None of em will take it, I muttered as I stepped into the animal refuge on the outskirts of Bristol. There werent separate rooms everything was packed into one huge, noisy hall. Along the left brick wall were the cat cages, and on the right the dog runs. Staff bustled past every few minutes, some lugging sacks of kibble, others carrying fresh rags, and a few dragging a bucket of water to refill the drinking dishes.
Visitors came in steady streams. A quiet, modest family a slender mum called Claire, a thin dad named Mark, and their lanky son Elliot shuffled from cage to cage, staring intently at the residents. A young couple whispered sweetly by the cat area. An elderly gentleman with a cane ambled slowly past the dog pens. And there I was, just having crossed the threshold, blown away by the smells, the clamor, and the sheer number of animals.
In the first pen sat Bonny a tiny mutt with a wildly wagging tail. She was gnawing a rubber duck, utterly ignoring the crowd. A short distance away was Dante a grim, jetblack Labrador with eyes that had seen a lot. Beside him crouched a smiling girl in a bright puffer jacket, chatting softly with the dog as if trying to make a friend. On the left lay a proper cat exhibition every breed, colour and size you could imagine.
On a pink pillow lounged Sonia a sleek white cat. Occasionally shed peek open a yellow eye and stare at anyone who got close. Hanging from the top bars was Kuzma, a chubby orangeandblack kitten that looked like a cartoon houseelf, his head a little too big for his body. Hed let out a faint mew, flop onto his back, then swagger lazily around the corner of his cage where the water and food bowls sat. The moment he saw me approach, Kuzma darted straight toward me.
Youre a character, I grumbled, slipping a finger through the bars and scratching the little bugs ear. The bigheaded runt blinked his eyes shut, purred like a motorboat and gave my finger a gentle nibble.
Look, Mum, isnt he funny? the skinny boy whispered, trotting up to Kuzmas cage. His parents, arriving a step behind, exchanged a quick glance and shook their heads in unison.
Hes tiny, Elliot, his mum replied softly. Elliot muttered something incomprehensible, gave Kuzma a halfhearted stare and walked on. I guessed theyd rather take a dog than a cat, so they kept pulling their son away from the feline pens. Kuzma didnt seem to mind who petted him; he rumbled loudly and rubbed his head against my finger, alternating left and right, even trying to bite my thumb, which only made me smile more.
Maybe youd like this one? I turned and spotted a massive black dog in the far corner, his eyes gleaming. Hes big and handsome.
Oh no! his mum shook her head instantly. Lets look at the dogs instead. That one looks old.
Old, small Elliot grumbled, then sighed and followed his parents to the dog area. His complaints turned to giggles the moment they reached the refuges favourite resident a tiny bearlike pup called Masik. He waddled around his pen, licking anyones fingers who tried to stroke him. Even the silent old man smiled at the fluffy little ball as it nudged a soft toy in the corner.
My curiosity got the better of me, though. I wanted to see who was tucked away in the darkest corner, the one that made Elliots mum flinch. I left Kuzma to his antics and drifted toward that shadowy pen, taking a deep breath as I got closer.
Inside, on a grey blanket, lay an old tomcat. Just the sort of ordinary cat you might find in any garden, but with an air of faded aristocracy about him. He didnt pace, didnt meow, didnt try to attract attention. He simply rested, staring into the void with eyes clouded like fog, and let out a faint purr. When I reached his cage he gave a soft sigh, twitched his nose, and almost like a person, exhaled a weary breath before laying his head on his thin paws and closing them.
Thats Aramis, I whispered, hearing a cheery male voice behind me. I turned and saw a freckled staff member holding a badge that read Harry.
Whats his story? I asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the old cat.
Nothing much. Just an old soul, Harry replied, opening the cage and topping Aramiss bowl. The cat sniffed the air, rose slowly from the blanket, and shuffled toward his food, bumping his nose against the metal bars a couple of times. Hes blind. Cant see a thing. Our resident old-timer.
How did he survive on the streets? I wondered, turning to Harry.
