**The Stray and the Iron Lady**
*”I see you, dont hide. What are you doing in our stairwell?”* The cat looked up guiltily, its paws heavy with frost, silently scraping at the icy patches where melted snow had pooled.
No one could remember exactly when the scruffy stray had appeared in the courtyard. It lived quietly, almost invisiblylike a shadowa beautiful, though filthy and gaunt creature. The only thing anyone recalled was that it had turned up one spring.
A girl named Emily sometimes fed it when she could, doing what little she could to care for it. In winter, shed leave the cellar door ajar if it wasnt locked, lay down old clothes for bedding, even once dabbed green antiseptic on its paw when she spotted a wound.
So the cat carried onsilent, cautious, nearly unseen.
Then, one day, it watched as Emily stepped out of the building in a white dress, flowers in her hair, on the arm of a man in a crisp suit. Laughter and applause surrounded them. Everyone climbed into ribbon-decked cars and drove away. From that day on, the kind girl was never seen again.
The cat was left alone. Hunger drove it to the bins at nightit was quieter then, and there was a chance to scavenge before the strays returned. The most important rule? Avoid the vicious dogs. That was how it survived. Until the bitter frosts came, and the new caretaker locked it out of the cellar for good.
*Where could it go?* Half-frozen, it tried sneaking into the stairwell. But no one wanted it there. Some shooed it away; others kicked and shouted. Not a soul would let the shivering creature inside.
One desperate evening, it crept into the five-storey building at the end of the street. Too weak to fear or hope, past caringit just didnt want to freeze to death that night.
Mrs. Elizabeth Stephensknown to all as Auntie Bethspotted it first. She lived on the second floor and had stepped out to check her postbox for the rent bill. Stern but fair, she was respected in the building, the kind of woman who spoke her mind so plainly even the tenants association hesitated to cross her.
The cat, having slipped in unnoticed, had curled up by the radiator on the landing, barely breathing. Its fur was stiff with ice, eyes pleading and exhausted.
*”I see you, dont hide. What brought you here? Freezing and starving, arent you?”* she scolded.
The creature lifted its gaze, barely able to shift its frozen paws as the ice beneath them slowly melted.
*”Well, what am I to do with you…? Wait here.”*
She knew hunger. Her legs, stiff from wartime rations, carried her upstairs and back down with a bowl of food, water, and an old moth-eaten jumper.
*”There, eat. Poor thingdont worry, I wont take it from you,”* she sighed, watching it gulp down the liver-spiked barley.
She spread the jumper beneath it, then turned away, completely forgetting the rent bill.
The cat, warm for the first time in weeks, decided: *this was home now, and the stern but kind woman was its owner.*
To avoid being driven out again, it behaved quietly, disciplinedas if remembering some long-lost life as a pampered pet. Auntie Beth even gave it a name: *Marmalade.*
Not everyone approved. The Pastons from the third floor came down, Edward stopping in front of Auntie Beth with a scowl.
*”Whats this, a zoo now?”*
His wife, wrapped in an expensive fur coat, pinched her nose theatrically. *”Eddie, that thing reeks!”*
*”Get rid of it,”* he ordered.
Auntie Beth straightened.
*”Why? Its not bothering anyone. It stays.”*
*”Fine. Ill call the council pest control, have it taken awayand you fined. This is a shared space!”*
*”Splendid. And Ill report you to HMRC. Let them see how a warehouse manager lives like a lord on a clerks salary. The neighbours will back me. Harm this cat, and youll regret it.”*
After that, they left Marmalade aloneeven the surly bulldog, George, who usually snarled at everything, walked past as if it didnt exist.
Weeks passed, and everyone adjusted. But Auntie Beth knew: Marmalade still wasnt safe. Though the cat grew attached to her, it remained wary, avoiding flats as if terrified of them. Something terrible must have happened to it.
She didnt force it, hoping one day it would enter on its own.
And it dideach time she shut the door, Marmalade would follow cautiously, listening, watching but never going too far.
Then, in February, during a blizzard, Elizabeth woke gaspingpain spearing through her chest. The room blurred, her cries strangled.
The neighbours were roused by desperate yowling. Marmalade clawed at the door, shredding the faux leather with frantic swipes.
People rushed out, knocking. No answer. Then Nina from downstairs appeared.
*”Ive got a key. Beth and I agreedjust in case.”*
They opened the door. An ambulance was called. Marmalade refused to leave, crouched under the bed, wailing.
Elizabeth had no family. The war had taken them all. She was alone.
But neighbours visited the hospital, bringing small gifts. Each time, she whispered the same plea:
*”Look after my Marmalade. Feed him. Let him back in. He saved me.”*
Three weeks later, on a March morning, Auntie Beth returned home. Marmalade was already waiting at the door, as if hed known.
She held out her arms.
*”Come on, love. Lets go home.”*
Together, they stepped inside. That evening, for the first time, she lifted him into her lap. The cat purred, pressing close.
*”Its all right, my lad… Weve got a little more time yet.”*
