I wasn’t the runt of the litter; just not as big as my brothers, only lazier. I didn’t fight as hard for the food, or the warmest place in the corner where we were born, so I didn’t get as big as them. One by one, my brothers disappeared I never knew where they went. If I chased a butterfly across the yard, I’d come back to find one was gone. Then one day I woke from a nap in the sun and instead of Mother, there was a boy.
He took me to a tiny house that smelled of cabbage with a small, cold room in the attic. I’d creep into his bed once he was asleep, but he didn’t seem to mind. He would talk to me about things I didn’t understand, and gave me scraps from the table. The man he lived with didn’t like me at all. If I didn’t move fast enough, I’d get a boot to my belly, so I learned quickly to keep out of his way.
One winter day, it was so cold, my whiskers froze. The boy scooped me up from beside the kitchen range which annoyed me annoyed because it was warm there and his jacket was scratchy and smelled funny. I swiped a claw across his hand, but he just laughed. Had I known that was the last time I would see him, I would have put up with the scratchy material and the odd smell.
A while after the boy went away, the telegram came. The old man went into a rage and kicked me into the yard. I didn’t know what I’d done, and it was freezing. I had to sleep under the shed, but it rained and I was soaked. The old man got meaner for no reason after that, and food was harder to come by. He sat in a chair for hours without moving, and on those days I didn’t get fed at all.
One day, he grabbed me by my scruff and held over the water butt, full to the rim after the night’s rain. I struggled and yowled as loud as I could and was up to my chest in the water when the boy next door appeared. He shouted at the old man who said something about getting rid of the bad luck once and for all. That I was the reason his Tommy didn’t come back.
I never knew the boy’s name was Tommy.
This boy grabbed me, dripping wet, and tucked me inside his coat. He took me to a place filled with big wooden boxes that reached to the ceiling filled with things he called books.
Two ladies there called the boy Archie. One younger, with a soft voice who told Archie if she saw one in a week, I would have to go. Archie explained I was there to get rid of the mice; stop them chewing the paper and making nests in the hay the books arrive packed in. It was better than being drowned in a water butt, though I can’t say I enjoyed it.
Miss Violet always smiled and made silly baby noises when I sat up straight, my tail wrapped round me and stare at them without blinking. Even Hannah let me sit on her lap as long as I didn’t dig my claws into her legs.
When everyone has gone home, the bookshop is entirely mine. I do my rounds to check everything is as it should be. When I get bored, I push the books off the higher shelves with a paw. With the sides spread like wings and the pages flapping like feathers, they fly. Not far though, and only down. Then they lie on the floor where they stay until someone picks them up. Archie is first in and always grumbles because he has to tidy them away before the ladies arrived.
The best part was that Archie fed me every day. He never missed. Bits of meat, leftover corned beef, sausage, even the odd dented tin of sardines the grocers couldn’t sell.
The day I met the ginger tom from two doors down changed things. In exchange for the odd sausage or bacon scrap, he agreed to catch the mice fin the bookshop too.
I’m pretty sure I’m not going anywhere. I have a name now too. Mr Bartleby. I’m not sure it suits me, but I can live with it. These days I sit in the front window and keep an eye on the customers coming and going to the bookshop. If they smell nice and don’t stand on my tail, I let them stroke my fur. There’s always the odd one who shoos me away or aims a boot in my direction.
I’ve been slower recently, and one or two of the kicks have hit the mark. Hannah says it’s because I’m getting fatter, but I don’t see it myself.
Then in the middle of last night, I heard this loud grinding noise overhead followed by a terrible bang that shook the walls. Then more bangs came. I smelled smoke and saw fire through the window. I hate fire. Then the front of the shop collapsed inwards, sending glass, wood, and books everywhere. I scooted under a pile of fallen books. I don’t know how long I hid there, but Hannah came and got me out.
It was still dark when Miss Violet drove us in a motor car through fires, broken buildings, bells, whistles, and people shouting. I slept beside another kitchen range last night; a big shiny one this time.
I don’t know where I’ll live next, but my whiskers are tingling the way they do right before I start a new adventure.