“I see you, dont hide. What are you doing in our stairwell?” The cat glanced up guiltily, silently shifting its frost-heavy paws at the edge of a tiny puddle formed by melting ice from its fur.
No one could remember exactly when this scruffy stray had appeared in the courtyard. It lived quietly, almost invisibly, like a shadowbeautiful, though grimy and thin. The only thing anyone recalled was that it had turned up in spring.
A girlsometimesfed it when she could, cared for it: left the cellar door ajar in the cold, laid out old clothes for bedding, even once smeared its paw with green paint when she thought it was wounded.
So the cat livedsilent, cautious, nearly unseen.
One day, it watched as the same girl, dressed in white with flowers in her hair, stepped out of the building on the arm of a man in a smart suit. Around them, laughter, applause. Everyone piled 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 nightquieter in the dark, with a chance to snatch something edible before the strays returned. The most important thing: avoid those vicious dogs. So it survived until the cruelest frosts came, and the new caretaker chased it from the cellar, locking the door tight.
Where to go? Half-frozen, it tried the stairwell. No welcome theresome shooed it out, others kicked and shouted. No one would let the shivering creature in.
Desperate, one evening it crept into the stairwell of the tallest block. It had no strength left to fear or hope. It didnt carejust not to freeze to death that night.
First to notice was Elizabeth Stephens, known to all as Auntie Liz, who lived on the second floor. Shed been checking her postwaiting for the rent bill. Stern but fair, respected by everyone in the courtyard. She had a way of speaking plain truths that even the housing committee minded.
The cat, slipping in unseen, huddled by the radiator, barely breathing. Its fur was icy, eyes pleading and exhausted.
“I see you, dont hide. What brought you here? Youre frozen, arent you? Hungry?” Auntie Liz scowled.
The cat lifted its gaze, guiltily, barely moving its stiff paws as the ice beneath them thawed.
“Well, what am I to do with you Wait here”
She knew hunger. Her legs, worn from harder times, carried her upstairs anyway. She returned with a bowl of food, water, and a moth-eaten old wool jumper.
“There, eat. Poor thing, dont be afraidI wont take it from you,” she sighed, watching the cat gulp down buckwheat and liver scraps.
She laid out the jumper, then went back inside, forgetting the rent bill entirely.
The cat, warm for the first time in ages, decided: this was home, and the stern but kind woman was its owner.
To avoid being chased away again, it behaved quietly, disciplinedlike in some forgotten past when it had been a house pet. Auntie Liz even gave it a name: Maisie.
Not all the neighbors approved. The Pastons came down from the third floor. Edward Albert stopped in front of Auntie Liz, eyeing the cat with disdain.
“Whats this, a zoo in our stairwell?”
His wife, wrapped in a lavish coat, pinched her nose theatrically.
“Eddie, that cat stinks!”
“Throw it out!” he ordered.
Auntie Liz straightened.
“Why? Its not bothering anyone. It stays.”
“Fine. Ill call the council, the pest controltheyll take it, and fine you too. This is a shared space!”
“Perfect. Ill report you to the fraud office. Let them see how a warehouse manager lives like a lord, carting home missing stock daily. The neighbors will back me. Harm that cat, and youll regret it.”
After that, they never bothered the cat again. Even the usually threatening Alsatian, Duke, walked past like it wasnt there.
Weeks passed. Everyone got used to Maisie. But Auntie Liz knewit wasnt safe. Though the cat stayed close, it was still a stray.
She considered taking it in, but Maisie avoided flats, as if afraid. Something terrible must have happened.
Auntie Liz didnt push. She hoped one day Maisie would dare to enter on her own.
And sure enough, whenever the door opened, the cat would sneak closer, listening, watchingbut never far.
In February, during a blizzard, Elizabeth Stephens woke gaspingpain piercing her chest, too weak to cry out. The room blurred around her.
The neighbors woke to Maisies desperate yowls. The cat clawed at the door, shredding the vinyl.
They rushed out, knockedno answer. Then Nina Silvers came down from the third floor.
“I have a spare key. Liz and I arranged it”
They opened the door. An ambulance was called. Maisie wouldnt leavehiding under the bed, wailing.
Elizabeth Stephens had no family. The war had taken them all. She was alone.
But the neighbors visited her in hospital, bringing little gifts. Each time, she only said:
“Look after my Maisie. Feed her. Let her come back. She saved my life.”
Three weeks later, on a March morning, Auntie Liz came home. Maisie was waiting at the door, as if shed known.
The woman held out her arms.
“Come home, Maisie.”
And together, they stepped inside. That evening, Auntie Liz held her for the first time. The cat purred, pressing close.
“Its all right, Maisie Well live a little longer yet.”
