But when Ellen came out of the back door, the little cat’s eyes went huge and black with alarm. She took off so fast that her claws left scratch marks in the dust. She vanished into the bushes and we didn’t see her again for several days.
Then she returned, watchful and slinking, but she wouldn’t eat until Ellen put the dish further away from the house.
‘She’s a wild cat,’ Ellen said. ‘Not an old softie like you, Solomon.’
Old? Me? I suppose I was getting old now, for a cat. We’d been at Isaac’s place for years and John was a big boy now, going to school on the bus with a stack of books in his bag. He was learning to play the guitar, and he liked me to sit on his bed with him while he practised. I didn’t know exactly how old I was.
Ellen gave the little ginger cat a name, Lulu.
‘It gives her an identity,’ she said.
‘You’ll never tame a wild cat,’ said Isaac. ‘But let her come if she wants to. Poor little mite.’
But Ellen and John were determined. Every day they put out extra food for Lulu. At first they put it near the bushes where she felt safe. I spent time in the bushes with Lulu, washing her and purring, and sometimes if she felt safe she cuddled up to me and slept.
‘Why are you so scared?’ I asked her one day. ‘Ellen is kind and lovely. She’d never hurt you.’
‘I’ve never seen one of those humans before,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know what they were. They are huge and they look so scary.’
‘Where did you come from, Lulu?’ I asked.
She sighed and looked sad.
‘I was born in the bushes where you found me,’ she said. ‘And I had a mum, ginger like me, and a sister too. She was ginger and white and used to play with me. But one day our mum led us across the road because she thought we would find more to eat over there. The cars were coming so fast, savage they were. I hung back, but Mum and my sister tried to run across and they got killed. So I was left alone.’
I felt so sad for Lulu. I knew how painful it was for her.
‘You try to make friends with a human,’ I said. ‘Then you’ll have a happy life like me.’
‘I never will,’ Lulu said. ‘Never. Never.’
It was no good trying to tell her.
But Ellen had a plan.
She started sitting outside in a chair, sitting quite still, and eventually Lulu got used to her being there and came to eat from the dish Ellen put out for her. Gradually Ellen moved the dish and the chair closer together until Lulu was eating her food within touching distance. While she was eating Ellen talked to her softly, sometimes she actually sang to her, and I could see Lulu flicking her ears to listen. If Ellen moved, Lulu looked up at her and hissed like a snake.
I helped by rubbing myself around Ellen’s legs or draping myself over her lap to show Lulu it was OK. One day the dish was so close that Ellen reached down and gently rubbed Lulu’s back while she was eating. This went on for weeks and weeks, but it was Isaac who finally tamed Lulu. She couldn’t seem to resist his rumbly voice and the calm touch of his big hands. She even rolled on her back and played with his shoelaces.
Then one chilly day in autumn, Isaac gently eased his hands around Lulu and picked her up. He put her on his lap and let go. Lulu lay there, looking surprised. She looked at me and I climbed up there with her and showed her how to lie and listen to Isaac’s slow heartbeat, and she did.
John and Ellen stood motionless, watching with smiles on their faces. It was a moment of magic, and it changed Lulu’s wretched lonely life forever.
Months later, Lulu was as daft as me, rolling over and purring, and climbing on laps. I taught her everything about living in a house, and we even played on the stairs. She made a lot of mistakes, but the wonderful thing about humans is that they are so forgiving and kind.
I knew Ellen had forgiven me for not bringing Jessica back, but I had never forgiven myself. Befriending Lulu had been good for me. It was my way of saying thank you to the people who had rescued me– Karenza, and Pam, and Abby the vet. And I was grateful to Isaac for sharing his lovely home with us.
I was a lucky cat now.
The years rolled on, happy and peaceful, and then I started getting old. My bones ached, and I was stiff. I could still put my tail up, but I didn’t want to play. I didn’t go to look at the sea any more. I just wanted to lie by the fire and sleep.
One day my back legs wouldn’t work any more, and I had to drag myself around.
Abby came to see me with her vet’s bag in her hand. She picked me up and felt me all over.
‘He’s got arthritis,’ she told Ellen. ‘But he’s a very old cat now isn’t he?’
‘He’s twelve,’ said Ellen. ‘John was two when we found Solomon. He just appeared on our lawn in a thunderstorm. It was midsummer night. He was a skinny little kitten covered in car oil.’
‘Hmm.’ Abby was feeling my tummy. ‘That’s a good age for a cat. I suspect he’s got internal problems too. We might be able to do something but you’d have to bring him in.’
I looked at Ellen and she had tears in her eyes.