Alfie the Doorstep Cat

‘It’d make a nice hat to keep me warm,’ another laughed, slightly menacingly, I thought. I crept further back.

‘We ain’t got no food, bugger off,’ a third said, unkindly.

‘We could skin ’im for a hat then eat ’im,’ another said, laughing. I widened my eyes in horror and backed away. Then, from nowhere, a cat appeared.

‘Follow me,’ he hissed, and I ran after him down the street. Thankfully, just as I thought I couldn’t run any more, we stopped.

‘Who were they?’ I asked, breathlessly.

‘Neighbourhood drunks. They don’t have homes. You should keep away from them.’

‘But I don’t have a home either,’ I cried, and I felt like yowling again.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. But you should still keep out of their way. They aren’t exactly friendly.’

‘What’s drunk?’ I asked, feeling very much like a little cat with no idea about the world yet again.

‘It’s something humans do. They drink stuff and it changes them. Not milk or water. Look, come with me. I can sneak you some food and milk tonight and find you somewhere safe to sleep.’

‘You’re very kind,’ I purred.

‘I’ve been where you are; I was homeless for a while,’ the cat said, and then stalked off, gesturing with his paw for me to follow him.

His name was Button, which he said was a silly name for a cat but he had a young owner who said he was ‘cute as a button’, whatever that means. The house we went to was in darkness and I was so happy to be inside, somewhere warm and safe. It reminded me that I desperately needed to find a home before long. I told Button my story.

‘That’s sad,’ he said. ‘But you have learnt, like me, that one owner isn’t always enough. I visit another house on my street sometimes.’

‘Really?’ I said, intrigued.

‘I think of myself as being a doorstep cat,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’ I was curious.

‘Well, you live somewhere most of the time, but you go to other doorsteps until they let you in. They don’t always, but I have another house, and although I don’t stay there, if anything happens I feel I have options.’ As I questioned him he went on to explain that a doorstep cat got fed multiple times, by multiple families, they got petted and fussed over and enjoyed a high level of security.

Like me he had hated being homeless; and unlike me the young child had come to his rescue although he said that he’d engineered it. When he found his new family he’d looked as helpless as possible, ensuring they took pity and adopted him.

‘So you just looked like you needed feeding and grooming?’ I asked, ears pricked in interest.

‘Well I really did look like that. But you know, I got lucky, I pleaded for help and someone took me in. I’ll help you if you like.’

‘Oh I would love that,’ I replied.

He let me curl up with him in his basket, talking late into the night. And although I wouldn’t get much sleep, because I needed to leave early the next morning before Button’s owners woke, I felt safe for the first time since leaving Margaret’s. I also had a plan forming in my mind: I would make an excellent doorstep cat.

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I left Button’s house the next morning. I felt sad about going, after the safety of the night, but at least he’d advised me where to go, pointing me in the direction of the nicer streets in the area. He suggested I head west, towards the area that was popular with families, until I found the street that felt right to me. I had to trust my instincts and he seemed to think I would know when I had arrived. With a good sleep and a full belly I headed off in the direction he’d suggested, dodging danger and following my nose.

I was more optimistic but life after Button didn’t suddenly change overnight. There were still days where I had to keep my wits about me and more still where I felt hungry and tired, having to keep going when my legs shook with exhaustion and my fur stuck to my body with the rain. I survived but it was a long, hard journey. I just kept telling myself it would be worth it in the end.

And, finally I arrived at a lovely street and as Button had suggested, I knew immediately it would give me what I needed. I didn’t know how exactly, but I knew; I just knew, that I belonged here. I sat by a sign that said ‘Edgar Road’ and I licked my lips. For the first time since leaving Margaret’s, I felt that everything was going to be all right.

I immediately liked Edgar Road. It was a long street with many different types of houses; Victorian terraced houses, modern boxes, larger houses and some buildings divided into flats. What I especially liked was that there were a number of ‘For Sale’ and ‘To Let’ signs. Button had explained that these signs meant that new people would soon be arriving. And, I strongly believed, what new people needed most of all, was a cat like me.

In the next few days, I met some of the neighbourhood cats. When I told them what I was up to, they insisted on helping me. I soon discovered that, on the whole, the Edgar Road cats were a pretty nice bunch. After all, it was important to me to live in a neighbourhood with good cat neighbours. There were a couple of ‘Alpha Toms’ and one pretty girl cat who was particularly unkind to everyone, but apart from that they were friendly, and they shared their food and drink with me when I was at my most needy.

