Ever since Alfie lost what mattered to him most, he hasnt set foot inside his kennel. Now he sleeps out on the bare earth, hardly eats, barely notices his only remaining friend, Michael
Another November arrives. Each day grows colder, the sky more often hidden behind dull grey clouds, and people hurry by in thick overcoats and scarves. You can already sense the coming of winter, and Alfie understands snow will fall soon.
I wonder when theyll finally fill my kennel with fresh straw? My furs thick, but these chilly nights get right down to my bones he muses, stretched out on the damp soil.
He listlessly watches the removal men dart about the yard, hefting boxes and loading them into massive lorries that give off a heavy, choking smell. No one pays old Alfie, the watchdog, even the slightest bit of attention.
What do you think youre doing, lying there? a voice calls out. A security guard steps out of his hut, cigarette in hand. Youre meant to be guarding the warehouse, not lazing about like some house pet. Useless!
He spits on the ground beside Alfie and stomps off. His name is Simon. Simon never liked Alfie, not since he was a tiny pup for no reason, really, just because.
A dark green car soon pulls up by the warehouse. Alfie jumps to his feet in an instant.
Hello there, mate, a man in a flat cap greets him, stubble dusting his cheeks. Come to make you a bit more comfortable.
Its Michael Alfies favourite, the kindest security man in the lot. He always has a friendly word and something tasty to share. Even on his day off, Michaels thought of the dog, bringing him straw so he wont freeze.
Michael stuffs the kennel full of sweet-smelling, warm straw, then brings a bowl from his car steaming oatmeal and chunks of meat. He waits patiently while Alfie finishes eating, retrieves the empty dish to wash it, and only then heads off.
Alfie finds himself alone again. Its almost a comfort that night is on its way sleep blunts that constant ache of loneliness.
When its finally dark, Alfie makes for his kennel. Just as hes about to step in, he freezes.
Deep in the straw, two gleaming green circles glow. An angry hiss fills the air.
Alfie, as always, looks at his visitor without a hint of malice. A scrawny black cat with enormous, unnerving eyes stares back at him, defiant.
Dont touch. Im not to be trifled with!
Despite her fierceness, Alfie suddenly feels glad.
The kennels small, but theres enough space for the two of us, he thinks hopefully.
He inches forward, and a paw swipes at him, claws sharp as razors.
Hsssssssss! hisses the cat, unimpressed with his peaceful intentions.
Alright then. I can sleep outside, Alfie decides quietly, curling up by the entrance to his little house.
He wakes early the following morning, stomach rumbling in anticipation of breakfast. Glancing at the kennel, Alfie sees the cat, curled up fast asleep.
Shes actually rather sweet, he thinks.
Simon emerges from the hut, dishevelled and scowling. He tosses Alfie scraps and walks off.
Technically, Alfie should get proper food, but Simon never bothers. He just throws whatevers leftover. More than once, these breakfasts have left Alfie with a sore stomach but theres no one to complain to.
Sniffing at his meagre meal, Alfie picks up another scent.
The cat! Unafraid of the much larger owner of the yard, she sits close by, nibbling on a sliver of sausage skin, acting as though she belongs.
Alfie is pleased to share with her especially as shes so thin.
Noticing his gaze, the cat tenses, ready to defend herself if needed. Alfie simply munches his bread, curiosities piqued.
Why is she cross? Perhaps she wants some bread too? he thinks, sheepishly putting his piece down.
They watch each other for the rest of the day. The cat, wary and guarded; Alfie, gentle and interested.
After his shift, Simon tosses Alfie the leftovers again. The cat wastes no time digging in.
Blimey! Whats this now, some blasted witch? Away with you! he shouts, recoiling.
The cat darts in behind Alfie. The dog is startled at first, but quickly realises whats happened. He bares his teeth and raises his hackles, giving Simon a cold, hard stare.
Simon scoffs and, unwilling to make trouble, drives off. The new security guard, taking over, doesnt so much as glance at the animals.
The cat glances at Alfie with a quiet gratitude. Alfie ponders:
Simon called her a witch Is that her name, then? Maybe thats what Ill call her
So the cat becomes Witch.
The first real frost bites soon after. Witch curls up in the straw once more. Alfie doesnt want to disturb her, but cant help peeking inside.
She lifts her wide green eyes to his guilty face. She never thought a dog could be so gentle. But she shuffles aside, making space for him to settle next to her.
All night they sleep close together, and never has Alfie had a more peaceful rest.
From then on, Alfie and Witch are inseparable. They eat, sleep, and converse in their own animal way.
The first time Michael sees Witch at Alfies side, he can hardly believe it such a tiny, frail creature so utterly unafraid of a watchdog.
But soon he understands. Its love between them, and love, as they say, knows no bounds.
Michael takes Witch under his wing: a quick trip to the vet, a brush for her matted fur, regular meals. Within a couple of weeks, shes altogether healthier.
Only Simon remains a thorn in their side. Hes convinced that black cats are bad luck and decides to get rid of her.
One day, Simon even tries to lay out poison but Alfie smells danger and stops his plan, always on guard around Witch.
On an especially biting night, dog and cat lie curled in the kennel. Alfie licks yet another scratch on Witchs leg she always seems to wind up in some scrape.
Suddenly, both their noses twitch. Something odd in the air
Alfie darts outside and barks with all his might. Fire! The warehouse is ablaze!
