THE SAUSAGE THIEF
He couldnt help but notice that cat. Mainly because the cheeky thing kept stealing from his small grocery shop. But the way the furry rascal did itit was impossible to be cross. If anything, it cheered him up.
The shop owner actually started looking forward to the show each time. He recorded the whole business on his mobile, and every evening, hed play it back for his wife and theyd have a right good laugh together. So it went.
The cat would always sit for ages at the doorway, right in the frame of the open door, pretending hed just stopped for a bit of a rest, nothing suspicious at all. Hed glance quickly up and down the high street to make sure nobody was watching. The shopkeeper would be tucked away behind the big fridge, filming it all.
The cat would step cautiously inside, head straight for the counter where the sausages were displayed. Hed pick up his pace, swipe a sausage or a Cumberland ring off the platter, and dash out the door. But hunger got the better of him, and he rarely made it far. Barely a few steps from the shop, hed plop down and start tucking into his prize.
The shopkeeper would saunter outside, making sure not to get too close, and call out,
Tasty, is it?
The cat would lift his head and give a satisfied meow.
Thats the spirit, the shopkeeper would reply.
Come back anytime.
Youre probably wondering how this all works. So: Why on earth are there cold sausages just lying around on a tray, not in the fridge, not on display, and why are they all separated out in pieces? The answers simple.
The shopkeeper simply had a kind heart.
The cat had first appeared at his shop utterly scrawny and battered. But no matter how hard he tried, the tom refused to come near a person or take food from his hands. So, the shopkeeper came up with a way to help him.
At first, hed put the sausages right by the door, within easy reach. Hed even given the thief a name: Oliver. So that Oliver could earn his food honestlya proper sausage heist for his dinner.
And it worked. Gradually, the shopkeeper placed the sausages a little farther inside each day until they reached the main counter with all the other goods. He even made a little feeding station on the bottom shelf, right near the floor.
By now, Oliver could have just waltzed in, helped himself, and left, butyou see, ladies and gentlementhe joy was all in the act. Stolen food always tastes better.
Later, the man put out a big water bowl, a dish with the posh cat food, and a plastic tray with fresh litter right by the side door. He even set up a small dog kennel with a warm fleece blanket for a bed.
Oliver was still pretty wary and wouldnt let anyone pick him up, although he did enjoy a good natter. The shopkeeper would follow him out after a heist and begin a chat. The cat, still chewing, would sometimes turn and reply with a meow or two.
Yet one thing nagged at the shopkeeper. Heres what: Oliver had clearly put on weight, was looking much healthier, and really didnt need to steal sausages anymore. But he still didfaithfully nicking a couple twice a day and vanishing behind the corner with them.
The shopkeeper tried so many times to follow and see where Oliver went, but the tom always managed to give him the slip.
So he got clever and installed a little CCTV camera with a good view of the street. The feed went straight to the computer in his office. And one evening, at last, he learned Olivers secret.
Just outside the basement window of the house across the lane, a tiny ginger kitten popped out, quivering with excitement. The kitten pounced right on the sausage Oliver brought.
Tomorrow, his wife declared that night, dabbing her eyes as she scolded him, you will bring them both home, understand?
But it turned out to be no simple matter. Getting hold of Oliver was easy enough nowhe even slept in the middle of the shop from time to timebut that little ginger thing was impossible to catch.
Days passed. And through the cameras, the shopkeeper watched as the kitten started drinking from Olivers water bowl and occasionally snoozed in the dogs kennel. But whenever anyone came near, hed shoot off like a ginger firework.
Everything changed one morning, when a strange cry caught the mans attention from the entrance of the shop. There were no customers at the time.
He came out from behind the till to investigate.
On the doorstep sat the little ginger kitten, yowling at the top of his lungs.
Whats up, little one? asked the man, puzzled.
The kitten rushed to him, stared right into his eyes, then darted out of the shop. Without a second thought, the shopkeeper followed. Around the corner, he found Oliver lying on his side, moaning softly. Hed broken free from a dogs bite, but his back leg was badly hurt.
The kitten butted his tiny head against Olivers side and cried even louder.
Oh dear God, said the shopkeeper.
He quickly whipped off his jacket, bundled Oliver inside, then scooped up the ginger kitten (who didnt resist at all) and tucked him into his suit pocket.
Locking up the shop behind him, he drove them straight to the vet.
They waited there for five hours while Olivers wound was cleaned and stitched.
In that time, he became well and truly acquainted with the ginger kitten, whom hed decided to call Blaze. Blaze turned out to be lively and affectionate.
That evening the man closed up shop and brought home not only groggy Oliver, who was still shaking off the anaesthetic, but also Blaze.
His wife was over the moon. And what does a woman do when shes happy? Exactlyphone all her friends. The news needed lengthy explanations, advice and at least three repeats.
Once she finished, the man, Oliver, and Blaze were sprawled asleep across the bed.
Well, this is just lovely, she said with a mock sigh.
Where am I supposed to sleep?
Blaze shuffled closer to her and, after a moments hesitation, nestled up against her, kneading her softly with his tiny paws.
And so, the three of them had found their home.
Now two plump, pampered cats live with them, and theres hardly a hint left of those scruffy strays.
Sometimes, out of old habit, Oliver gives Blaze a good washing, and Blaze doesnt mind a bit.
And across the street, right outside the shoe shop, a little grey tabby has moved in. The saleswoman pops round to the grocery shop every so often, buying tins of food for her.
Who knowsmaybe shell take that one home too, one of these days.
Maybe, one day, theyll all be taken homeand cats will become such a rare thing everyone will have to queue up for one and attend a special class first.
What do you think?
Could it ever happen?
By Edward Bond-Smith
Photo from the web.
