Soddit the Cat

His paws led him on many paths, wondrous and fantastic. Through hillsides and farmlands and a car park or two, and even a river at one point; he’d always known the Great Open Country would be like that, but he’d never imagined that three days into his journey he would already feel free, completely the owner of his own self… If there could only be someone to scratch his belly, then he would be in paradise! Granted, the weather was still quite cold, so he’d found himself daydreaming more than once of a blazing fire or a warm radiator in a lounge; the fuzzy blankets would be a cliché. And the cushion, too. And the plate of mouth-watering sardines or chicken left-overs… Or the bowl of milk – but then he remembered that milk made him gassy and that was why he had been sent away from his own home in the first place, so he pushed the bowl of milk aside in his mind and focused on the cushions and the hearty meals, and maybe a cosy lap. It was so good to have left Pilton and be free now, his own cat in his own land, yes sir!

He’d gone out looking for Wells. If the legends were true, Wells Cathedral was the one place he’d be able to find a good home, at long last, where the famous Louis, the Cathedral Cat, lived and would surely give him home if he knew his own sad story. If the rumours he’d heard were true, Louis was getting old and he already had a protégé in the Cathedral, young Pangur, who’s been able to capture the attention of staff and visitors alike, so they’d maybe make room for another newcomer into the site. He’d hang out with them, learn their ways, see how they made it so easy for humans not only to accept them but also to treat them with great respect and adoration.

He could imagine both cats getting the attention of everyone around without having to give up an inch of their lounging space or an ounce of their dignity; from what he’d heard about them, they never performed any sort of cutesy attention tricks or needed to beg for food or cuddles: everything just came to them in the blink of an eye – and sometimes not even that! Every once in a while, the neighbour’s daughter had said, people would just flock around one or the other bringing gifts and queuing up to stroke them and scratch behind their ears. Those were the tricks he’d wanted to learn.

He was getting tired of going so near the main road, though, even if it had just been a few hours. He knew that he was close to Wells because there were many cars now and a roundabout up ahead. The sign for Wells was a bit strange, though: it had more numbers than when he’d seen it first – it didn’t make much sense, but he shrugged, at least as much as a cat can shrug, and kept walking. His heart leapt when he heard the sounds of the city: the voices, the laughter, the children at school and people greeting each other. He turned the corner and there it was a long street, sunny and comforting and full of potential laps, with a church tower all the way to the top. It was a lot smaller than he’d imagined it, but it might just be a situation of reality vs expectation. He raised his tail and walked up to it.

Only two or three people crossed his path. He could hear some say hello, but he kept his eyes on the church tower. The voices of the children were stronger to his left but none seemed to have noticed him. He didn’t mind. A pretty lady with long black hair and chocolatey eyes knelt to stroke him as she cooed hello. As much as he’d liked being petted, he moved away as from his right a tall man with long brown hair leant over to kiss the lady.

‘Cat’s got priority today, I see,’ he said.

The lady laughed, ‘Well, he stole my heart for a moment; how could you not, little one?’

They tried to stroke him for a bit, but he slinked past them each time, then they got up and said goodbye and walked up the street, towards where cars were passing up and down at a faster speed. Her hair swung from side to side like a silk curtain, his ponytail bounced as they both laughed and kissed and laughed again. The lady seemed so crystalline, the man friendly and witty. He smiled as they walked away, then turned his attention back to the church tower. He’d been looking at it as he was being petted, and he’d finally decided that it was too small to be the cathedral – this whole street seemed too small to be a city, to be honest. Could be that it was probably just the outskirts, that he’d been overexcited about the tower and immediately made up a story in his head. He followed the couple as they turned into the street with more cars. He saw them walk up to his left in front of a tall building, old and fabulous with a picture of George and the Dragon hanging above the thick wooden doors, then walk into a green smaller door further away with the picture of a Green Man hanging above it. Other people walked around them, both men and women, most of them with long hair. Weird. He turned his attention to the right and saw a big church-like entrance, an impressive archway which spoke of radiant ornaments and warm radiators. He crossed the street and crossed the archway…

… and after wandering inside for a few moments, squirming away from curious humans and crossing a few glass doors along the way, he found himself back outside – in a big garden that expanded into eternity and high walls and pillars rising from the ground here and there, broken and majestic all at once. He meowed and ran towards the ruins of what had had to be a most impressive building indeed, sniffing around for food and warmth, neither one to be found among the wide field. It could not have been that the cathedral had been taken down all of a sudden, could it? It couldn’t be that Louis and Pangur were purely legends?

