Alfie the Doorstep Cat

With my broken heart, and fearing no reasonable alternative, I set out from the only home I’d ever known. I had no idea where I was going, or how I was going to manage, but I knew that relying on myself, and my limited abilities, would be better than relying on a shelter. And I also knew that a cat like me needed to have a home and love. As I crept off into the dark night, my little body shaking with fear, I tried to find a way to be brave. I knew little but I was certain that I didn’t ever want to be alone again. This cat desperately needed to find a lap, or even a number of laps, to sit on. With a sense of purpose, I tried to muster my courage. I hoped, prayed, that it wouldn’t fail me.

I started walking, letting my senses guide me. I wasn’t used to prowling the streets in the dark, unwelcoming night, but I could see and I could hear well and kept telling myself that it would be all right. I tried to hear Margaret and Agnes’ voices as I walked the streets, to drive me on.

The first night was hard – frightening and long. At some point, as the moon shone down, I found a shed at the bottom of someone’s back garden, which was lucky because my legs were hurting and I was exhausted. The door was open, and although it was dusty and full of cobwebs, I was too tired to care. I curled up in a corner on the hard, dirty floor, but somehow I managed to fall fast asleep.

I was awoken during the night by a loud yowl, and a large black cat loomed over me. I jumped into the air in fright. He stared at me angrily, and although my legs were shaking, I tried to stand my ground.

‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed, spitting at me aggressively.

‘I just needed to sleep,’ I replied, trying and failing to sound confident. There was no way I could get past him easily, so, trembling, I stood up and tried to look menacing. The cat grinned, an evil grin, and I nearly buckled. He reached out and swiped my head with his claws. I yelped and felt the pain from where he’d scratched me and I wanted to curl into a ball but knew that I had to get away from this vicious cat. He came at me again, claws glinting, brandished at my face, but luckily I was more agile than him. I launched myself towards the door and ran past him, brushing his wiry fur but managing to get outside. He turned and hissed at me again. I spat back then ran as fast as my little legs would take me. At some point, I stopped and breathlessly looked back to find I was alone. I had had my first taste of danger and I knew that I needed to develop a thicker fur if I was going to make it. I used my paw to smooth my coat and tried to ignore the scratch, which still smarted. I realised that I could be fast when I needed to be, and that was something I could use to get myself out of danger. I yelped some more as I walked on, fear flooding through me, but also driving me. I looked into the night sky, at the stars, and wondered, yet again, if Agnes and Margaret could see me, wherever they were. I hoped so, but I didn’t know. I knew very little.

I was so hungry by the time I felt able to stop again and it was very cold. Used to sitting by Margaret’s fire day after day, this was an alien life to me. I knew that if I needed food I would have to hunt; something I hadn’t had to do very much of in my past and something I wasn’t adept at. I followed my nose and found some mice skulking around the bins outside a big house. Despite my distaste – I usually ate food from a tin, except on special occasions when Margaret gave me fish – I chased one into a corner and went in for the kill. Because I hadn’t been used to hunger like this, it tasted almost delicious to me and it gave me the energy that I needed to continue.

I wandered on through the night until the day began to dawn, trying to remember that I was still me, Alfie, the playful cat, as I chased my tail and practised my bounding. I hunted a fat fly, but then I remembered I needed to conserve my energy; I didn’t know where my next meal would come from or when I’d get it.

Still with no idea where I was heading, I came to a big road and realised I would need to cross it. I wasn’t used to roads and traffic; Margaret had lectured me about not going near roads when I was a kitten. It was noisy and scary as cars and vans zoomed past me. I stood on the pavement, my heart pounding, until I saw a gap. I almost closed my eyes and ran, but managed to steady my shaking legs before I did anything stupid. Fearfully, I put one little paw down onto the road, feeling the rumble of traffic as it grew nearer. A horn blared and as I turned to my left I saw an enormous pair of lights bearing down on me. I bolted, running faster than I ever had in my life, and to my horror I felt something brush my tail. I yelped and leapt as far as I could, landing on the pavement. Heart beating, I turned around and saw a car speed past, knowing I had nearly ended up under it. I wondered if I had used up one of my nine lives – I was pretty sure I had. Eventually I caught my breath, again fear was becoming my driving force, and legs like jelly, I walked for a few minutes away from the road, before I collapsed by someone’s front gate.

After a few minutes, a door opened and a lady came out. She had a dog with her, on a lead. The dog lurched at me, barking wildly, and once again I had to dodge out of harm’s way. The lady yanked the lead and shouted at the dog, who snarled at me. I hissed back.

I was learning very quickly that the world was a dangerous and hostile place, a million miles away from my home, Agnes and Margaret. I began to wonder if a shelter wouldn’t have been safer after all.

