Page 63 of Things We Never Said
I pretended to be some kind of impartial judge, pondering the fors and againsts of your cat dispute and deliberating my decision. But the truth was that I wanted a cat too, probably even more than April did.
It was either that or another baby, but the only time I ever hinted at the idea you looked at me with an expression of such utter incomprehension that I knew it was a no-go. So a cat it had to be.
I was working three mornings a week at the RSPCA shop by then, but I was still, if the truth be told, bored and not a little lonely.
I was no longer spending my days moping in bed – there was so much decorating to do at Thoday Street – but I felt a cat would provide a presence in the house. It would mean that the place wouldn’t be entirely empty when I got home from the school gates. I’ve never liked that feeling of closing the front door behind you and listening to the creaking of an empty house. It has always put the willies up me, I really don’t know why.
And so, eventually, after what seemed a reasonable period of listening to April’s whinging (which I encouraged, by the way – she would often forget all about the cat and have to be reminded) I declared that my period of deliberation was over, that I’d judged in April’s favour, and got Iris from the shop to drive April and me out to the shelter after school.
Do you remember how excited I was about the job offer I saw while I was there? I was more excited about that job than I was about bringing poor Solo home.
I know you always thought that I should aim higher. You were always pushing me to do A levels so that I could do an OU degree, or go to evening classes and learn to paint, or even just learn to drive. But it was never what I wanted.
All I ever wanted was to carry on being happy, and just as I knew I wanted you the second I met you, I knew I wanted that job the second I saw the card on their noticeboard. It was a perfect fit that would contribute to the family budget, leave me time to spend with April and make me as happy as any job could. And I was right. I never once regretted it.
Oh, there were frosty, foggy winter mornings when I had to clean up cat vom or cat shit, or sometimes both, when I’d whinge and moan about my lot. But I never once struggled to go to work of a morning. And I never once, in twenty years, took a day off sick.
As for Solo – well, that was a bit like the job, really. You thought that I should have aimed higher and come home with something that looked like a Bengal tiger.
Instead, Solo had some skin complaint, a sort of cat eczema that they suspected was probably nervous in origin. He’d been beaten and kept in a cellar before he came to the shelter, so he had reason, it seemed, to be nervous. The poor cat had hardly any fur and more scabs than the Orgreave picket line. He had been living in a concrete-floored cage, albeit with a basket, out there at the shelter for years.
But he loved April instantly. I know you never really believed this story, but it’s true: he kept standing on her feet, which was quite a challenge back then as they were only tiny.
He’d been with the shelter so long that they used to leave the door to his cage open and he quite literally followed us around, perching with his four paws on April’s school shoes whenever we stopped to pet or even look at another cat.
As we walked around, the woman at the shelter – it was Sally, in fact – explained how the shelter worked and how the un-adoptables like Solo usually had to be put down, but how everyone loved him so much that they simply hadn’t been able to bring themselves to do it.
I have to admit that it crossed my mind that being that person, being the kind-hearted soul who adopted un-adoptable Solo, would be a sure-fire way to jump to the top of Sally’s pile of potential CVs for the job, but that wasn’t all it was. There was something lovely about him that I could sense, despite the scabs.
Solo’s fur grew back almost immediately; it was true, in the end, that all he needed was a little love. And he gave that love back to us by the bucketload.
He knew that we’d saved him, and he knew what we’d saved him from, and he loved us for it, I’m convinced of it. Oh, I can hear you sighing at your soppy wife, but just listen to me and try to believe for once.
He followed April around the house like a dog, you’ll remember. He used to sit on the table and watch her do her homework. And during the days when I was home, the place was no longer empty. When I was out, at work at the shelter, he would sleep, I think, non-stop. He was always in the same spot when I got home as he had been when I left. And he’d always have a sniff at my shoes as if to remind himself of the unpleasant past he’d escaped thanks to us.
When I was off and at weekends, he was never far away. Whatever I was doing, whether it was cooking or decorating or mending, I’d look up and always find him there keeping an eye on me and purring. Did you ever hear another cat purr as much as Solo did? I’ll answer that for you: no, you didn’t.
It took a while for him to worm his way into your affections, but about six months after we got him and about three after his fur had grown back, I came home to find you asleep on the sofa. April was snoozing between your legs and Solo was asleep with his head on your shoulder like a baby, and you were smiling in your sleep. Solo looked up at me and I swear that he winked, and I knew then that he’d won you over. I actually got a bit choked up about it, seeing the three people, or the three beings, I suppose, that I loved most in the world, all sleeping together like that. I’m actually getting a bit misty-eyed right now, just telling the story. Isn’t that funny?
You’ll perhaps think it strange that I’ve included a photo of the cat as one of my precious photos, but I loved that cat. And that’s not a euphemism either. I loved him.
He was with us for just over ten years – that’s almost twenty per cent of my life and over fifty per cent of his. He really was one of the family.
And I know that everyone says this about their cats, but he was the loveliest, cleverest, purriest, most empathetic cat that ever existed.
Do you remember how he used to like sleeping in the laundry basket on top of that awful, shuddering washing machine we had?
When they invented those Power Plate things that people like to wobble on in order to lose weight, I remember thinking that fatty Solo had thought of it first. And had proven, over many, many years of self-inflicted clinical trials, that it didn’t work at all.
The following Friday, on arriving home from work, Sean notices he has voicemail on his phone. Which is strange, because it’s been in his pocket all day, and he could swear that it hasn’t buzzed once.
‘Back already?’ Sean asks as soon as Maggie answers.
‘Hello!’ Maggie says, then, ‘Yes! Got back yesterday.’
‘That was quick, wasn’t it?’
‘Ten days. Nine nights. Lovely, though. Sunshine every day.’
