I crept forward and peered out from underneath the table. The customers I could see were all female, but they looked very different from Margery. They were younger, and their clothes seemed to be variations on a theme: tight-fitting jeans, leather boots, padded gilets and long, glossy hair. I watched them as they moved around the displays, picking items from the shelves and studying them, before either dropping them into leather shopping baskets or placing them back on the shelf. I tried to imagine the houses they lived in, and to picture myself in them. But my frame of reference was limited to Margery’s and Rob’s homes, and somehow I couldn’t see any of these women in houses like theirs.
I remained in my hiding place while I considered my options. I could make my way around the back of the building to scavenge in the bins for scraps, or I could try something more ambitious.
A customer was standing in front of the fruit and vegetable display, unwittingly dangling her leather shopping-basket about six inches from my nose. As she handled some of the produce on the table above me, I tiptoed forward and inhaled deeply. I could smell cheese, prawns and white fish, and my mouth began to water. The lady dropped some vegetables into the bag and then made her way towards the till.
Having paid for her shopping, she walked back across the shop to the exit. I darted out from under the table and followed, slipping through the automatic doors after her. I crossed the courtyard a few paces behind her, feeling excited and nervous, wondering if this could be the opportunity I had longed for: the moment I found my next owner.
She rummaged in her handbag for her car key and pointed it at a large, expensive-looking car, which bleeped in response. I was just about to begin my charm offensive, when she swung the boot open and a dog leapt out. Instantly, my tail fluffed out and I hissed as memories of Stan, Chas and Dave rushed into my mind. The dog was attached to the car by a leash, but that didn’t stop him straining against it so hard that his eyes bulged. The woman turned round and, for the first time, noticed me.
‘Urgh, where did that stray cat come from?’ she said, her face contorted in revulsion.
This was not going according to plan. I had intended to mew piteously at this point, and to rub my head endearingly around her boots. Instead my ears were pinned back against my head, my back was arched, every hair was standing on end. It was beginning to dawn on me that this scene was unlikely to have a happy ending.
‘Stop it, Inca. Inside!’ she instructed the dog, which, reluctantly but obediently, jumped back into the boot of the car.
She glared and waved a rolled-up umbrella at me as if I were vermin. Defeated, I gave a final parting hiss before breaking into a run through the car park and out onto the grassy verge.
Back on the muddy track, my annoyance gave way to disappointment. I had not had much time to dwell on my loneliness since making the decision to set off for town, but seeing the customers in the farm shop had given me a pang that felt like homesickness– a longing for a home, and an owner to call my own. Not just someone to protect and feed me, but someone whose face would light up when I walked into the room, who would be delighted if I jumped onto their lap for a cuddle. My life as a solitary, wandering cat was so different from my previous existence that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be a pet, and to feel loved. My experience at the farm shop had reminded me that the world of humans and their houses, with their cosy kitchens and open fires, was still out there, but seemingly further out reach than ever.
Trying not to let self-pity swamp me, I trudged along the verge. The rain had stopped, but there was no escaping the winter chill in the air now, and the watery sun was already setting in the sky. The mud under my paws was cold and beginning to set hard: a frosty night lay ahead.
I followed the curve of the road and looked up to see a long hill stretching ahead of me. I could make out the orange glow of street lamps at the top, and the distant silhouette of buildings and rooftops. I felt a tingle of excitement: this must be the town Nancy had talked of.
The wind seemed to cut through me as I plodded up the hill. Cars raced past, their headlights glistening on the wet asphalt, their drivers no doubt rushing to get home for the evening. When I saw a road sign that read‘Welcome to Stourton-on-the-Hill, historic market town’, I felt a strange mixture of relief and nervousness. I knew nothing about this town, but had set my heart on it as the place where I would find a home and an owner. Now that I had finally arrived, the enormity of my challenge began to hit me.
The light was fading and it had started to drizzle again. Normally I would have taken this as my cue to stop, to find a nook in the side of a wall or a hollow tree trunk and curl up for the night. My paws were numb with cold, my fur was soaked through, and I was beginning to feel chilled to my bones. But I felt an urge to push on, to make it into town before nightfall.
At the outer edge of the town, I hopped up onto the pavement, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable as I passed between shops and parked cars. I paused outside a takeaway restaurant– the smell of spicy meat that wafted out of an air vent made me painfully aware of my hunger. Stepping forward to peer through the restaurant window, I jumped when I saw a wild-looking cat inside, staring at me with a look of panic in its eyes. Startled, I stepped away from the window, my heart racing with shock. Slowly, I crept forwards, approaching the glass for another look. This time, it took only a moment to confirm my worst suspicion: that the wild cat in the restaurant was, in fact, my own reflection looking back at me.
I stared at myself in the glass in disbelief. Where once I had had soft flesh, there was now lean muscle. I could see the knobbles of my spine protruding through my fur, which was dull and matted in places. But it was my face that most surprised me– my chin looked pointed and my eye sockets were hollow. I recoiled in horror, thinking that I looked just like a stray. My heart sank as I realized that was exactly what I had become.
At that moment a man came out of the restaurant clutching a paper bag full of food containers. I closed my eyes momentarily to savour the delicious aromas of lamb and chicken. The man pulled his jacket up over his head to shield himself from the rain, then broke into a run. His feet splashed through a puddle as he ran past me, soaking me with dirty water. I shook what I could off me, knowing that I needed a thorough wash. I also knew I would have to find somewhere to shelter before I could afford myself that luxury.
I heard church bells in the distance. They reminded me of the clock on Margery’s fireplace: six chimes meant my dinner hour, and she was never late, placing my china dish in front of me with a ‘There you go, lovie’. I would eat happily, knowing that once dinner was finished we would settle down for a cuddle on the sofa. She would stroke my back and talk to me as she watched television, and I would purr in reply. That was how it had been with Margery – a routine that had evolved between us, an innate understanding of what the other wanted and needed.
Was it possible that I would ever have that sort of relationship with another person? And, if such a person were out there somewhere, in Stourton-on-the-Hill, how was I to go about finding them?
9 [Êàðòèíêà: i_005.jpg]
The sky had darkened ominously and heavy droplets of rain pounded my back, but I knew I had to keep walking. My first priority was to eat, and then to find shelter for the night. I lowered my head and followed the sound of the church bells, hoping they would lead me to the centre of town. As I plodded along the pavement a man ran out of a shop in front of me, shaking his umbrella open and spraying me with rainwater. Startled, I darted into a doorway and shook the loose water from my fur. When I peered out, I saw shoppers rushing along the street, their faces hidden by hoods and umbrellas.