However, there was no going back. By now I had no idea where I was. When I first set out, I didn’t know exactly where I was going or what would happen to me but I had my hopes. I thought I would have to travel a bit but in the back of my mind, a kind family, perhaps a sweet little girl, would find me and take me to my new home. As I faced daily terrors, sometimes running for my life, and often feeling like I was ready to collapse from hunger, this was the picture I kept in my head.

By now, I was disorientated, thirsty and tired. The adrenaline that had kept me going was deserting me and being replaced by a heaviness in my limbs.

I found my way to a back alley, where, if I jumped on fences and balanced like a ballerina, I could make my way along, looking down from high enough to feel safe. I tapped into my energy reserves in order to do so. I spotted a garden with a big bowl of water on a post; Margaret had had one in her garden for birds to drink from. I jumped down and managed to climb up it, so desperate for a drink that I would have climbed the highest mountain. I drank greedily, grateful for the immediate relief it gave me. I swiped some birds away; this was my water now. When I had all but emptied it, I returned to the fences and made my way further and further away from my old life.

I spent a thankfully uneventful night. I met some other cats but they ignored me, too concerned with their cat calling and mating to pay much heed.

Most of what I knew about other cats, I had learnt from Agnes, who could hardly move by the time I met her, and the other cats on our street, who were generally friendly, especially Mavis, who had shown me such kindness. I wanted to approach the cats to ask for help, but they looked too busy and I was scared after the black cat incident, so I trotted on carefully.

The next morning, I felt as if I had come quite a distance. Yet again I was hungry, so I decided that I would try to look my most appealing in the hope that some kindly cat would help me out with food. I happened upon a cat who was basking in the sunshine outside a house with a shiny red door. I tentatively approached and purred.

‘Goodness,’ said the cat, who was a rather large lady tabby. ‘You look dreadful.’ I was about to take offence but I remembered that I hadn’t really groomed myself properly since leaving Margaret’s due to the fact I was more concerned with staying alive and out of trouble.

‘I’m homeless and hungry,’ I miaowed.

‘Come on, I’ll share some of my breakfast with you,’ she offered. ‘But then you’ll have to go. My owner will be home soon and won’t like to find a stray in her house.’ It suddenly struck me that I really was a stray. I had no home, no family, no protection. I was among the unfortunate cats that had to fend for themselves; living in fear, always feeling hungry and tired. Never feeling quite their best; never looking anything near their best. I had now joined their ranks and it felt horrible.

I gratefully ate and drank and then went on my way, thanking and bidding farewell to the kindly cat. I didn’t even know her name.

My state of mind reflected my physical being. Grief was such a part of me; causing me physical pain in my heart as I missed Margaret with every fibre of my fur. But I had known love; the love of my owner and my cat sister, and I owed it to them, to their love, to carry on. Now, with food in my tummy, I felt renewed energy as I prepared to do just that.

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A few days passed, increasing the distance between my old home and wherever I was heading. I met some kind cats, some angry ones, and many mean dogs that delighted in barking at me but thankfully couldn’t get me. I was kept on my toes, literally, as I danced and jumped and ran away, and I could feel my energy depleting all the time. I learnt to fight back when I needed to; although aggression didn’t come naturally to me, it seemed survival did. As I dodged cars, cats and dogs, I was slowly developing a more streetwise persona.

However I was getting thinner by the day; my once gleaming fur was patchy and I was cold and tired. I barely knew how I was surviving and I had never imagined that life could ever be like this. I was sadder than I had ever been and more lonely than I thought possible. When I slept, I had nightmares, and when I woke, I remembered my predicament and cried. It was a horrible time and sometimes I just wanted it all to be over. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could carry on.

I was learning that the streets could be mean and unforgiving. Physically and mentally it was taking its toll on me and I was beginning to feel so downhearted that it was a struggle to put one paw in front of the other.

The weather reflected my mood. It was cold and raining, and I felt a chill in my bones as my fur never seemed to be fully dry. In the time that I had been homeless – searching for my future, the kind family – the sweet little girl hadn’t materialised. No one had come to my rescue so far and I was beginning to think that no one would. To say I was feeling sorry for myself was an understatement.

Once again, I came to a main road. Roads still filled me with fear; I’d got better at crossing them, but I still felt as if I was taking my life in my paws every time I stepped off a kerb. I had learnt to take my time when crossing, even if I had to wait for a very long time. So I sat, head moving side to side until there was a break in the traffic that made it safe enough. Despite this I still ran as fast as I could and ended up breathless on the other side. Unfortunately, I had been so busy concentrating on getting across the road that I hadn’t noticed the small fat dog standing on the other side of the road. He squared up to me, snarling, showing his sharp teeth and dribbling saliva. Unfortunately there was no lead or owner in sight.

