Chapter 5
Chapter Five
As I’m opening the door to my new home, a small body brushes against my leg and dashes into the garage ahead of me.
My mouth pops open with shock. “What the fuck was that?”
I glance down, and a bit of orange fur is stuck to my pants. It catches on the breeze and twirls in the air. I step inside with wide eyes and scan the space.
Movement. A stripey ginger tail disappears behind the ratty old sofa.
Huh. A cat. The sneaky thing ran so fast.
What a coincidence. I’ve had a niggling worry all day about mice getting into Grandad’s stuff. They chew and nibble on everything. I had to shove the worrying thoughts to the back of my mind as I can’t do anything about it. When I get paid, I’ll buy proper storage.
There is nothing I can do in the meantime but be sensible and go through Grandad’s clothing and take the quality stuff to the local charity shop. My stomach twists into a knot. It’s going to be hard.
In all honestly, I don’t want to get rid of his things.
I want to hold on to them, hold on to him for a little longer.
But I can’t be selfish. If his things get damaged because of this damp garage and the vermin that are surely knocking around when I could have given them to someone who needs them… Yeah, I’d feel like a right dick.
I keep the door open in case it runs back this way and tiptoe towards the sofa and the hairy trespasser. Having a cat around to scare off any mice would be helpful. I groan. I can’t look after myself, let alone a cat.
Even though I’ve brushed the floor, the crumbling concrete doesn’t seem to want to behave.
It will always be dank, smelly, and dusty, but I drop down anyway.
Little stones dig into my knees and palms as I peer underneath the sofa.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” I smirk as I quote one of my favourite books.
Two big yellow eyes return my gaze. “Hello there, little kitty cat, aren’t you pretty?
What do you think you’re doing sneaking in here?
” At the sound of my voice, the cat purrs.
“Do you know how dangerous it is coming uninvited into a vampire’s home?
” I grin at my words and lie down on the garage floor.
Ew, the floor is disgusting.
I stick my hand underneath the sofa. “What am I doing talking to him as if he can understand me?” I mumble. The cat creeps forward and sniffs the fingers of my outstretched hand. “Shit. Please don’t bite me.” He rubs the side of his face against my skin, marking me with his scent.
Oh, he’s cute. Oh, and I have an idea. “You hungry?”
I tug my arm back and wiggle my backpack off my shoulders. Guess I could share my dinner with him.
At the rattling noise from the tinfoil and the smell of the sandwich’s tofu goodness, the cat appears in front of me. He places a paw on my leg, and his hungry eyes intently watch me as I carefully unwrap the sandwich and tear off a chunk of tofu.
“Purrrt,” he chirps at me.
I interpret that as for me in catspeak. Though it might be more on the lines of, If you don’t hurry, I will eat your face. Meh, he’s friendly enough.
I offer him the tofu, and with a gentle paw, he carefully guides my hand to his face, and with sharp white teeth, he delicately takes it from my fingers.
As he eats, he purrs.
I grin and carefully stroke his soft ginger fur with my fingers.
Once he’s finished a few more chunks, I scoop him up into my arms and hustle to the door.
He is lighter than I expected. The little fella is just bones and fur.
Underneath my fingertips, I can feel little bumps on his skin—the poor thing is being eaten alive by fleas.
I gently place him outside and quickly slam the door.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I say in response to his pitiful yowls.
I lean my forehead against the wood. The darkness of the garage enfolds around me as the cat continues to cry.
“I can’t look after you. I’m so sorry.”
Groggy after a restless sleep of worrying about the cat, I nearly step on the grizzly remains of a mouse outside the door.
A gift.
I lift my eyes to the sky to commiserate with the soul of the poor little mouse.
Yet the implication of the cat’s gift isn’t lost on me.
The starving skin-and-bone cat left me a present.
A mouse that he could have eaten. Gross as it is, the mouse gift is the cat equivalent of teaching me to hunt. He sees me as his family.
I swallow a lump that’s stuck in my throat, and my tummy flips. I rub the back of my head. Oh, the guilt I feel—the guilt of throwing the cat out into the night… yeah, it worsens.
I don’t get paid until the end of the week, and I rarely get tips.
People pay for their meals and drinks at the till.
But today, today has been a good tip day.
Although I have a sneaking suspicion that Tilly might have had a hand in my good fortune.
I’ve scrounged up a tenner and a reusable water bottle.
In the discount supermarket, determined, I stomp right past the peanut butter that I should be buying, and instead, my feet take me to another aisle.
I glare at the varied assortment of cans.
The cats on the labels mock me.
After spending way too much time and contemplation on different flavours, I pay for a pack of cat food. I’m relieved to see I just have enough money to buy a single pipette of flea treatment from the vet.
I feel like such a sentimental fool. I’m an idiot.
As I am heading back to the garage with cat stuff in hand, I can’t help looking at my old home as I pass by. My eyes fly over the familiar building, and my heart sinks into my abdomen when I see the For Sale sign.
I know it shouldn’t be a surprise; it isn’t a surprise, not really. I didn’t think my uncle would stay in the house. Not when he moved everything out. But knowing and seeing are two different things. It makes it real, and it rocks me to my core. It rattles something deep inside me.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and do a quick online search… and there it is on the estate agent’s website. I shouldn’t look any further. You’re only torturing yourself, I say, but I can’t help it. I click the link for more details and scan the ad. Seeing the photos hurts.
I bet if I did a thorough search, I’d find everything that my uncle has inherited for sale all over the web. Including my car. I rub my forehead. Gosh, I wish I had enough money to at least buy my car back. Not that I’d want to give him a penny.
To buy the house would be an impossible dream.
I hate him.
The plastic case on my phone crunches in my tight grip. God, how I hate him.
You know, I didn’t expect a free ride; I didn’t think he’d be so cruel as to—I yank at the thought. No, none of that. I turn my phone off and stuff it back in my pocket.
I’ll get my own back, I promise myself. When the time is right, I will get him back. I sigh. My head is so fuzzy with anger it makes my temples pound.
Back at the garage, while Dexter the mouse-killer cat—I named him while I was shopping—is stuffing his face with cat food, with some satisfaction, I carefully squeeze the liquid flea treatment onto the skin at the back of his neck.
As I listen to him purr and eat, I think about my work schedule and the need for Dexter to be able to come and go as he pleases.
I’m not about to lock him up or lock him out.
Heck, I don’t want him to go outside. The roads are busy, and the predators would think nothing of making a snack of him. Also, if something happens to me and I can’t get back… I need to know that he’ll be able to fend for himself. That he’ll be safe.
I spend a good twenty minutes fighting with a brick vent that I find at the back of the garage.
Whoever designed this thing didn’t design it with vermin in mind.
The wide slats make an ideal mouse flap, a mouse highway.
Why would somebody put a vent in a garage?
I knock out the crumbling brick and secure a bit of hard plastic to hide the hole.
Let’s hope Dexter is the only animal that uses it.
The ginger cat joins me and inspects his new doorway. My empty tummy grumbles, but my heart is full and squishy.