Alfie in the Snow

I knew I should be thankful that he was going out during the day – if it had been night I would have had a whole heap of fears and worries. He could have been hanging out with unsavoury cats, fighting, hunting, getting up to all sorts of mischief. Though if he had shown any signs of that I would have got Dustbin on the case. I really had to stop worrying about things that hadn’t happened, especially as I had my paws full with troubles that were very, very real.

It is characteristic of life, and I speak from my own experience, that when things start piling up the tendency is to fret more. It’s a vicious circle: when things are good you enjoy them and try not to think of the bad times, but when things are bad you can only think of how they could get worse. So, as I waited for George, I tried to count my blessings. Firstly, the sun was shining. Yes it was cold and windy, but at least it wasn’t raining. And I did have lovely families and friends. I might be losing Tiger but I was lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I had, and that was a gift. Although losing her wasn’t a gift, it was the opposite of a gift, whatever that may be.

Just as I was running out of both blessings and optimism, George appeared. He didn’t notice me as he set off down Edgar Road, towards where our cat friends met. I followed at a safe distance, hopping behind the odd lamppost to ensure I kept out of sight, but George didn’t look back once. None of our friends were at the recreation spot but he walked straight past it anyway; that clearly wasn’t where he was heading. As I carried on walking, I had a horrible feeling that I knew where he was going. As George stopped at the tatty house with the jungle garden and the horrible old man, my worst fears were confirmed.

I watched him from a safe distance as George played in the overgrown bushes which dominated the space. It really did look fun to play in; brambles and overgrown plants, a small, fat tree with overhanging branches and long grass. There were no flowers, no colour. But it was a garden you could definitely lose yourself in and I just hoped he was safe. I settled back to watch my boy.

After exploring the garden, he hopped up on the windowsill of the house and peered in. Next thing I knew, the old man from Halloween appeared and started banging a walking stick against the window in an angry fashion. George, however, sat on the windowsill and seemed nonplussed. Or nonpussed. I cowered behind a bush near the front wall, as close as I dared go. What if the man hurt George? He stood there shaking his fist and his walking stick. I saw him more clearly than I had in the dark that night. I could vaguely hear the words, ‘Get lost’, being shouted. George tapped his paw on the window one last time and hopped down, raising his tail in a salute. I quickly started running home.

All the way I tried to make sense of what I’d seen. George clearly knew the garden but the old man didn’t want him there. The thing was that my George wasn’t the best at reading signals, he’d thought Chanel liked him when she showed him nothing but disdain. But how could I discuss this with George without him knowing I was following him? I couldn’t.

Another thing to add to my mounting problems; I would have to keep an eye on it. If this was where George was disappearing to most days I would need to make sure that he was safe. That walking stick looked like it could do some serious damage. The man looked as if he could do some damage too. And if the Goodwins were right and he was dangerous … I shuddered.

My other dilemma on the way back was whether to tell Tiger or not. On the one hand I didn’t want her to worry, but on the other she’d asked me to treat her normally. Also, I had a vague idea that it might be better for her to tackle George about this, or at least to try to ask him about it. He was still talking to her, after all, whereas at the moment he seemed to be avoiding me as much as he could. Oh yes, he would still fill me in about Hana but it was as if talking to me was a duty rather than a desire. Our easy relationship, the one where we hung out, chased leaves, chewed the fat with other cats, talked through the day’s events together in the evening, seemed to be over.

I just hoped it wasn’t over forever.

I’d been at home for a while before George came in. I’d stopped at Tiger’s but the cat flap was closed and there was no sign of her. I hoped she was resting. Every time I saw her she seemed weaker and the idea that, one day soon, I would go and see her and she wouldn’t be there threatened to floor me.

I’d had a snack, a wash and a nap, only to be woken by the sound of the cat flap and the appearance of a very sad-looking George.

‘Are you alright?’ I asked, fussing despite saying I wouldn’t.

‘I’m a bit tired actually,’ George said. ‘I think I might have a nap. It’s very cold out.’

He was chattier than normal, which I was happy about, but I also knew not to push it.

‘OK, did you see Tiger mum?’ I asked, casually.