During the day I spent my time speaking to the other cats, getting as much information as I could out of them, and casing out the empty houses, searching for my potential homes. At night, I would go hunting, just to keep myself fed.

One evening, after I’d been at Edgar Road for just under a week, a particularly mean Tom found me sitting outside one of the empty houses that I was keeping an eye on.

‘You don’t live here. Maybe it’s time you left,’ he hissed at me.

‘I’m staying,’ I hissed back, trying to be brave as I faced him. He was bigger than me and of course, I was still not at my best. After all I’d been through, I felt as if I had no more fight inside me but I couldn’t give up. I was suddenly distracted by a noise, and I looked up to see a bird swooping quite low overhead. The Tom took his chance and swiped at me with his paw, scratching me just above my eye.

I yowled. It really hurt and I quickly felt blood. I spat at the Tom as he loomed in, looking as if he was going to bite me. I vowed to always keep my eye on him in future.

A brightly striped cat called Tiger lived next door to this empty house, and she and I had become friendly. She suddenly appeared, and stood between me and the Tom.

‘Get lost, Bandit,’ she hissed. Bandit looked as though he might fight, but after a while, he turned on his heel and stalked off. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said.

‘He caught me unawares, I was distracted,’ I said, haughtily. ‘I could have taken him easily.’ Tiger grinned.

‘Look Alfie, I am sure you could, but you’re still delicate. Anyway, come with me and I’ll sneak you some food.’

As I followed her, I knew she would be my best cat friend on the street.

‘You don’t look very good,’ Tiger commented as I was gratefully eating. I tried not to feel affronted.

‘I know,’ I replied, sadly. It was true. By the time I arrived in Edgar Road I was thinner than I had ever been. My fur was certainly no longer shiny and I was tired from living outside and from malnourishment. I had no idea how long it had taken me to get there, but it felt like a long time. The weather had changed; it was getting warmer and the nights were lighter. It felt as if the sun was getting ready to come out.

As I became friends with Tiger, I was also becoming accustomed to my new road. I had prowled extensively, so I knew the street as well as the back of my paw. I knew where every cat lived and if they were nice or not. I knew where the mean dogs were, and after a fair few escapes from such dogs, I knew which houses to avoid at all costs. I had balanced on every fence and wall in Edgar Road. I knew it as my new home, or homes, to be more accurate.

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I sat and watched as two burly men unloaded the last of the furniture from the removal van. I was, so far, pleased with what I had seen: a comfortable looking blue sofa; large floor cushions; a fancy upholstered armchair which looked as if it might be an antique, not that I was an expert. I had seen lots more being taken off the van; wardrobes, chests of drawers and lots of sealed boxes, but I was mostly interested in soft furnishings.

Flicking my tail in satisfaction, I felt my whiskers rising as I grinned. It looked as if I had found my first potential new home; 78 Edgar Road.

While the removals men took a break and were drinking out of plastic flask cups, I seized the opportunity to sneak into the house. Despite my curiosity, I first made my way straight through to check out the back door. Although I had been in all of the gardens in the street, and felt confident that this house did, in fact, possess a cat flap, I still needed to be sure. It did. I purred with pleasure at my cleverness and slid through it, deciding to hide out in the garden.

After chasing my shadow around in the tiny garden, and looking for flies to torment, I shivered with excitement and decided to groom myself thoroughly one last time. I was brimming with expectation as I made my way back into the house and anticipated how nice it would be to be a domestic cat again. How I yearned for a lap to sit on, milk to be given to me and food aplenty. Simple needs but, as I had learnt, not needs to be taken for granted. Nothing could ever be taken for granted again.

I wasn’t a silly cat. My journey, and those I’d met along the way, had taught me many things. There was no way I was going to put all my whiskers in one basket ever again. It was a lesson I’d learnt the hard way. The worst way. Some of my peers were either too trusting or too lazy, but I had discovered that I couldn’t afford to be either. As much as I wanted to be a loyal cat with a loyal owner, it was just too precarious. I couldn’t ever be in the situation I was in before. I couldn’t bear to be alone ever again.

I felt my fur stand on end as I pushed the terror of the past weeks out of my head and instead turned my attention to my new owner. I hoped that they would be as nice as their soft furnishings.

As I padded around the house I noticed the sky begin to turn dusky and I sensed the temperature drop. I wondered why someone would move their furniture into the house, but not themselves; it didn’t make sense. I started to feel a little panicked for the owner I hadn’t yet met. But then I told myself to relax and gave my whiskers a lick to calm myself down. I needed to look my best for when the people arrived at their new home; I was getting far too anxious.