He never lived on the streets, he chuckled, wiggling his nose apologetically. His owners gave him up when they got fed up. They didnt have time, and Aramis needs attention. We nursed him back, but who wants an old cat? Even Natalie, our manager, said the moment she saw him, No one will take him.
Yeah, they take the young and the calm ones, I agreed.
Except Daisy, Harry said, nodding toward a black dog and a girl sitting beside him. Dantes a bit headstrong, thats why shes trying to befriend him.
So?
Slowly. Stubborn animals rarely come to us, and Dantes exactly that. Like Aramis, he sighed. When we first got Aramis, he went a week without eating, just waiting for someone to take him. Hell sniff the air, wag his tail when someone comes in, then, realizing its not his turn, he curls up again and looks sad.
Is that why you keep him in the corner? To spare him extra stress? I asked.
Harry nodded, his lips tightening. Exactly. He gets hopeful every time someone walks in, then drops back into a nap, almost all day. Hell probably spend the rest of his life here. Who wants a blind old cat? What about you? Spot anything you like? Need a tip?
I laughed, remembering Kuzmas big head. Hes a little monster, I said, grinning.
Hes new. Kids found him on the street and brought him in. Probably a stray from a litter. Good thing the dogs didnt snag him first. Weve vaccinated him, cleared the fleas, even taught him to use the litter tray. He wont be a bother, Harry said, leaning in. So, taking Kuzma home?
Yeah, I think I will, I replied, glancing at the sleeping Aramis. Could I take him too?
Seriously? Harry looked surprised, thought for a moment, then shook his head. We only allow one animal per adopter. Wait here while I check with Natalie.
Sure thing, I said, watching Harry disappear down the hallway. I turned back to Aramis, who seemed to understand. Hey buddy, fancy coming with me? I cant promise you fancy owners, but Ill give you food, water and a big, clumsy bloke wholl try to pull your tail for fun
Before I could finish, Aramis lifted his nose, swayed to the open cage door that Harry had forgotten to shut, and padded out. I extended my hand; he sniffed it, brushed his cheek against my fingers and let out a faint meow.
Looks like a yes, I smiled, scratching his ear.
Harry popped back, breathless. Natalie said its alright. Looks like youve made a connection.
Why not? I shrugged. Two old blokes, a flat, and a bit of a cheeky geezer on top.
He raised an eyebrow. If you dont mind me asking, why take him? He wont have long left, you know.
I sighed, looking into Aramiss clouded eyes. Because you want to go out on a rainbow where youre loved, not in a cold shelter where every door slam breaks a heart, I said. A tiny whirr seemed to hum in his chest, as if he agreed.
Ill sort the paperwork, Harry said, darting off to the office, leaving me alone with the old cat. We sat in silence for a while; I stroked his ear, and he purred softly, gazing straight into my soul with those misty eyes.
Later that night, I was sprawled on the couch, the TV flickering, while Kuzma snuggled against my chest like a little furry tornado, his coat still dusted with the remnants of his endless exploring. He sighed, occasionally kneading my ribcage with tiny claws.
Next to my left foot, on a grey blanket, lay Aramis. Hed curled into a tight ball, his one paw draped over my thigh as if he feared Id vanish like his former owners. Whenever I shifted, he snapped his head up, sniffed the air, and settled again only when I gently ruffled his head and whispered I was still there.
If I got up to fetch a kettle, Aramis would bump into corners, then follow me, with Kuzma trotting like a tiny tail behind. After a while he learned the route to the kitchen, avoiding the furniture, and found his water and food bowls without a hitch.
When I left for work, both cats saw me out the door. Aramis lingered, his old eyes tracking my steps, giving my hand a brief lick before retreating to his blanket fort. At night they slept beside me Kuzma perched on the pillow, his fluffy rear cheekily nudging my head, and Aramis on my left side, his slender leg resting on my thigh. I know one day Aramis will be gone. I just hope he goes where hes loved, not back to a chilly shelter where every slam of the door shatters a cats heart.
