at the top of our voices.
After a couple more days, Claire left early in the morning, saying that she had to go to work. She looked a bit better, as she put on a smart outfit and brushed her hair. She even had some colour to her face, although I wasn’t sure it was exactly natural. I was also beginning to look better, even in a few short days. My fur was beginning to even out a bit and I was putting on weight again, now that I was eating so much and exercising so little. As we stood side by side, looking in Claire’s big mirror, I thought we made a very cute couple. Or we had the potential to be, at the very least.
But although Claire left food for me, I missed her company when she was at work and felt sad to be alone again. I had Tiger of course and we spent time together, our friendship growing as we chased flies, went for short strolls and basked in the sun in her back garden, but that was my cat friendship; I knew that more than anything now I needed humans I could rely on.
When Claire was out at work, it brought back unwelcome memories and made me think that it was time to carry on with my plan. If I was going to ensure that I was never on my own again, I would need more than one home. That was the sad fact of life.
I’d seen a ‘Sold’ sign go up outside number 46, at about the same time that one had been erected outside Claire’s house and I’d been scoping both, but of course Claire had arrived first. However, I’d noticed that 46 was now also occupied. This house was just far enough apart from Claire’s to give me a short walk. It was on the part of the road that had the larger houses – the ‘posh’ bit, as I had been told by the cats that lived here and who seemed very proud and a little bit boastful of the fact. It looked like it would be a good place to live too, 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.