He looked around a few times, meowing in confusion. A few humans tried to reach out to him, to comfort him and offer food at times, but he could not deal with them just then. Well, maybe with the food. He ate and purred obediently and moved away again as soon as he could, to try to find answers.

Then, all of a sudden, he saw a tower rising in the distance, on top of a hill that grew directly from folklore and fairy-tale… and he understood where he was. He had heard people talking about it with a touch of sarcasm back in his old owner’s house. That was the Tor, these were the Abbey ruins, and he was in Glastonbury!

He sat down and washed his paws.

The next day, after a silent night between two rustic buildings and a lovely dinner that one of the waitresses from a café had brought out to him, he walked around the courtyard where he’d found his lodgings and sat for a little bit at the foot of a statue of a slim lady and a slimmer dog. They were both looking up at the sky, and he looked up as well. The sky didn’t really show him anything, but he felt his spirits rise. He’d gone way off track, but he’d make do for a while, at least for regrouping and getting on his track again. He remembered seeing Glastonbury written a few times along the way, even outside the entrance to the Abbey, but since he’d never seen it written, it just hadn’t clicked. How silly he felt, and embarrassed for his mistake. But so far people had been good to him, so it’d be fine. For a while. Just for a little while.

He came out of the courtyard and walked up the street, past the building with the picture of the Green Man, and past many shop windows that displayed dragons and crystals and faeries and brooms. A cat or two and owls and stags – and all those funny things that people liked to buy from movies and books that they liked. This was all too silly for him. A serious cat who wanted to be master of his own destiny did not belong in a town like this – a town with shiny lights and people in capes and shiny wings. They had nice velvety laps, though. And they smelled rich and homely, faintly like nuts. He saw a church to his left, small and pretty, and wondered if they had warm radiators inside, and if they would take in a cat.

As he crossed the gate he saw a set of lines to his right, and curious as he was, he decided to investigate. He put his nose to the first line and noticed that a great deal of human feet had traded on those lines, and soon he found out that they were actually paths. He followed one and realised that it folded onto itself over and over until he found himself in the middle of the circling lines. He sat there and observed the humans walking outside the church.

‘Look, mummy, a cat did the labyrinth!’ a childish voice said. She was pulling on her mum’s hand to lead her towards the church gate, but the mother was in a bit of a hurry and said they’d be back later.

‘Oh, look, so cute!’ a couple of young women came to the gate and looked at him, as an older man stopped and chuckled before he carried on his way. ‘Even Glastonbury cats are looking for the meaning of their lives,’ he could hear him say as the women agreed and laughed.

‘Look hun, I think it’s the cat we saw yesterday,’ a familiar voice said, clear and nourishing. He looked up, and sure enough there was the raven-haired lady with her hand to the iron fence, her man pressing close to her and putting his hand over hers. ‘Brilliant!’ he said, and kissed the top of her head. He was at least a head taller than she, and they looked happy and healthy and like they fitted in together perfectly. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he liked that feeling the couple conveyed to him.

The morning passed and he went up the High Street, looking left and right at the colourful characters and the shiny and shimmery shop windows. A human or two greeted him, some only went “aww” and carried on, most seemed like they were walking inside their own little bubble. Everyone was dressed very differently, though, some in leathers or skins and long dreadlocks or plaits, some in flowing velvets and faces like they were dreamily sniffing a nearby skunk, some in glorious faery wings that called his attention every time they sparkled in the sun (but that he knew he must control his instinct to claw at, because for all the laughter their wearers shared, they might not be too happy at having a stranger come and shred them to pieces); old, young, middle-aged and children, most laughed or at least stared dreamily into space, many said hello to each other as they passed. Even those who wore the most normal clothes looked colourful and full of wondering, like they were trying to show life they were happy even though they were so confused. At some point he saw the child he’d seen from the church green as she said to her mum, ‘See, I told you that when we came back he’d be out of the labyrinth!’ The mother was still in a hurry.

Yet the feeling the town gave him was of warmth and joy, even in the cold season. He liked it. For a morning. He was a tourist and he’d make his way to Wells now, to find a proper home in the enlightened Cathedral, home of the cats. But as he reached the top of the High Street and saw the sign that said Wells, accompanied by a bunch of numbers, he felt a longing to look back to the street he’d just made his way on. It seemed like a town full of strange people, some hearty and comforting, like hot chocolate, some who probably hadn’t showered for days, some smelling of flowers and spice, some like nuts and aubergine – still, most of them felt welcoming, and he wondered if he should stay. For a little while at least, until his need for experimenting was satisfied. He kept thinking of the couple he’d seen twice now, their merry laughter and loving tenderness.

