Short Stories

lifestyle Short Stories

THE CAT WHO CAME TO SUPPER

by DIANA ELVIN

“It’s easier for you.” Lizzie told the animal she found lounging on the communal garden wall. “Cats are solitary animals.” Perhaps it agreed for it turned its back to her and edged away.

“Don’t be like that” Lizzie pleaded. “I have to talk to you because there isn’t anyone else and I’d feel silly talking to myself.” Some people would feel silly talking to a strange cat, she thought, but continued anyway. “A month ago I longed for time to myself – what with the shared house and all the groups that I belonged to at Uni. Now I have my dream job and my own flat in a strange town, and what a lucky girl I am - but I don’t know a soul.” Lizzie’s voice wobbled a bit.

That evening when she opened her front door a small animal sidled in, hissing defensively. A thin non-descript tabby with tangled fur. It looked so hungry and neglected she couldn’t turn it away. She put pilchards on a saucer and the cat gobbled them down – then she opened the door and shooed it out. Next day, returning from work, she opened the door and the cat seemed to be blown in. It was wet and even more bedraggled. Sighing, Lizzie found an old towel and some meat from her supper.

When the cat showed no inclination to leave, she made posters on her computer and put them around the area, asking if anyone had lost a small tabby. She tried to think of a better description but the cat had no distinguishing features. Meanwhile, she bought more pilchards. Eventually her phone rang.

“I’ve just seen your poster.” “Is it your cat?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh no, no. It doesn’t belong to me. But I wondered whether you’re the new tenant in the late Mrs Phillips’ flat? Mrs P took in strays and fostered them - just until the local rescue branch could rehome them. I expect nobody bothered to tell the cat world about the change of ownership. I’m Matt and I live just along the hall. I’ve rung to say welcome to your new home, and can I do anything to help? Have you found your way round the shops yet?”

“How kind! I’ll have to get some cat food. I really don’t know what to buy or where to buy it.” I’ll get you some. I used to get it for Mrs P.” “We were never quite sure but I was wondering if you’d been talking to Percy.”

“Percy?”

“Old tabby cat, free roamer, often found lolling on the wall at the bottom of the garden.” How did Matt know? Did he have the bushes bugged?

“I ask because Percy tends to look after strays – so he might have sent this bedraggled specimen to the familiar door. Anyway, now that I’ve broken the ice – can I invite you to our residents’ get-together?

Between them they belong to any organisations worth joining – and they’re a friendly lot. I’m sure that somebody will introduce you to anything that you wish to join . . . and probably twist your arm to get you to those in which you have no interest at all, but who are currently short of members.”

“Thank you, I’d love to come.” “Great. Next Friday. Eight o’clock at my place - number 8.”

As she got to know the other tenants it seemed that there was always somebody going somewhere interesting and happy to take Lizzie along. Arriving home she would be welcomed by the cat, now named “Bossy” for an obvious and regrettable reason. Nobody claimed it, but Lizzie didn’t bother with the rehoming agency. She wondered how she had ever found life complete without a cat. When she could spare a moment she went, accompanied by the tabby, now filled out nicely and engagingly fluffy, to lean against the garden wall and talk to Percy. He still turned his back to her and kept his distance – but she talked to him anyway. “You’re doing a great job – for humans as well as stray cats. Thank you for listening Percy,” she said.