Alfie in the Snow Read online

  It had been a hard decision to let George out alone, and I know that human parents had the same dilemma as Franceska had been through it with Aleksy and Tommy. Aleksy was a teenager now and wanted more freedom, a bit like George, but at the same time we, as parents, knew there were dangers out there. Letting go was possibly one of the hardest parenting lessons we had to face.

  When George first went out alone, although he promised he wouldn’t go far, I was a bag of nerves until he came home. When he did come home I almost smothered the poor lad but I had never felt relief like it. Well, apart from the time he was catnapped and I found him, or the time he ran off after Chanel and we found him … But this was different, it was the first time he had gone out with permission.

  Now he went out alone a fair bit, but never at night and never for too long. I tried to make him tell me where he was going as well, although to be fair he didn’t always seem to know. Sometimes he said he was going to the park, sometimes to see if any of the other cats were around. So far I had resisted the urge to follow him, but only just. Instead I would pace up and down or watch out of an upstairs window for his return. And thankfully he always came home and never stayed out too long. Otherwise the worry would probably have turned my fur even greyer than it already was.

  So, this afternoon I thought I would catch up on some of my personal cat business. I enjoyed time alone to have a thorough grooming session – after all, when you’re a parent you always seem to be having to rush your ablutions, and then I would enjoy some thinking time. It’s hard to think when you’ve got youngsters always wanting your attention. So, as much as I worried about George, now he was more independent I was beginning to enjoy some ‘me time’ as well. I settled on Claire and Jonathan’s bed – Jonathan didn’t like me being on there, Claire didn’t mind – because it was incredibly comfortable and one of my favourite places to muse.

  The front door opened, and the rush of voices and children interrupted my thinking time. I stretched, yawned and then headed downstairs where to my joy I found my families all together in the kitchen. George was hopping among them.

  ‘Oh hi, Alfie,’ Tommy said, coming over to pet me. I saw a number of fat pumpkins on the kitchen table. Ah, of course, it was the weird thing that humans celebrated called Halloween.

  ‘I want to carve my pumpkin all on my own,’ Summer said. Claire looked terrified and I agreed. The idea of Summer with a knife was not good.

  ‘Sum, let me help you and Martha,’ Tommy suggested kindly. ‘It’ll be better than letting the adults take over.’ She considered his offer and agreed.

  ‘And Aleksy, maybe you can help Toby and Henry?’ Franceska suggested.

  ‘Do I have to?’ Aleksy answered, sounding surly which wasn’t like him, although it was lately. ‘I’m too old for all this.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ Franceska snapped and she, Polly and Claire exchanged glances.

  ‘We’d be very grateful if you would,’ Polly said, trying to calm the situation.

  ‘Fine.’ Aleksy made it sound as if it was anything but.

  Claire made drinks for the grown-ups as the children sat at the table in the kitchen and began carving their pumpkins.

  ‘Hey,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s have a competition to see which one is the scariest.’ They all seemed to like this idea, although I knew from experience the only one who would end up liking it was the child who won.

  ‘What costumes are everyone wearing this year?’ Franceska asked. ‘I miss my boys dressing up.’

  ‘We’re too old to dress up,’ both Tommy and Aleksy said at the same time.

  ‘Summer wants to be a witch, and Toby is insisting on being a superhero,’ Claire said.

  ‘And I’m going to be a superhero too,’ Henry said. Toby and Henry were quite close and often copied each other.

  ‘I’m going to be a cat,’ Martha announced.

  This news surprised me; after all, there were two cats here.

  ‘Oh, you can be Summer’s cat,’ Franceska said.

  ‘And George,’ Summer piped up.

  ‘Sum wants me to dye George black,’ Claire explained.

  My whiskers twitched and George looked terrified. Imagine, my lovely kitten being dyed black!

  ‘Don’t worry George, it won’t happen. But I had to promise to make you a little witch’s hat to compensate.’

  ‘So, Summer, Martha and George will all share a broomstick,’ Henry explained. I wasn’t sure about George and a broomstick but we’d have to see.

