Whiskers
“Beth, have you lost your mind? The warden will have your head for this!”
“Emily, where else could I go with him? Just toss him out? Poor thing! Hes alive!”
“Alive, maybe, but Im not sure about you if you keep him here.”
“Come on, Em, dont be like that! Its not a tiger, just a kitten. Let him stay awhile, please?”
“Oh, stop begging!” Emily laughs, stroking the tiny ginger head of the unexpected new lodger. “You think I dont feel sorry for the little thing? Where did you find this little scrap, anyway? Hes all bones, and probably sick; look, cant even lift his head. Little treasure!”
“Lets go!” Beth whips a long scarf knitted by Emily from the rail, wrapping the foundling securely. “I was leaving my shift today, cutting through the park. Saw him lying on the patheither he crawled from the bushes or someone just dumped him there. Snow everywhere. I would have missed him if he hadnt been ginger. When I picked him up, he was ice-cold. Thought he was gone, but then, no, just barely breathing. So I grabbed him and ran. Legged it all the way back to halls.” Beth giggles, pouring milk into an enamel mug for heating. “Mrs. Jenkins glared at me like Id grown two heads when I bustled past. Mouth open and all.”
“Then you definitely should expect a visit. Oh, Beth, shell have your guts for garters! Do you remember how she had a right go at Lottie when she brought back a cat? Almost kicked her out. Said theres to be no animals in student accommodation.”
“But you wont tell, will you, Emily?” Beth looks back anxiously from the door. “If she comes while Im out, hide him, please? Im just going to warm his milk, then Ill be straight back.”
“Go on!” Emily sweeps up the scarf and kitten, dumping her knitting out of the basket. “Seen nothing, heard nothing, know nothing!” she sings, closing the basket lid and winking at Beth. “Go on! Dont worry!”
With Beth gone, Emily peeks into the basket and shakes her head.
“Well, arent you a lucky charm! Ginger cheeky thing Breathe, you scrap. Beths a kind girl, shed bawl if anything happened to you. Cant be dealing with that.”
The kitten is silent, barely breathing, eyes clamped shut, nothing at all registering Emilys words.
The room slowly darkens as evening sets in. Emily doesnt bother with the light; she likes this timean evening to herself, time for a good read or a natter with Beth about how things are going with Mike. Emily sighs. Beths luckyshes got a bloke, and hes asked her to marry him. Whereas Emily, well, shes got no one. Whod want her? Shes tall as a lampposther granny always called her the Amazon when shed sort her three younger brothers out with just a look. Proper tearaways, they were, and now grown. The eldest has already married, a lovely girl from their village. Emily just returned from the wedding. Yet shes still alone, no prospects. Too statuesque for the local lads, apparently. Nature didnt stint on her size or strength, but finding a chap to stand next to her without being embarrassed perhaps Granny is right to want her home, but what would she do there? All the young men have long since left, and besides, whats the use of her degree then? At the factory here, they value her, respect her. Even gave her a proper holiday when she went away. Emily shakes herself out of her moody thoughts. Marriage will come. Surely, someone will turn up.
Beth soon returns, searching for a dropper to feed the kittenhe cant manage from a saucer. He nudges at it, but is too weak to drink. Watching Beth, close to tears, Emily puts her book aside and takes the ginger oddity from her.
“Give him here!”
She fills the dropper, gently clamps the kittens head, pries his mouth open, and commands:
“Come on! You didnt get dragged back here to starve, you know!”
The kitten struggles, but finally starts to feed.
They name him Whiskers. Mrs. Jenkins remains clueless for nearly a year that another soul is sharing the girls room, until by sheer accident, she catches sight of a ginger flash leaping through the open window one ground floor morning.
“And whats this, then?!”
Her bellow rings through the halls.
“Please, Mrs. Jenkins! You never even knew he was here! Hes brilliant! Catches all the mice!”
“What mice? There are no mice! This is exemplary student housing!”