Simon bursts from his hut, shouting and dashing about, patting his pockets his mobile missing.
Witch gives a long, urgent meow. Simon turns to see the cat sitting by the dropped phone.
You rotten little beast! he yells, shoving her aside and hurriedly calling the fire brigade.
Alfie races after Witch. She limps away from the stinging smoke, and the two of them wait out the chaos in the shrubs.
When the flames are finally put out, a haggard Simon gives the cat a hateful glare as he leaves.
The next evening, Alfie overhears a conversation at the guard post:
Telling you, nothing but trouble with that one. Seen her eyes? Proper witch, mutters Simon.
So, what would you do? someone replies indifferently.
Take her to the woods. Job done.
Alfie freezes. His heart aches as he presses up to the sleeping Witch.
Youre mad. Shell never survive out there! Michael protests angrily.
I dont care! Wasnt the fire enough?
Maybe its true, black cats bring bad luck someone else chimes in.
No ones taking her anywhere. Honestly, youre like a bunch of kids, says Michael sharply, heading off.
Morning comes. Alfie stretches, yawns, and instinctively turns to nudge Witch awake.
She isnt there.
He burrows through the straw nothing. Bolting outside, Alfie dashes about, barking hoarsely.
By the hut, a black shape catches his eye, but its only a rubbish bag rustling in the wind.
The hut door bangs open.
What do you want? Looking for your little friend? Simon sneers. Shes gone. Causing trouble somewhere else now.
Alfie stares, searching for hope in Simons words.
Well, not that shell do much more. Give it a day or two, shell die out in the woods. If she hasnt already
Alfie makes no sound. Even his howl of grief sticks in his throat.
The first snow falls. Big, slow flakes settle on the motionless dog.
From that moment with what he treasured most taken from him Alfie stops going inside the kennel. He sleeps on the bare ground, barely eats, and ignores even Michael, his one remaining friend.
Alfie, shes in a good place now, trust me. Shes warm and at peace. Do you believe me? Michael murmurs gently, sitting and lightly stroking the dog.
I want to be there too. I want to see my Witch. Please, let me go to her
Yesterday morning Alfie overheard strangers talking. They stood nearby, discussing him as if he were just a thing. They said he was old, no use to anyone. That the warehouse needed a new, young guard dog, and Alfie should be put out to pasture
What they decided, he doesnt remember. He doesnt really care anymore, except for one thing.
Snow keeps falling. Chilly flakes gather on his back, his face, his paws. Gradually, a thick white blanket covers Alfie. He closes his eyes slowly.
If only I could keep them closed, never open them again I dont want to see anything anymore the last thought drifts through his mind as sleep claims his aching body.
The outside world grows quieter. Alfie barely feels himself, barely smells or hears. But then, in the growing darkness, a familiar voice cuts through.
Wake up, mate. Come on, up you get! Youre coming with me.
Everything after that is hazy: the warmth of Michaels car, the soft back seat, long drive down winding country lanes, odd new smells slipping in through the open window.
His sorrow makes him weak, almost ill. Soon, he drifts into a deep sleep, the hum of the radio soothing him.
Hours later, they arrive. Michael helps Alfie out and supports him as he shuffles toward the front door.
Youre living with me now, my friend.
Alfie cant muster much enthusiasm, but doesnt want to disappoint kind Michael, so he tries to look happy though its a feeble, awkward show. Michael understands without words.
Dont worry. Once youre inside, youll feel better, Michael winks, opening the door.
As Alfie steps inside, he suddenly comes to life. That smell He knows that scent anywhere. Impossible to mistake it!
His suspicions are confirmed at once.
A small black shadow leaps from the windowsill and trots straight over. Before the cat even gets close, Alfie knows its her. His Witch!
Told you, shes in a good place, Michael smiles. Did you really think, old boy, that Id let those blokes dump your friend in the woods?
But the dog and cat cant spare him a thought they have far too much to tell each other!
When their long and lively conversation at last winds down and they curl up together, Alfie wonders, just for a moment, what witch really means.
He almost asks the cat, then changes his mind. It doesnt matter. Witch is my friend. And thats more than enough.From then on, happiness returns in small, steady ways. Breath by breath, hour by hour, Alfie finds life brightening again. The little house fills with new routinesa nudge of a wet nose at dawn, Witchs gentle mewl at dusk, meals served side by side, warmth always close, even on the iciest nights.
Sometimes, Michael comes and sits with them, reading the paper aloud or telling long tales of his own, while Alfie drifts, contented, lulled by the rise and fall of the old man’s voice and the soft rumble of Witchs purring.
Out the window, snow drapes the world in white, but inside, everything is safea home, a hearth, a friendship as loyal as any magic.
And every evening, as shadows lengthen, Alfie finds Witch watching him with her clever, light-filled eyes. She never says muchnot in wordsbut in every tail flick and every gentle brush against his shoulder, Alfie understands: nobody is ever lost for good. Not while theres someone left to remember, someone to share the strawsomeone who cares.
If you looked in through the frosted glass, you might see an old dog and a black cat curled up close, asleep and peaceful at last. You might even glimpse, just for an instant, the quiet miracle of belonginghow it soothes grief and spins winter cold into new hope.
And if you listen, you could almost hear Witchs purr, and Alfies soft sigh, echoing together through the gentle hush of night, mending what was broken, promising spring.