Yes, he’d stay in this town for a little while. It wasn’t as crazy as the reputation he’d heard about it… well, it probably was, but what harm could it do? He went back down the High Street, into the courtyard he’d slept the night before, and looked at the café door until the waitress saw him again and took out a nice meal for him.

He roamed around for most of the next day. The same kinds of people swarmed about, and he enjoyed himself immensely inventing their stories in his head. He’d peeked into a few of the churches but they didn’t have the comforting feeling he’d hoped – he went back into the courtyard instead, unsure of whether he’d find a home there and be fed by the local cafes, or if maybe he could go all the way into the back and make himself a library cat (for the library at the rear courtyard seemed a friendly, if indeed frosty kind of place), or see what was in his cards.

He went and sat between the slim lady and her slimmer dog, and at that moment the tall man with the long hair came into the courtyard and started skimming the books that were in a stall against the wall. He shifted and the man noticed the movement. They caught each other’s eye. For a moment he felt understood, and he thought he’d be happy to stay like that, frozen in time with his soul being read by someone else’s soul – and the moment was broken by steps and the jingling of keys. They both turned to see the pretty black-haired lady, dressed in flowy skirts of bright colours, her back to them as she locked a green door almost in front of the stall. When she turned she broke into a smile and pressed her body to the tall man, both lost in a deep kiss and a trickle of happy laughter.

He thought the moment was gone, the other soul had ceased to pay attention to him and how he was alone again – yet he heard the man say, ‘Before anything else, look over there!’

‘Oh, our cat with the Wise Lady and her Pooch!’ the lady crooned.

‘Our cat?’ said the man.

‘Well, it’s the same one! Unless Glastonbury was suddenly taken over by a swarm of black cats?’

‘Swarm of black cats?’

‘Herd? I don’t know!’

They laughed again and held each other tight. They walked away and he could hear the lady asking if her man thought he belonged to someone nearby. He followed them.

He entered a loud, happy pub. The couple’s smell had mingled with the others around them, and the music invited everyone to dance in their spot, so it took him a bit of time to find the man and lady again. Yet, when he finally spotted them, someone else caught his attention, and she was beautiful! She was curvy, not like the pretty lady was curvy, but more like round and sleek at the same time, furry as the warmest blanket, and her colours were an enticing combination of black and auburn and white. ‘Calico-cat!’ he heard the pretty raven-haired lady say as she bent down to stroke the tri-coloured fur, ‘Hello, Millie!’

Ah, Millie, that was her name… he hid beneath a bench and watched as the couple danced and hugged and danced some more… they sometimes reached out to the cat and sometimes reached out for each other, and they looked just as happy as they’d done since the first time he saw them. But now there was Millie. He tried to clean himself, to look and feel more presentable, not like he’d been on his own for almost a week now. Just then he saw she’d noticed him. She stretched, coming out from a comfortable ball into a sleek fantastical creature. She bounced off her chair and came to say hello.

Both cats smelled each other, he elated and she trusting. What’s your name? Millie asked him. I don’t go with a name anymore; my family didn’t like me, so I ran away after they shouted at me for something I didn’t do – on purpose – and now I’ve become a wanderer and want to leave even that name behind, to keep no ties with those humans. How old are you? she asked him then. I was born in the summer, so I haven’t been a year yet… almost there, though.

Well, Millie said, I’ve been here almost seven years and I can tell you for sure that you’ll like it. You get so much attention and yet are a free cat, able to come and go as you will. Everyone will love you and if you play your cards right, someone or other will open the window for you at night. I would bet on that couple for you, they live just around the corner and would be happy if you joined them every now and then.

Seven years, he thought… she must think she’s too old for me… I wonder if she’d be okay with it though… I wonder…

Just as he was considering whether she’d be a good enough reason to stay in Glastonbury after all, letting go of his wish to become a proper church cat, the friendly couple he’d been meeting spotted them both under the bench. ‘Oh, look, Millie’s got a friend,’ the lady said as she knelt to reach out for him. Her lap seemed warm and welcoming, her ample bosom comfortable for curling up and having a good purr. He felt her hand along his spine and his whole body quivered with contentment.

Ah, sod it, he thought, and presented her with his belly.

~*~

Thank you for reading my short story - my first anniversary gift to my huswife Stephen Stevie Cole, many years ago!

If you'd like to read more, head over to my profile to read all kinds of pieces I've written on various subjects, or click below for just my fiction. You can also follow the link to buy my short story collection "Tales from the Rooftop", or my novel "Wideawake". You can also find Stevie's own writings in the third link.

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