  ‘Where are we getting a broomstick from?’ Claire asked, worriedly. ‘I’ve only got a kitchen broom.’

  ‘We need a proper broomstick,’ Summer shouted.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve ordered one from the internet,’ Polly said. Halloween was a lot of work, it seemed.

  George was on the kitchen table and I could barely watch as he dodged the knives, seemingly unaware of the danger he faced. I heard him make a funny sound, which worried me.

  ‘Ahh,’ Toby cried. ‘George spat pumpkin over me.’ We all looked and Toby had a splat of pumpkin on his face. George glanced over to me as if to say, ‘I didn’t know it wouldn’t taste good.’ I raised my whiskers again. My curious son would never learn, it seemed, as he tried to lick Toby’s face.

  The rest of the carving passed without incident. As the four children proudly presented their finished pumpkins, it was up to the adults to choose a winner. As Aleksy and Tommy had done most of the work it didn’t seem fair but then the older boys didn’t seem to mind as Aleksy wandered off to do something on his phone and Tommy went to the fridge to find a snack.

  ‘It’s a draw,’ Polly announced diplomatically.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Claire agreed, ‘they are all far too good.’

  Thankfully the children all seemed to accept this. Summer and Toby’s pumpkins were placed on the front doorstep, with a lit candle in each – I warned George to stay away – so that Jonathan would be able to admire them when he got home.

  As everyone said their goodbyes, Henry and Martha proudly clutching their pumpkins to their chests, they arranged to go ‘trick or treating’ the following day after school.

  ‘I can’t wait to go trick or treating,’ George said to me when we were alone.

  ‘Well, you know Claire said you had to wear a hat,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, I’m not pleased about that but at least they’re not going to dye me black,’ he replied. And I had to agree.

  ‘Oh, and George, no more eating the pumpkin.’

  ‘No Dad, it tasted really weird.’

  Chapter Three

  Even I had to admit to being excited. George had been unbearable today; he was so keen to go trick or treating, that from the morning he was badgering me about the time. It was a very long day until I bundled him off to find Tiger, telling him how much she would love to hear about the pumpkin carving and the evening ahead. It did buy me a little bit of peace and quiet and I would apologise to Tiger later.

  What I was most excited about was the fact that when trick or treating we would definitely go to the new next-door neighbour’s house and hopefully meet them. Despite not having a costume or being given a specific role I would join them, as the other parents did.

  While the children got ready upstairs, I groomed myself in the living room. I was sad that Aleksy, Tommy and Franceska wouldn’t be joining us, but the boys refused point blank to go on the basis that they were too old. Growing up was hard, but it was definitely difficult for parents, I knew that with George. They became more independent, needed you less, wanted you less even, which could be hurtful. It was something that I was having to learn to accept and Franceska and I were in a similar situation on this one.

  The children emerged giddy with excitement. Toby was in a Spiderman costume and Summer was dressed in a black cape with a tall pointed black hat and a false nose. She looked a bit scary in a very cute way. George, being carried by Summer, had a little black hat on and he looked adorable. I was sure he would earn the kids e
xtra sweets this year. Claire picked up the broomstick, and we all headed out to meet Polly, Martha and Henry.

  All assembled, they decided to start at the end of the street. I was slightly disappointed by this. Edgar Road is a long road and it meant I would have quite a wait before we reached next door.

  We approached the first house. Summer, Martha and George were all at the door, trying to balance on the broomstick, when it tipped and George fell off.

  ‘Yowl.’ He landed on his tail.

  ‘Martha, that was your fault!’ Summer stormed.

  ‘No, it was yours,’ Martha bit back, and Martha never got cross. Polly picked George up and petted him, Claire picked the broomstick up and as the girls glared at each other with their arms crossed, a kindly woman answered the door, and thrust sweets at them. They soon forgot to argue and were happy to get back on the broomstick. However, Toby took George from Polly and offered to carry him, which seemed the safest bet.