“Exactly!” Emily folds her arms over her broad chest, regarding Mrs. Jenkins with a squint, nudging the circling Whiskers behind her. “And even the mice here are exemplary! Fat as butterballs! Whiskers lines em up by my bed most mornings. Next time, Ill show you. Why should only we be proud of his hunting ability? We can invite the headmistress to take a look.”
“Emily! You’ll talk yourself into trouble!” Mrs. Jenkins lowers her voice and casts a stern look at Beth. “This your doing? And when you marry, what happens to him? Taking him with you?”
“I dont know.” Beth picks up Whiskers. “He loves me, sure, but thinks Emilys the boss. Hed be lonely”
“Pfft!” Mrs. Jenkins cant help but laugh. “You talk about him like a man, Beth! Hes a cathes content if theres food.”
“Not really. I do everything for him, yet he always fusses up to Emily.” Beth hands the cat to her flatmate and hugs Mrs. Jenkins. “So, is he allowed to stay?”
“Oh, you fox!” Mrs. Jenkins sighs, wagging a finger. “So long as he stays unseen and unheard! If not, well all be thrown out, and rightly so.”
Beths wedding is celebrated in proper fashion, and Emily is left alone with Whiskers. The days start dragging, feeling lonelier. Mrs. Jenkins doesnt rush to give Emily a new roommate; the old halls are on their last legs. The girls sigh, hopeful for rooms in the new buildingthough the construction stutters on and off. Emily joins the others on weekends, lending a hand at the new site, wandering echoing corridors, picturing life when its finished. In those moments, she meets who she thinks is her fate.
James, like her, is a newcomerstayed to care for aging parents, and, left alone, hes moved to the city. No roots here, but life is suddenly livelier. Theres no shortage of girls about, but James has plans. Hes after a wifewith at least a flat, someone to help him out. Emily, of course, doesnt fit, but he still cant walk past herstately, glancing down at him, sweeping along the corridor.
His clumsy courtship has Emily laughing.
“Heavens, Em, what am I meant to do with him? Id pat him on the head, hes that much shorter! Where does this go?” she laughs, telling Beth, whos come to visit.
“Emily, dont be daft! Its not about height. Whats he like as a person?”
“I dont know, Beth,” Emily sobers and looks away. “I really dont know.”
She watches Beth, struggling to her feet, patting Whiskers, now a plump ginger tom, stretched on the bed.
“Tough, is it?” Emily opens her brothers jam jar.
“Oh, not really, just odd. Like standing at a train station, about to go somewhere wonderfuland you just wish the train would come sooner.” Beth takes her jam, kisses her friend, and waves goodbye to the cat. “Take care, Whiskers. Look after her!”
Perhaps its Beths big belly, perhaps Emilys drawn-out loneliness, but soon James is a regular in the little room. Whiskers dislikes him instantly, hissing and arching up when James enters, then hopping onto the windowsill, tail lashing, as if ready to pounce. Emily opens the window, sending the cat out, knowing hell come back at night, sitting out of reach, refusing a stroke or food. Shes baffled by his behaviour.
“Is he jealous?” she shrugs when Mrs. Jenkins asks about the cat, who now visits her during Jamess calls.
“Maybe he is, or maybe he senses something. Be careful, Emily. You never know. He could be trouble.”
“No, Mrs. Jenkins. He wouldnt. I dont believe it.”
“Oh, my girl” Mrs. Jenkins sighs, but lets the matter drop. “You be careful, you hear?”
And it turns out, both Whiskers and Mrs. Jenkins are right.
Emily pays little attention to feeling unwell at first. So the milk tasted sour, and the mushrooms her sister-in-law sent were left too long. But the weeks pass, nothing improves. Shes always tired and starving hungry. Meeting Beth walking with the pram after work, she finally confides, and only then does the penny drop.
“Emily! How did it happen? Have you told him?”
Emily stands, reeling. Everythings a blur, faint bells ringing in her head. Somewhere distant, she almost hears Mrs. Jenkinss voice: “My girl Take care”
That quiet, far-off voice jolts her to her senses. Shaking off Beths questions, Emily hurries home; she has to tell James. Wild days are overtime for decisions.
