I paused mid-wash and allowed a wry smile to spread across my lips.
Rob growled and made a cursory attempt to sweep the loose crisps from the sofa cushions back into the bowl, before storming out of the room to fetch a cloth. The dogs, sensing his anger, beat a hasty retreat into another room.
In the days that followed, I began, reluctantly, to adjust to life in Rob’s house. I studied the dogs’ behaviour, observing when they went for their walks and when they slept, and tailored my own sleeping pattern so that our waking hours coincided as little as possible. I learnt what triggered their rage: the little rat-like dogs went into a barking frenzy whenever the doorbell rang, whereas the big dog was driven to the point of apoplexy if anyone went near his food bowl while he was eating.
Stan, the square-faced dog, was without a doubt an intimidating beast, but thankfully he was not the cleverest of animals. If he saw me walking anywhere in the vicinity of his food bowl he would growl ominously, but he was easily confused by my feline agility, and my habit of leaping upwards and disappearing out of sight constantly left him baffled.
It was Chas and Dave, the little dogs, that I soon realized posed more of a problem for me. I had considered them a single entity, as they always did everything together. In actual fact, I couldn’t tell them apart. They egged each other on in their malice towards me. Their favourite sport was to chase me into a corner of the house from which it was impossible to escape, and then bark maniacally so that my hair stood on end and my tail had fluffed out to double its usual size. I would hiss and spit in retaliation, and we would remain in this three-way standoff until a momentary lapse in the dogs’ concentration afforded me a split-second chance to dash to safety, streaking past them and up onto higher ground, from where I would eye them contemptuously.
Not surprisingly, I began to spend more time outside than I had ever done at Margery’s. Up until now I’d always considered myself more an indoor cat; I had generally felt nervous stepping outside the quiet safety of Margery’s house. But Rob’s house did not feel quiet or safe to me, so in desperation I began to take refuge in the garden.
At first I would sit on the fence post, too nervous to venture beyond my immediate vicinity. Looking down the row of back gardens, I could see that I was surrounded on all sides by houses exactly like Rob’s. Each had a neat rectangle of lawn at the back, which was edged by fencing. Some lawns were pristine and trimmed, others were sparse and patchy with trampolines or goalposts in the middle of them. Overall the street had a busier, noisier feel to it than Margery’s cul-de-sac. There were more children, more dogs and the constant noise of music, or of balls being kicked against walls.
One of Rob’s neighbours had an elderly tomcat, who spent the days sunning himself on the patio of his back garden. He would eye me suspiciously if I strayed into his territory. I would chirrup a friendly ‘good morning’ to him, but he never did any more than harrumph in reply. Further down the street there was a pair of young cats, not long out of kittenhood. Just watching them tearing up and down trees or flinging themselves at every bird that landed in their garden left me feeling exhausted.
The cat who most intrigued me was a small black cat with lively green eyes, who I often saw trotting past the front of Rob’s house. I couldn’t work out where she lived, as she always seemed to be coming and going from different houses, but she had a happy air and confident demeanour, which I envied. She sometimes noticed me watching her, but always seemed so focused on whatever she was doing that I never felt confident enough to stop her and talk.
In the early hours of the morning when everyone else was asleep, I would reflect on my new life, and on the life I had lost. I berated myself for not appreciating how lucky I had been when I lived with Margery. If I had known then what I knew now, perhaps I would have done things differently. Maybe I could have done more to help Margery and to prevent the calamity that was to befall us both. Was my natural complacency to blame? If I had been a better cat, perhaps none of this would have happened. Whether or not I was right to blame myself, I had to accept the reality of my new life: it was simply an existence, a succession of daily obstacles to be overcome. There was no love or affection in my life any more, for Rob took very little interest in me and the feeling was mutual.
The thought did cross my mind that there was nothing stopping me from leaving, but where would I go? Life with Rob and the dogs had very little to recommend it, but I did at least have food and shelter. What was the alternative? I was not yet ready to take my chances and find out.
6 [Êàðòèíêà: i_007.jpg]
As the days turned to weeks, Chas and Dave continued to bait me at every opportunity, and after a while I accepted that their high-pitched yapping was a constant background accompaniment to my life. Rob, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten that I existed. When he remembered he would put a bowl of dry food down for me, and would shout at the dogs if he saw them lunge at me, but other than that he barely interacted with me at all.
It would be an exaggeration to say that I had settled into my new home, but as time went on there was a certain familiarity to the routine of it. I had stopped thinking about Margery so much, and no longer lulled myself to sleep by remembering her lavender scent and imagining the feel of her hand stroking my fur. I tried my hardest to live in the present, and neither to dwell on the past nor worry about the future. I faced each day as its own challenge, and hoped that I would make it to nighttime with minimal aggravation from the dogs. Perhaps life would have carried on like that, and I might still be there now, if it hadn’t been for Stan and the dog biscuit.
Stan was as an all-mouth-and-no-trousers kind of dog. He could look terrifying, with his muscles tensed and his wide eyes bulging, but behind his brawny exterior there was very little in the way of brains. Over time, I started to get complacent around him, feeling confident that I could easily outwit him.
One afternoon when I was in the kitchen I heard the front door open– Rob was back from walking the dogs. I jumped onto the kitchen counter in anticipation, knowing from experience that Rob always fed the dogs after their walk. I hoped that, if I sat in the middle of the worktop, Rob would remember to feed me as well.
He poured out the meaty biscuits into three bowls and placed them on the kitchen floor. The kitchen filled with the sounds of snorting and chomping as the dogs devoured their food. As usual, I observed their slovenly manners with an air of disgust. Stan finished first, pushing the bowl across the kitchen floor as he licked every last crumb from the dish. Satisfied that there was nothing left to eat, he sniffed the bowl, then walked across the kitchen to drop himself into his wicker basket. Rob had gone into the front room and I could hear the television blaring. Not for the first time, he had forgotten to put out my food.
Chas and Dave were busy wolfing down their biscuits, so I took the opportunity to jump down to the floor and slip silently past them, to make my way quickly up the hall. The front-room door was closed, but I could hear the din of the television within. I hoped Rob would realize he had forgotten about me, but my scratching and mewing couldn’t be heard over the noise from the TV. My tummy was rumbling, and the injustice of seeing the dogs fill their faces while I was left to starve irritated me. I padded back into the kitchen. Stan was washing his hindquarters in his basket; Chas and Dave were chomping in unison, with their backs tome.