  We crossed the street to a house opposite which was a real mess. The garden was overgrown, the house had peeling paint, and it looked sad, if it was possible for a house to look so. I saw Polly and Claire exchange a glance.

  ‘Maybe we should give this one a miss?’ Claire suggested, but the kids were already half way up the path. We all followed, reluctantly. There was a light on in the front room and Toby knocked on the door, George still in his arms. The children all stood expectantly on the front doorstep, discussing what sweets they might expect. A man came to the window. He was old, moving slowly. He looked out at us, then, to our surprise, he raised his fist at us, shouted, ‘Get lost’, and pulled the curtains closed.

  ‘Why doesn’t he want to see us?’ Martha asked, her eyes full of confusion.

  ‘Maybe he forgot to buy sweets. Come on, we’ve got lots of houses to visit,’ Claire chivvied them up. As we made our way back down the path I glanced back at the house. I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to see us either.

  Finally, with weary legs – me – and full bags of sweets and chocolate – the children – we reached the house next door to us. I could barely contain my excitement as I waited with everyone on the doorstep. The woman who opened the door didn’t look sad, not like the crying woman I’d seen last night. She had short-ish blonde hair which fell over her face, and was tall and slim. She looked composed, smiling, her head tilted to one side questioningly as she stood in front of us.

  ‘Trick or treat,’ the children chanted.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Connie, come here,’ the woman shouted and the teenager I’d seen joined her at the front door.

  ‘Hi, I’m Claire and this is Polly.’ Claire beamed as the children held their bags out hopefully. ‘I live next door, Polly is down the road. We would have come round properly to introduce ourselves, but with it being Halloween …’

  ‘Hi.’ Polly held out her hand and the woman took it.

  ‘I’m Sylvie, and this is Connie. Lovely to meet you.’ The woman paused for a moment, then she said, ‘I’m sure I’ve got some chocolate inside, why don’t you come in for a moment?’ The children didn’t need to be asked twice, but Polly swiped George out of Toby’s arms and put him next to me on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh, who are these two?’ Sylvie asked.

  ‘Our cats,’ Polly and Claire said in unison. They both laughed. ‘You guys wait here,’ they said as they followed the children inside and the door was closed on us.

  ‘Oh well, Dad, I guess when they come out we’ll hear all about it.’

  ‘Yes.’ But I was impatient. I wanted to know about the new family, and the cat. And was there a man? Because we’d only seen Sylvie and the teenager. So many questions.

  We waited patiently by the front gate and it wasn’t long before Polly and Claire and the children emerged. They were laughing and Sylvie was smiling.

  ‘Oh how sweet, your cats waited for you.’

  ‘They enjoy trick or treating,’ Polly said.

  ‘It’s funny, so different for us. My Hana is a house cat, she’s never been outside – but that was normal in Japan.’

  ‘Hana is such a pretty cat,’ Claire said, and I agreed from what I had seen.

  ‘She’s a Mikeneko, which is Japanese of course. Cat with a coat of three colours. The English name would be a tortoiseshell.’

  ‘But Hannah is an English name?’ Polly asked.

  ‘It’s actually H-a-n-a, it’s Japanese for flower.’

  ‘That’s lovely, a sweet name for a sweet cat,’ Claire said.

  Bingo, I already had more information at my paw tips than I thought I would. A house cat, and what was Japan? A coat of three colours. Oh, this was most interesting.

  ‘Right, well we’ll see you soon. I’ll text and we’ll have that dinner,’ Polly said as she gave a wave. I was delighted, it seemed the women were already the best of friends. But how we were going to befriend a house cat?

  Later, when the children were upstairs having managed to sneak a number of their sweets up there, despite being told not to, and Polly and Claire were sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, I learnt more about Sylvie.

