She Was Never Truly Alone: An Ordinary Story It was a late winter morning as daylight crept in. Outside, council workers scraped snow from the close with their sturdy shovels. The heavy front door banged shut again and again, ushering in and out the flood of neighbours hurrying off to work. On the sixth-floor windowsill, Felix the cat observed it all with quiet curiosity. In his previous life, Felix had been a city banker, concerned only with money and numbers—never pausing to consider what else life might hold. But now, he understood that kindness, companionship, and a warm roof overhead far outweighed worldly wealth. Felix glanced back. There, on the old sagging sofa, slept Nan Val, his saviour and best friend. He slinked down from the window and curled up at her pillow, soft fur pressed gently against her silvered head. Felix knew Nan Val’s head ached each morning, and he did what he could to help. “Felix, you’re quite the little healer!” she murmured as she awoke to his gentle warmth. “That pain’s gone, you clever boy—how do you do it?” Felix gave his paw a nonchalant shake as if to say, “It’s nothing—I could do much more if you asked!” But then a low, jealous grumble echoed from the hallway: it was Gav, the terrier. Gav had been Nan Val’s loyal companion for many years. At the first sound of unfamiliar footsteps, he always barked with gusto, protecting his home and the woman he loved. No doubt he fancied himself the true master of the flat. “What was he in a past life?” mused Felix. “A police constable, maybe—or a foreman. Loud and bossy, but perhaps that’s just what a guard dog should be!” “My darlings, what would I do without you?” Nan Val sighed fondly, shuffling to her feet. “Now, time for breakfast—then off for a little walk.” “And if the pension comes in this week, I’ll buy us a chicken!” At the word “chicken,” a wave of excitement swept the room. Felix kneeded the sofa with his paws, purring so loudly it made Nan Val chuckle. He nuzzled her thin arthritic hand with his broad furry head. “Oh, you wise old boy—you understand every word, don’t you?” she sighed in delight. Gav barked in agreement and bumped his cold nose against her knee. “They’re such loving souls,” Nan Val thought, smiling. “Home is warmer and the heart less lonely with them near.” “When I’m gone, who knows what comes next? Everyone’s got an opinion, but who can say for sure? If I had my choice, I’d come back as a cat—so long as a kind person would take me in. As a dog, I don’t think I’d manage—all that barking. I’m too soft-spoken for that. But a cat? I’d make a gentle, affectionate one, I’m sure. Just let me land with good people.” “Goodness gracious, what strange ideas!” she scolded herself. “That’s what old age does to your mind.” She didn’t notice Felix’s sly whiskered smile as he glanced at Gav, silently thinking: “See—she wants to be a cat, not a dog.” After all, Felix had learned to read minds these days—a rather nice bonus, really. And that’s how things stood, in their little flat above the snowy streets of England.

She Was Not Alone. An Ordinary Story

A soft, pearly dawn stretched out across a late winter morning. Outside, groundskeepers furrowed the snow in the courtyard with scraping, rhythmic shovels.

The blocks heavy door slammed shut and flung open again and again, sending out a stream of commuters wrapped in thick scarves and mild agitation.

Percival the cat lounged upon the sixth-floor window ledge, peering down with otherworldly detachment.

In a previous existence, Percival had been a financier, fussing endlessly over pounds and figures, his thoughts whirring through ledger lines and decimal points.

But now, hed realised, life held things far dearer.

Now he knew: nothing in this world compared to a kindly glance, the warmth of a loving heart, or the simple blessing of a roof overhead. All else would sort itself out.

Percival turned to survey the roomthe battered settee, faded with memory, where dear old Granny Dorothy dozed, her gentle snores fluttering the air. She was his rescuer.

Sliding down from the sill, Percival crept to the pillows edge, nestling his soft, warm fur close against Granny Dorothys silver crown.

Every morning, Percival remembered, Granny Dorothy would wake with an ache in her head, and he did what he could now to help in his feline way.

Percy, you little healer, the old lady mumbled drowsily, stirring as she felt the gentle weight beside her, once again youve chased the pain away. You are a clever thing, thank you. However do you manage it?

Percival gave a dismissive flick of his paw, as if to say such business was the easiest thing in the worldhe could do far more besides!

Just then, a muffled grumble drifted in from the hallway. It was Jasper, the Springer Spaniel, succumbing to a stab of jealousy.

Jasper had stood by Granny Dorothy for agesa stalwart, loyal friend. When strangers footsteps echoed up the stairwell, he would bark a warning, loud and certain, a reminder that Granny Dorothy was under unwavering protection.

For that reason, Jasper fancied himself the man of the house.

What was he before? wondered Percival, eyeing the shaggy dog. A site foreman, maybe, or a constable in his past life. He does make a racket. But never mind, let him barkperhaps it really is safer with him around.

Oh, you darlings, whatever would I do without you, Granny Dorothy winced as she creaked off the sofa, let me get you both some breakfast and then well have a little jaunt in the garden.

And if a pension comes in by Thursday, she told them, they might even have chicken for tea.

The mere mention of chicken sent a wave of exuberance rippling through the room.

Percival kneaded the settee with great intensity, his purr a distant engine, head-butting Granny Dorothys frail, knotted hand with his broad, furry forehead.

You clever boy, you really do know your words, she marvelled, the fondness clear in her smile. Jasper yipped once in confirmation and butted his cold, wet nose against her knees.

Ah, there are souls in this house, Granny Dorothy mused, smiling. And for their sake its warmer, and my heart never truly lonely.

One day Ill go, and what then? Whos to say? People have many thoughtshard to know which to believe.

If I could choose, Id come back as a cat, of course, and hope for kindly folk like me to take me in. I doubt I could manage as a dogtoo quiet for barking like that. But a cat? I should make a good one, gentle and affectionateso long as I find a good home.

Goodness me, she chided herself, what strange notions come unbidden with old age.

Percival, catching her thought, curled his mouth into a secret, whiskered grin and gazed triumphantly at Jasper.

Shed rather return as a cat, not a dog.

These days, Percival had learned to read peoples thoughtsa decent enough skill to pick up along the way.

Such were their days now, in that odd dreamland behind English curtains, where love and warmth hovered, and curious reflections drifted across a winter dawn.