Alfie in the Snow

‘Hey,’ Elvis said, solemnly, as they reached us. ‘Sorry to hear about Tiger.’ I noticed that George was looking at his paws.

‘Are you alright?’ I asked George. He swished his tail, sadly.

‘I need to go, I have to eat something and then see Hana,’ he said and without another word he left.

‘I’m guessing George’s not doing so well.’ Elvis was a master at stating the obvious.

‘It’s very early days,’ Rocky pointed out. ‘I mean, it’s barely just happened.’

‘He saw the cat he thought of as his mum die,’ Nellie pushed.

We all nodded. It was a lot for anyone, but especially for such a youngster. I knew, it had happened to me, but of course I hadn’t had anyone else to turn to then. Not the way George had. But we needed to give him time, and some space. I was gladdened by the idea he was going to see Hana; I liked the fact that George had someone who wasn’t connected to the rest of us, I think he needed that. A friend who was just his.

‘I just had an idea,’ Elvis said. We all raised our whiskers at him; he wasn’t one for ideas. ‘We should hold what the humans call a memorial or something like that, for Tiger. They go to church which we can’t do, obviously, but we can all gather here and say goodbye and talk about her. It might help the lad. It might help us all to say goodbye.’

‘Elvis, you’re a genius,’ I said. Something, again, I’d never thought I would hear myself say. ‘We’ll invite all Tiger’s friends, everyone who knew her, and make it a fitting goodbye.’

‘It’s a lovely thing to do, and sooner rather than later,’ Nellie said. ‘I’ll help organise it.’

‘And I’ll get Dustbin to come too,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it in a couple of days. Give us time to arrange things.’

‘Hopefully it will help George,’ Nellie echoed Elvis, and that seemed settled.

‘How do you know about these memorials?’ I asked Elvis.

‘I watch a lot of TV,’ he replied.

At home it was, for once, all about us cats. Toby and the nativity was a banned subject, as was Connie, Sylvie and Aleksy. Polly brought round some pilchards for George and I. And I have to say that even they failed to tempt me but I tried for Polly’s sake. Matt even came to see us after work to give us both a hug. Claire and Jonathan fussed us, more than usual. George was quieter, he ate a bit but he still refused to talk to me other than the odd word. But I could tell he appreciated the care everyone was taking of him.

That night, I tucked him up with Toby, and I nuzzled him.

‘I forgot to tell you, Hana said that someone left a dead mouse on Sylvie’s doorstep. I of course said how kind, but Hana didn’t understand – being a house cat she’s never hunted and apparently Sylvie screamed and asked Connie if she knew anything about it.’

‘Oh.’ Not the reaction I was hoping for.

‘I think she thinks it was because someone was cross with her. I tried to say we leave gifts like that as a sign of love but Hana didn’t know how to tell Sylvie that.’

‘George, it was me. I thought if we left her a gift she might feel wanted on the street.’

‘But you don’t hunt.’

‘No, I got Lucky to do it for me. Never mind, I will have to try harder.’

I knew what I had to do. I had to leave her an even better gift. Oh, so much to do but I couldn’t have Sylvie feeling sad about it, not now I’d started the plan. But I needed to talk to my son about something more important.

‘I know you don’t want to talk right now but I am always here for you, I need you to know that.’

‘I do know, but I’m so sad,’ George said. ‘And I don’t know how to act. I’ve never felt this bad before. Not even when I loved Chanel and I thought I’d drowned her.’ His eyes were so full of pain. Although the less said about that incident the better.

‘None of us do, George, but remember if you need me, or anyone, there are so many people who love you very much and we are all here for you. You don’t have to go through this horrible, horrible time alone.’

‘But I want my Tiger mum, and she’s never going to be here again.’

I had no words, as I let my kitten wail into my neck and I silently wept right along with him. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was the day of the memorial for Tiger. This was a day for her. There are not many areas where humans trump cats, but the memorial idea was one of them. I still didn’t know much about it, but thankfully our television expert, Elvis, filled us in. Normally people wore black, sang songs and said a few words about the person they were saying goodbye to. We had adapted this to our lives and limitations, so we weren’t going to wear black, obviously, but I had instructed everyone to look their best and we were going to each say something about Tiger, before we did a cats’ chorus of goodbyes to her – our version of singing. I hoped it would help George with his grief; I didn’t dare hope it would help me with mine.