The cat perches on the kitchen floor opposite a stranger, listening as she looks at him and whispers, What am I supposed to do with you? I told my mother I shouldnt have taken you in The cat is three years old and he reads the tone perfectly; he knows she dislikes him and that she has no use for him.
He also knows that his former owner has passed away. That night he lies at the feet of the old woman and watches her spirit drift upward, floating toward the ceiling and out the window.
He wanders the flats rooms, noticing new furniture that smells unfamiliar. He tries to stay out of sight of the new people who move through his house. The once warm, cosy home suddenly feels cold.
One morning the cat simply disappears. The woman now living in the flat steps into the kitchen to feed him and finds yesterdays kibble untouched. Maybe thats for the best, she says with a sigh of relief.
The cat slips away without waiting to be shooed or treated like rubbish. He slips through the open front door while belongings are being carried in and out. He travels along paths he has never known, clambering over fences and darting across roads, avoiding every place that feels chilly and unloved.
Boys hurl stones at him, he tumbles from a roof twice, but he keeps pressing forward, fleeing his former life. He finally collapses, exhausted, his belly growling after three days without food.
He looks around. Behind an old fence stands a small wooden cottage that appears empty. The air carries no scent of food, but a warm, peaceful smell rises from the structure.
He squeezes through a gap in the fence and sneaks toward the cottage. From a distance he spots an open attic window and climbs inside.
The attic is piled with hay, filled with the scent of mice. In one corner lies an old blanket. He curls up on it, feeling for the first time that he is home, his paws buzzing with fatigue. His stomach growls again, but he closes his eyes and drifts to sleep.
He awakens to a human voice. He slips to the attics open window and peers down through the sliver. In the yard a little girl named Poppy talks to someone while laying something into a metal bowl. The aroma of food is unmistakable and makes his mouth water.
His stomach rumbles betrayingly. He quietly climbs down the attic stairs and inches toward the bowl. He darts up, snatches the biggest morsel he can reach, and darts away just in time.
From behind the cottage, Poppy appears, followed by a russetcoloured dog named Rusty and two plump puppies toddling behind him.
Come on, sweetheart, Poppy coos, Ive brought you something to eat, lets go.
Suddenly the cat hears a voice that reminds him of his former mistresswarm, caring, the same tone he once knew at home. Poppy exclaims, Look, we have guests! Youre hungry too, little cat.
He is sitting almost beside the bowl, too weak to run far. He watches Poppy, who, oblivious to his presence, feeds the puppies and Rusty. He finishes the stolen bite and returns to the bowl.
Poppy notices he isnt fleeing and places a few more pieces near him. Eat, she says gently, you look famished. She then fetches a shallow dish and pours a splash of milk. Drink, you need it before the hunger makes you sick.
The cat calms, devours everything she offers, laps the milk, then climbs back up to the attic and falls asleep on his blanket, certain now that he is truly home.
He spends the whole summer there. Every day Poppy comes up, feeds him and Rusty, and calls the dog Jellybean. The cat regains strength, recovers his health, and shares the same dish with the whole family without a hint of embarrassment. He learns to catch mice in the attic and, whenever Poppy arrives, presents a fresh mouse as a thankyou.
She laughs, says Thank you, and lets him enjoy her gentle strokes, the warmth of which echoes the longago feeling of safety.
Autumn arrives, the nights grow colder, and snowsomething the cat has never seencovers the garden. White specks drift in the morning air, startling him. It is late October.
This time Poppy does not appear alone; she arrives in a horsedrawn cart with her grandfather. The cat watches warily from the attic as a stranger steps onto the yard.
Poppy goes out, begins laying out food, and the scent draws Rusty first, followed by the two puppies. Well, look at you! chuckles the grandfather. Yes! Poppy giggles, the cat will join us soon, she adds, eyeing the attic.
The cat hears no threat in the grandfathers voice and slides down. Come on, dont be shy, Poppy says, rubbing his back. He settles and eats.
Alright, my dears, lets head home, the grandfather declares, no more wandering for you. He scoops up the puppies and places them in the cart.
Rusty darts after them. The cat hesitates. Come on, little one, dont be afraid. Were going to Grandfathers cottage in the woods, where youll be safe, Poppy whispers.
He looks at her closely; her tone, her kindness, all remind him of the woman who once rescued a tiny stray from the streets and brought him inside.
Poppy gently cradles the cat in her arms, puts him in a large wicker basket lined with a warm cloth, and carries him to the cart. He offers no resistance, closes his eyes, and trusts again.
He believes in people once more. Perhaps only animals can forgive us completely and love us despite everything.
