Purr

Purr

I had smelled death on her for a while. As the time came near, I spent more and more time laying on her bed next to her. I aligned my body next to her chest - The bad spot was there, in her breast, where she would have suckled her kittens. I purred as loud as I could, trying to comfort her with my vibration. I hope I helped; I could feel that her pain was eating her alive.

At the very end the man took me away and shut the door between me and my person. He never understood us. I know she would have wanted me there but she was too weak to ask for me. It hurt too much to be outside her door, hearing her last breaths and not being able to help her on her way. I went out the cat flap and sat in front of the house. After a time, I saw strangers come and then,  they took her away. I heard her two kittens crying. I tried to get back in through the flap. I thought, now it is my job to help the little ones, but the flap was locked.

I sat outside the front door all night. It got cold and I was very hungry. I expect they were so upset they forgot about me. I could forgive that. Still, why did they have to lock the cat flap? I could have let myself in without bothering anyone.

In the morning the man opened the front door and I slotted myself in between his legs.

“You!” He seemed surprised to see me, as if I hadn’t lived in the house these past dozen years. “Why are you still here?” Because I need to be fed, I tried to tell him but he wasn’t listening. The kittens might need me. He didn’t hear that either. He picked me up and put me outside, again. I had no idea why. I had done nothing wrong. In fact, I had served my mistress as well as I had been able. And I was very hungry.

The flap remained shut. I walked around the house and tried to find another entry point but the windows were all closed and I couldn’t get over the fence to the back door. I could hear the kittens, or children as she had called them, in the garden and meowed to them. There was a pause and I heard the female child come and crouch down next to the slatted planks of the fence.

“Is that you Finley? Daddy says you need to go away now. You were Mummy’s cat and she’s gone. Go away Finley. You can’t live here anymore.” I didn’t understand. I listened very hard but the words made no sense to me. This was my home. Even without the mother, the house was still my territory and my food bowl was in the kitchen. I miaowed again, long and loud but the child had moved away from the fence. No one could hear me.  

I spent another night waiting outside the house, by the cat flap. I had made a short tour of the neighbourhood, trying to find left over snacks left next to doorsteps but all the cats in the area had cleaned their plates. I felt myself becoming weak with hunger. I lay in a heap on the front step. Surely, they would take pity on me when they found me collapsed in the morning.

It was the man again. He was carrying a box. I found myself too weak to rush in past him. I let him lift me up and put me in the box. I was placed in the boot of the car and I felt it start up; the monster like growl of the engine, the nose burning smell of petrol. She had taken me in the car before but I had been in a basket, on the seat. The odour had been less and the noise less reverberating. I hadn’t enjoyed the journey before but at least I had not been sickened. I cried out but even if he could hear me, the man ignored me.

When the car stopped, he opened the boot and lifted me out in the box. I could hear many vehicles passing by and the steps of large numbers of people. There were so many unusual smells but I did smell food and brightened up. He carried me through what seemed like a busy street and then turned into a dark and narrow passageway. He put the box down, opened the lid and walked away.

I sat in the box for a long time. The smell of roasting meat was nearby but I didn’t dare move. I had no idea where I was. My territory was far away. I was surrounded by everything unfamiliar. It was not safe.

When a rat scuttled past my box I realised it was time for action. Foot by foot, I stepped out and into the alleyway. I made no attempt to chase the rat. I was not raised to be a hunter. I had always been a pet. The only thing I could think to do was move towards the smell of meat. I made my way to a doorway farther down the alley and pressed my nose up against a door that led to the place of cooking. With what little strength I had left, I began to miaow.

Finally, a man came to the door and opened it. I attempted to dart between his legs towards the source of sustenance but he stopped me with a boot.

“No way, mate. Hygiene standards. I’ll put some scraps out here. Just wait. But you’ll need to earn them. Go kill a rat or something.” He shut the door but I was not discouraged. The voice had been friendly and the food was so near. I waited in the back alley behind what I came to understand was a restaurant. They cooked food and people ate it but not all of it. I ate what was left over, for the next few days at least.

Sleeping on the street was not comfortable. The pavement was cold and it wasn’t always peaceful. There could be a lot of traffic, even late at night. Rats, a dog (thankfully on a lead), a few drunks. One threw up right near me. The smell made me want to be ill as well. I was afraid to leave my station by the back door though. If another stray cat claimed it, I would be forced to search for another source of nutrition. Stray. I had to think of myself that way now. I had been a pet for all those years and now I was a filthy, hungry stray. I had never bit or scratched my person’s family. Why had they got rid of me?

One night a woman came by with a soft voice. She murmured to me and sat down on her heels next to me. I let her scratch me behind the ear. My ears were getting very itchy now. I was sure I had picked up ear mites living on the street. She tried to pick me up but I resisted, but only with a warning hiss. The last time someone had picked me up I had ended up homeless. She seemed harmless enough but I couldn’t trust her. I appreciated the fact that she did not press the point. She stepped back and left me to myself.