But it turns out shell be making those decisions alone.
“Sorry, Emily, I just cant. How do I know its mine? Im out.” James shrugs off the attacking Whiskers, kicking him hard. “Get off!”
Whiskers, twisting away, still manages to sink his claws into Jamess leg, and the mans shout makes Emily smirk unexpectedly.
“Leave him, Whiskers! Youll make yourself ill. We dont need his sort, anyway. Let him go.”
She sits stiff-backed long after James has left, staring at the shut door. Whiskers circles her ankles, then hops onto her lapsomething Emily never normally allows. He settles purring quietly until she finally shoos him off.
“Enough moping. Im making tea. Good and hot.”
Emily puts her son Henrys name on her own, facing the birth registrars gaze squarely:
“No father. Never was. He has a mumthats enough, yes?”
Beth sews up baby clothes, Mrs. Jenkins finds a sturdy pram and pulls every string for Emily to get a better room. But constructions halted again, the head only shrugs:
“I wish I could help, honestly. For now, youre stuck, but well see.”
No matter how she tries to block every draught, the rooms freezing. So Emily never shoos Whiskers from the cothes decided the little crying bundle is his, curling beside the baby to offer warmth. Henry soon quiets, soothed by his furry nanny. Emily, watching their unlikely friendship, just laughs and finds Whiskers something tasty when she can, though moneys always tight. If not for her brothers, shed be lost. James vanishes, moving out of town, but Emily doesnt miss himno help coming, so why poison herself with bitterness? She pushes him from her mind, keeping the best thing they made together: Henry.
Her family turns up en masse as soon as Emily and Henry come home from hospital.
“What a chubby lad! Built like a tankjust like you, Emily!”
Emily listens, ready to cry from relief, though she never usually does. Not a word of reproach: her eldest brothers wife even pulls her aside:
“Glad you had him! Youll never be alone now. A good man will come alongdont fret. Not all men are scoundrels. And your lad? Well help you. Hell turn out all right.”
They mean itevery two weeks, one brother or another drops by with treats for Emily and Henry. Sorting their bags, she wipes away secret tears. It doesnt take muchin the end, just knowing youre not alone. That some people always love you, will be there for your child, whatever happens. At moments like this, Emily is angry at herself for crying, but grateful not to be alone.
Nursery is a real trial for Henry; he’s sick constantly, and Emily is pulled every which way between work and home. If not for Mrs. Jenkins and Beth, shed have packed it in and gone home. She cant bring herself to impose on her eldest brothers family by moving in with them back in the village.
Sitting watch at her sons crib as he sleeps, his fever burning, Emily often thinks of her failed “romance,” wondering if everyones unlucky in love. Now she knows what she wantsno more swooning, no pretty talk, none of Jamess nonsense. She longs for someone wholl quietly make her tea and shoo her to bed, saying “Go on, Ill see to Henry.”
Someone wholl take them to the zoo at the weekend, buy Henry a balloon, praise her Sunday dinner, andfinally!put up that shelf thats just been in the way for months. Someone wholl always be there. That, she thinks, is a real family.
Sleep comes unexpectedly, sweeping away worry; Emily drops her head on the table by the crib and dozes awkwardly.
One night, everything changesher complicated story, at last, falling into place.
Henrys fever wont break after three days, and Emily is worn out helping him. The GPwho lives next doorvisits daily, unbidden, and shakes her head:
“Nothing to cheer yet. Youre doing all thats needed. Well wait it out. Hes strong, he should recover.”
Emily barely puts her son down, but he only sleeps in snatches, waking and crying in pain. Mrs. Jenkins stops by with fresh soup, hugging Henry close:
“Still burning up!”
“Temp wont go down, no matter what I do.”
“Maybe thats good, though,” Mrs. Jenkins soothes, playing with Henrys hands. “Means hes fighting. Thats what they say.”
“I know,” says Emily. “Doesnt make it easier, does it? Hurts seeing him so miserable.”