‘Hisssss,’ I replied, trying to deter him, although I was terrified. He was so close to me I could smell him. He barked at me and suddenly lunged forward. Despite my fatigue I leapt back and started running, but I could feel his breath on my tail. Increasing my speed I dared to look back and could see him coming after me, snapping at my heels. For such a fat dog he was quick and I could hear him barking furiously as I ran. I rounded a corner and came upon an alleyway. I swerved and sprinted down it as fast as my legs would take me. After what felt like miles I slowed and hearing only silence I looked back; thankfully the dog was nowhere to be seen. I’d managed to escape.

Heart pounding, I slowed my pace, and made my way down the alley which led to some allotments where people grew vegetables. As it was still pouring with rain there were only a couple of people about, so despite my dampness and fatigue, I strode confidently to find shelter. One of the allotments had a shed with a door that was slightly ajar. I was too tired to worry about what might lie in wait inside, and gently nudged the door open with my nose. I was so cold and insecure, I feared that if I didn’t find somewhere dry to rest soon I would become very sick.

I slunk into the shed and was grateful to see a blanket at one end. It was musty and a bit rough; it certainly wasn’t the luxury I had been used to in my old life but at that moment in time it was like a palace to me. I curled up and tried to rub my fur dry as best I could, and despite being half-starved, I couldn’t face going to find any food.

I could hear the rain hitting the shed as I cried, silently to myself. I had always been a very spoilt cat, I saw that now. If I thought of all the things I took for granted when I lived with Margaret, it was a very long list. I knew I would be fed, loved, warm and cared for. I spent cold days sitting by a warm fire in Margaret’s living room. I spent cold days sunning myself by the window. I was mollycoddled and my life was one of pure luxury. It was funny how it was only now it was gone that I realised how lucky I had been.

And now what was to become of me? When Mavis had told me to leave I really didn’t foresee what would happen. I didn’t think I would be here, wondering if I could carry on. I really wasn’t sure that I could continue. Was my journey going to end here in this shed, on a smelly blanket? Was that my fate? I hoped not, yet I didn’t know what the alternative was. I knew that feeling sorry for yourself was wrong but I couldn’t help it. I missed my old life so badly and I just didn’t know what would become of me.

I must have fallen asleep because I was awoken by a pair of eyes staring at me; I blinked. There was a cat stood in front of me, as black as night, eyes shining like torches.

‘I don’t mean any harm,’ I said immediately, thinking that if she wanted to fight I would let her finish me off.

‘I thought I smelt a cat. What are you doing here?’ she asked, although not aggressively.

‘I wanted to rest. A dog chased me and I just ended up here. It was warm and dry and so …’

‘Are you a street cat?’ she asked.

‘I’m not supposed to be but I guess I am at the moment,’ I replied sadly. She arched her back.

‘Look, this is my hunting ground. I’m a street cat and I like it that way. I get the rich pickings of the creatures that come here looking for food - mice, birds you know, anyway, I kind of call this my patch. I just wanted to check that you didn’t think you could take it over.’

‘Of course not!’ I was indignant. ‘I just needed shelter from the rain.’

‘You get used to the rain eventually,’ she said. I wanted to say, ‘perish the thought,’ but I didn’t want to upset my new comrade. I slowly stood up and moved toward her.

‘Does it get easier?’ I asked, wondering if this really was my future.

‘I don’t know, but you get accustomed to it.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘Anyway, come with me I’ll let you hunt with me and I’ll show you where to get a drink but then, in the morning you move on OK?’ I agreed her terms.

I ate and drank but I didn’t feel better. As I curled up on the blanket again, and my new friend left me, I prayed for a miracle because as things stood I didn’t think I would come out of this journey alive.

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I set off again the next morning as promised, but I felt despondent. As a few more days passed I experienced a mass of contradictions. One day I would feel I couldn’t carry on; the weather, the hunger and the loneliness would get to the core of me. But then the next I would push myself further, telling myself I owed it to Margaret and Agnes not to give up. I would see-saw between feeling hopeless in my quest or determined not to fail.

I got by with food and drink, and learnt to be more self-sufficient. I even began to get used to the weather although I still hated the rain. I hunted slightly more effectively, although I didn’t enjoy it, but I had discovered how to be a little bit tougher. I was just not convinced I really could be as resilient as I needed to be. Not yet.

One night, feeling in a more positive frame of mind, I came across a group of humans. They were all huddled around a large doorway; there was lots of cardboard and it smelt very bad. They all had bottles in their hands and some of them had almost as much fur on their faces as me.

‘It’s a cat,’ one of the furry men slurred, taking a drink. He waved his bottle towards me; the stench sent me reeling back. They laughed as I started slowly moving backwards, not sure what danger I was facing, if any. The man who laughed then threw a bottle at me, I dodged it but only just as it smashed to pieces next to me.