The next night there was a strange contraption in the alleyway. It looked kind of like a cat basket, the kind I had used in a former life when my person had taken me to the vet. However, this basket was filled with the most delicious aroma. Could I detect tuna? And maybe some beef as well? I crept towards the basket. Was this food safe? It smelled fresh. The basket was clean with no other cat scent on it. The food wasn’t claimed by anybody. Go for it, I told myself. You are a street cat now. You have to seize your opportunities. I dived for the food and as soon as I entered the basket, I heard a clanging behind me. The door had slammed shut. I was trapped. I let out a yowl of frustration and fear and then I ate the food.

It was the gentle woman. She had come back – maybe she would free me from the trap. I meowed at her, scrabbling at the bars. She spoke words in soothing tones and picked up the basket. Oh no, where was I going now?

I immediately recognized the strong vet smells – fear pheromones bouncing off every patient there overlaid with cleaning stuffs. My mistress has used chemicals, but not like these. My nose burned. My basket was opened with the end pressed into a stainless-steel container. Another cage. I had no choice and entered. At least this cage had a soft bed in it. I hadn’t slept on a bed in weeks. It felt so good. There was food in there as well. Not as enticing as the food that had been in the trap, but food all the same.

“He’ll need to be given flea and worm treatment right away. Maybe the vet can sedate him later and do a check over.” I heard voices. I knew they were discussing me. I listened with both ears, dirty though they were.

“Have you scanned him yet? He might be owned.”

“No, I brought him straight here. You might be able to handle him without sedation. I was able to touch him the other night. I don’t think he is completely feral.”

Feral, I knew that word. Of course, I wasn’t feral. I had lived in a house. I had an owner, or at least I used to have an owner. Maybe if I was very polite, they would let me into another house. I liked living in a house. I liked having my food bowl filled every morning. I liked a soft bed next to the radiator. I liked laying in the sun in my own garden, knowing I was safe from dogs and strange people. I wanted all that back again.

I sat very still when they ran a contraption over my back. I heard it beep and started a bit but I did not swipe or even hiss. I was on best behaviour.

“He’s chipped,” the voice sounded pleased. I guess I had done something right. I was left alone for awhile and then I heard an angry voice. “Can you believe it? He said it was his wife’s cat and he doesn’t want it back. Apparently his wife died and he doesn’t want the cat in the house now that she is gone. He must have just dumped the cat in town. The least he could have done is take the poor thing to a shelter.”

“Maybe he was grieving.”

“No excuse,” snapped the other voice. I hoped I didn’t have to go to that person’s house. She sounded like the type of cat that would pick fights if you put one foot in her territory. I know she wasn’t a cat but she still had the aura of an angry tom.

I stayed in the steel prison for several days. I was fed and kept warm. Something was applied to my neck and I think my food was doctored a few times as occasionally there was a bitter taste to the meat. My ears stopped itching. One day I went to sleep for a long time and when I woke up my mouth was sore. My teeth felt like a kitten’s though and I enjoyed my dinner. I got used to the chatter of the women in uniforms. I knew they were uniforms as every woman wore the same outfit of the same shade. When they stood by my kennel, that’s what they called it, I could understand that they were talking about me.

“They’ll never find a home for him. He’s too old. It’s not much of a life for him living in a kennel all the time. Do you think it was fair to bother with the dental? Maybe we should have just put him to sleep?”

It was the angry voice again, “Don’t say that. I’m old too. You going to euthanize me as well?”

The other woman laughed. “It’s not legal.”

I heard the angry woman grumble. The second woman left. To my surprise, the angry woman opened my kennel and reached in. I didn’t do anything. She let her hand creep towards me and then she was stroking down my back, rubbing her knuckles against my cheeks, scratching behind my ear. It felt so good. No one had done this for me in a long time. I began to purr.

“Ah there you are Mr. Finley,” she continued to stroke.

“We’re not dead yet Fin. They want to get rid of me as well. They think I’m a dinosaur.” The woman let out a big sigh. I purred some more. It sounded like she needed it

“You know what Fin, you could come home with me. We could be two old farts getting older together. What do you think of that?”

Well, I wasn’t sure. The word ‘home’ was what I wanted, but with angry voice? Maybe she would be more settled at home. Maybe I could sit on her lap while she read or watched TV. We would keep each other warm and I would purr for her.

“Meowt?” I asked.

“We could give it a go. There are others there, at my house but if you don’t mind them, you might like it.” I let her know I was willing by pressing my head into her hand.

I went to her house and found I liked it there. My food bowl was kept topped up. I had several beds, though I slept on hers. There was a small garden with a very high fence so only a few visitors ventured over the boundaries. The woman did not have an angry voice at home and she did like it when I sat in her lap, forcing her to stay resting on the sofa. She worked too hard and I needed to teach her to relax. We did grow old together, although I grew older faster than she did. One day when I was very tired, she told me that I was the best cat she had ever had; that she was grateful to the asshole that had dumped me. Her words, not mine. I try not to use bad language. I thought what  a lucky cat I was. In my life, I had two homes and two special people. A lot of cats don’t even get one of those. I didn’t mind when I felt the sharp prick of a needle. I was ready to fall asleep in her arms.