“Hell be all right! But if you fret yourself to bits, youll be no use to him. Have some supper and, please, sleep.”
Emily nods, starting a compress for her son as Mrs. Jenkins slips away.
Whiskers climbs into the cot, flicking his tail for Henry to try catchingsoon, the baby settles against the warm ginger fur and is sleeping before Emilys finished the compress. She hovers, not wanting to wake him.
She touches the cooling pot on the table and heads for the kitchen to warm it up. Standing there, she hears something crash, then Henrys terrified wail. Dropping everything, she tears back to the room, freezes, then grabs a footstool and dives in to save the cat.
A monstrous rat is fighting for its life; Whiskers whirls, a ginger blur, already woundedone ear in shreds, his side gashed. Emily raises the stool, but just then Whiskers darts in, leaps, and latches onto the rats throat. He grips so tight that Emily cant pry him loose from their lifeless attacker.
“Whiskers, darling, let go! You did it! Youre my hero!”
With a little sob, he releases the rat, and limps straight to Henry, now screaming in the cot. The sight stops Emilys heart. Theres another ratsmaller but still giganticright in the crib. Snatching Henry up, she bursts into the corridor, shouting:
“Help!”
Within an hour, shes wrapped her little boy up and gone to Mrs. Jenkinss flat, who gives her the spare key and promises to care for Whiskers.
“Disgraceful! Rats, in my halls! They only just exterminated not long ago! Disgraceful!” Mrs. Jenkins fumes, helpless to fix the crumbling building.
She cleans Emilys room and tends Whiskerss wounds in her office.
“Youre a real hero, Whiskers! Good thing I risked keeping you. You cant find cats like you just anywhere.”
Whiskers lies there, breathing hard, too weak to groom, refusing food. Mrs. Jenkins frowns, knowing how wrong this is. After her shift, she tells Emily.
“Youll look after Henry?” Emily panics, grabbing her coat. “Where do you even find a vet round here?”
“Right idea, Emily! Theres a surgery just by the corner. Go!”
Emily runsliterallyto the old halls. Whiskers is stretched out by her bed, barely breathing.
“Whiskers! Hang on! Ill be quick!”
She bolts to the vets, pushing past a young nurse in white, who, after one look, simply points her to a bench:
“Have a seat.”
Emily holds Whiskers, counting every breath, ready to search herself, when the door opens, and a giant of a man stoops through.
“Whats all this, then?” His deep voice startles Emily into silence.
She hands Whiskers over mutely.
“What happened to him?” He handles the cat lightly, inspecting wounds.
“Rats.”
“Doesnt look like a stray. Well cared for, this one.”
“Hes mine.”
“So howd he find rats? You let him outside?”
“No, it was in the room!”
“Blimey!”
“And are you going to stand there asking questions while hes dying? He saved my boy! Please, help him!”
“No need to shout.” He grins. “Im Tom. And you?”
“Emily.”
“Great. Pleased to meet you. In futurelets keep things calm. Now, lets see about your herodont you worry.”
Years later, a hefty ginger tomcat softly enters the childrens room, checks all four corners, then leaps into the cot by the sofa where Henry is sleeping. Little Lucy, feeling the warm fur beside her, turns over and buries her fingers in Whiskerss coat. The cat purrs, singing her his secret, and she falls into a peaceful sleep, not even stirring as her parents enter. Emily tucks Henrys blanket, pulls Lucys sock back on, and leans on Toms shoulder.
“Some nanny, eh, Tom?”
“Couldnt get better. Not for all the gold in England,” Tom scratches the ear he once operated on. “Glad you yelled at me that day. Worth every minute of those three days working on him. Cats like that are rare as hens teeth.”
“Hes worth his weight in gold. Seeit almost shines.”
Whiskers nudges Emilys hand, then stretches out beside Lucy, his paw around her. Emily switches off the nightlight, beckons Tom after her, and gently closes the nursery door. Her children have never feared the dark. With Whiskers nearby, there was nothing to fearnever was.
