Memories of my first night in Stourton came unbidden to mind. I vividly recalled the desperate loneliness I had felt as people rushed past me on the market square, preoccupied with their last-minute Christmas shopping. Being surrounded by people, yet feeling unnoticed and unloved, had been far harder than fending for myself in the countryside. In town, there was no escaping the fact that it was an owner that I longed for– someone to care for me and take me home. The trauma of being attacked by the alley-cat had compounded my feeling of desolation. I had felt completely alone: invisible to the humans of Stourton, and viewed as a rival by its felines.
Watching Debbie as she slept, I wondered if she felt the same way about Stourton as I had: that at best it was indifferent to her, and at worst it resented her presence. I dearly wished I could tell Debbie that I knew how she felt, or reassure her that she would find a way through it, just as I had. I had survived in the alley after all, living on my wits until Debbie had taken me in. But, as I thought about my life in the alley, I felt a familiar stirring of guilt. It was true that I had been ownerless, but I had not been alone out there. The tomcat had made sure, in his unassuming way, that I knew there was somewhere I could find food and shelter, somewhere that was safe from the vicious alley-cats. I felt a swell of gratitude to him, followed by a pang of remorse that I had repaid his kindness by moving inside as soon as I had the chance.
I had been back out to the alley to look for him again on several occasions since my first attempt. Each time I was optimistic, convinced I would catch sight of his tail disappearing through the conifers or his green eyes lurking in the shadows, but each time I was disappointed. The alley was silent and uninhabited. He had vanished without a trace.
Debbie was deep in sleep now and her face was relaxed in a way I rarely saw when she was awake. I finished my wash and lowered my chin onto my paws, reflecting on everything she had done for me. She had given me a home, but she had also given me a purpose; she was struggling too, and I knew she needed me. I would always regret the way I had treated the tomcat, but from now on Debbie had to be my priority.
18 [Êàðòèíêà: i_009.jpg]
In addition to feeling like outsiders in Stourton, Debbie and I had something else in common: Sophie appeared to hate us both. Debbie always started the day with the best intentions, waking Sophie for school by singing‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’ as she pulled open the bedroom curtains. ‘Leave me alone,’ Sophie would shout from under the covers, establishing a mood of determined sulkiness, which she would maintain for the rest of the day.
Sophie was never far from her mobile phone; she even slept with it under her pillow. With headphones permanently in her ears, she was oblivious to everything around her, and Debbie seemed resigned to the fact that she had to repeat herself at least three times before her daughter heard anything she said. Other than her phone, however, Sophie showed a total disregard for her belongings. She left her clothes in piles on the bedroom floor and allowed her school books to get trodden underfoot, in spite of Debbie’s repeated pleas for her to take more care.
Sophie’s rage seemed to be triggered by the slightest thing I did. She was revolted by the smell of my food, horrified by my moulting fur and mortally offended if she even caught me looking at her. ‘Why does that cat always stare at me?’ she complained at the table one evening, carrying her food upstairs to her bedroom and leaving Debbie, in stunned silence, to finish dinner alone.
One of my early attempts to win Sophie round backfired miserably. Early one morning I found a mouse scurrying inside the fireplace in the living room. I dispatched it swiftly, before picking it up carefully between my jaws and carrying it upstairs to the attic. Sophie was still asleep in bed, so I crept silently into her room and placed the still-warm mouse on a dirty plate she had left on the floor. As I tiptoed out onto the landing I felt a glow of satisfaction. Surely, if Sophie wanted a sign that somebody cared for her, this ought to do the job?
I joined Debbie in the little kitchen, where she was making herself a cup of tea. She had just poured the milk when we heard a blood-curdling shriek from above.
‘Sophie? What on earth’s the matter?’ Debbie called.
Sophie appeared at the end of the hallway, pulling on her school uniform.‘That. Cat. Is. Gross,’ she hissed as she pushed past us. ‘And I amnot cleaning it up!’ she added, plugging in her headphones and running downstairs.
We heard the caf? door slam and Debbie looked at me questioningly. Ashamed of what I had done, I could hardly bear to meet her gaze and slunk into the living room. I heard Debbie move around in Sophie’s room upstairs, trying to make some order in the mess. A short while later she reappeared in the living room, clutching a plastic bag with the remains of the dead mouse inside. I looked at the bag sheepishly, waiting for a telling-off. ‘Don’t worry, Molly, it was a lovely thought,’ Debbie said supportively. ‘But no more gifts for Sophie, please.’
As I tried to find a space on the sofa amidst the dirty contents of her PE kit, I wondered whether Sophie’s problem was, in feline terms, a territory issue. Perhaps, like an alley-cat, she needed to feel in control of her surroundings, and saw me as a territorial rival. Certainly, much of her frustration was directed at the flat itself. She took issue with everything, from the size of her bedroom tothe poor Wi-Fi signal. The balled-up dirty socks that she had left on the cushion seemed to me to serve the same purpose as a cat’s scent-marker: they let everyone know that she had been there, reminding us of her presence even when she wasn’t around.
One weeknight, over dinner, Debbie politely enquired how Sophie’s day had been.
‘Crap, as usual,’ Sophie answered bluntly. I had heard her tell Debbie on many occasions that she missed her friends from her old school and wished they had never left Oxford.
Debbie sighed wearily, and I braced myself for the row that would inevitably follow.
‘Look, Sophie, I know it’s hard for you, but give it time. We’ve both got to find our feet here.’ She looked at Sophie pleadingly. ‘It’s not easy for me, either.’ The reference to her own difficulties ignited Sophie’s fury.
‘Not easy for you?’ she repeated sarcastically, her face starting to redden. ‘At least you’ve got Jo and that … mangy fleabag’ – she pointed at me – ‘I haven’t gotone single friend in this town. And it’s all thanks to you and yourfresh start.’
‘Her name is Molly, Sophie, and she doesn’t have fleas,’ Debbie replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
I had heard Debbie and Sophie row on many occasions, but this was the first time I had become the subject of one of their arguments, and I felt excruciatingly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to hear a detailed account of Sophie’s many grievances against me, so I jumped off the sofa and crept out of the room, not wanting to inflame the situation any further by my presence. I walked across the hallway to the kitchen, where I ate a few dry cat biscuits disconsolately.
In the living room Debbie was making every effort not to get drawn into a shouting match, knowing that, if she did, it would end in the same way as all their previous rows: with Sophie storming out of the flat. When she finally spoke, Debbie’s voice was low and calm.
‘Look, Soph, you’re angry, I get that. You didn’t want to leave Oxford, and I get that, too. But we’re here now, and I’m asking – begging – you to accept that I made what I thought was the right choice for us. Not because I wanted a fresh start, but because there was no alternative.’
I crossed the hallway and peered around the living-room door. Sophie was sitting on a dining chair with her shoulders slumped, staring at the carpet. Debbie stood in front of her, her hands on her hips.‘But you’re right,’ Debbie went on. ‘I have got Jo, and I’ve got Molly, but maybe that’s because I was open to the idea of making friends. You never know, Sophie, it might work for you too, if you try it.’