  They both seemed to like her so far. She was English, but she and her daughter had moved back from Japan which was a place quite far away, by the sound of it. They had lived there with her husband, who had left her for another woman and they were now getting divorced and she was very upset about it. Already things were beginning to make sense. Claire had been divorced when I first moved in with her, before she met Jonathan of course, so they had that in common. Anyway, it was difficult because not only had Sylvie split up with her husband but she’d also had to move away from the country that had been her home for many years. Her daughter, Connie, who turned out to be the same age as Aleksy – fourteen – was also upset about leaving her school, her friends and her dad. I guess that explained the late-night wine drinking in the kitchen and crying. Claire had done that a lot too.

  As I listened to them talk about how they would make Sylvie feel really welcome and how they would also introduce Connie to Aleksy who would be at the same school in the same year, I began to feel excited. New friends. Now I just had to figure out how to get their cat, Hana, to come out so we could meet her. Either that or we’d have to find a way to go in. It was just a minor hiccup; after all, I’m a pretty resourceful cat, if I do say so myself.

  I heard a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Toby burst in with Henry at his heels.

  ‘George has been sick on my bed!’ he cried.

  ‘He ate lots of our chocolate, by accident,’ Henry explained.

  ‘Great, right, well I better go up and clear up. And you guys, I already told you no more sweets,’ Claire shouted.

  ‘I feel a bit sick too, Mummy,’ Toby said. We all did what I call a parenting eye roll, and rushed upstairs to sort it out. I would be having stern words with my kitten later.

  ‘So, I missed the trick or treating,’ Jonathan said, not exactly sounding disappointed.

  ‘Yes, funny how you had to work late tonight,’ Claire bit back.

  ‘I did, honestly. Anyway, the kids had a good time?’

  ‘Yes, I took photos.’ Claire handed him her phone. ‘But there was one house which was a bit of a nightmare, at the end of the street, overgrown, peeling paint. There was a light on but when we rang the bell, an old man glared at us then drew the curtains. Who would do that to a bunch of kids?’

  ‘Oh, I know. That’s the guy who Vic and Heather Goodwin were moaning to me about. Apparently they have been trying to talk to him about tidying the place up, even offered to do the garden for him, but he told them to go away. Although I’m not sure he was that polite. They said he’s a bit of an ogre and they think he might be dangerous. All bulging eyes and shifty behaviour, according to them.’

  ‘Great, so I took our kids to a nutter’s house?’

  ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry, you know how the Goodwins exaggerate. He’s probably just a grumpy old man who doesn’t like people. I understand, after all I’ll probably
be one one day.’

  He was right, he definitely would.

  Chapter Four

  After breakfast, as the children all went to school, George and I headed out to see the other neighbourhood cats. Sometimes I felt as if I was far too busy, so many people – and cats – to see that it was hard to fit it all in. I was hoping to see Tiger as well, as I made my way to near the end of the road, where we often convened on a patch of grass we called our recreation space. It was quite isolated from the main road, and there were hedges to play in – George still loved a bit of hide and seek – and even a couple of trees. Best of all, our friends knew to go there.

  I had made many cat friends since being on Edgar Road. We had new ones coming in, and had lost one or two of our members, but the core group remained the same: Elvis, who was pretty much an old man now, Rocky and Nellie, but there was no sign of Tiger.

  ‘Alright, Alfie, George,’ Rocky said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing much, you?’

  ‘We’ve got a new cat next door,’ I said, too excited to keep the news to myself. ‘But she doesn’t go out, or she didn’t in her old home, so we haven’t been able to meet her yet.’

  ‘Claire and Polly said they lived in another country,’ George said. ‘What’s that then?’

  Nellie, Rocky, Elvis and I all looked at each other. We were cats, after all, and not experts in geography.

  ‘It’s very far away,’ Elvis said, finally as if he knew. ‘We live in London, and other people live in other places which are countries.’ None of us, including him, knew if that was true.

  ‘Like Devon?’ George asked.

  ‘Exactly,’ I said quickly. After all, it didn’t really matter, did it?

  ‘So Japan, which is where they come from, is another country,’ George said. ‘And there, cats don’t go out, apparently,’ he added. I was surprised and pleased that he’d paid so much attention. He went off to hide under a hedge.