THE SAUSAGE THIEF
I could never ignore that cat. Mainly because he was always pinching something from my little grocery shop. And whats more, he did it in such a way that it was absolutely impossible to be angry with him. Quite the opposite, really.
I actually started looking forward to the whole charade. Id film his antics on my phone, then later in the evening show the videos to my wife, and wed have a good laugh about it together.
The cats routine was always the same. First hed perch himself at the threshold of the open door, pretending he simply meant to rest awhile, clearly not plotting anything at all. Hed glance around, checking to make sure nobody was nearby. As for me, Id hide behind the large fridge at the back of the shop, camera at the ready.
Once he was satisfied the coast was clear, hed creep inside, heading straight for the sausage counter. As soon as he spied his targeta string of chipolatas or perhaps a Cumberland ringhed make a dash for it, latch onto his prize, and bolt out the door. But hunger had him well and truly in its grip, so he rarely made it far. Barely two metres from the shop door, hed plonk himself down and tuck right in.
Id stroll outside and, keeping my distance, call out:
Tasty, is it?
Hed look up and give a grateful meow in reply.
Well, thats all right then, Id tell him. Come round again soon!
You might be wondering: how is it that sausages are left out on the counter, not in the chiller, and not even on full display? And even morewhy just loose sausages and frankfurters? The answer is a simple one: I suppose I just have a soft spot.
When this little rogue first turned up at my corner shop, he was pitifully skinny and bedraggled. But he flatly refused to come near a human or take anything offered by hand. So, in a moment of inspiration, I arranged things a bit differently.
At first, I left a sausage just by the door, so the catwhom Id dubbed Oliver, after the famous orphancould steal his dinner fair and square, truly earning his meal. That worked! Over time, I placed the sausages further and further inside, until eventually Id set up a little spread on the bottom shelf near the other deli goodsjust above the floora veritable feeding station.
By then, Oliver could have sauntered right in, collected his favourite bites, and walked out without any theatre. But oh no. The thrill was in the heist. Stolen food, I suppose, tastes all the sweeter.
Later, I set up a water bowl outside the shop, put down a big dish of the best cat biscuits, and even left out a plastic litter tray. Beside that, I built a miniature dog kennel lined with a fleece blanket. Oliver was still wary about being handled, but he had grown rather chatty.
Whenever Id follow him out with his stolen sausage, wed have a little conversation. Hed pause between mouthfuls, glance my way, and respond in his own gruff meow.
But recently, something had been niggling at me. Oliver had put on weight, his coat shone, and he clearly didnt need to pilfer sausages any longer to keep himself alive. Yet, like clockwork, twice a day hed nab two sausages and tear off round the corner.
Time and again, I tried to discover where he disappeared to, but he was always too quick for me. Eventually, I bought a small camera with a wide angle and set it up to record everything, feeding live footage to my backroom computer. And at last, I stumbled onto Olivers secret.
From a tiny basement window in the house next door, a little ginger kitten would scamper out, trembling with excitement, and pounce upon the sausage Oliver dropped for it.
Tomorrow! Do you hear me? Tomorrow youre bringing them home! my wife wept that evening, caught between laughter and tears.
But easier said than done. Id managed to coax Oliver into snoozing right in the middle of my shop these days; but that ginger kitten? No chance. Hed shoot off like a streak if anyone so much as looked at him.
Days drifted by. Through the camera, I kept watch as the kitten edged out for a drink or curled up in the kennel, but at any movement from me, hed lift his ginger tail and vanish like a firework.
Everything changed one morning. An odd racket from the entrance drew my attention. There were no customers in the shop. I stepped out from behind the till and went to investigate.
There, yowling his little lungs out, sat the ginger kitten on the doorstep.
Whats got you in a twist, champ? I asked.
He darted over, looked me straight in the eye, and then headed off, clearly wanting me to follow. I didnt hesitate. Rounding the corner behind the house, I found Oliver sprawled on the ground, whimperingdog bite on his hind right leg. Hed managed to escape, but the wound was deep.
The ginger kitten nuzzled Olivers side and let out another urgent cry.
Oh, bless you both, I murmured.
Off came my jacket; I bundled up Oliver tenderly and, tucking the now-meek ginger kitten into my coat pocket, I shut up the shop and drove straight to the vet.
We were there five hours while Olivers wound was cleaned and stitched. During the wait, I befriended the little kittengave him the name Ember. Turned out, he was a lively, sociable chap.
That evening, I closed up the shop and brought both a groggy Oliver and his fiery friend Ember home. My wife couldnt have been happier. And what does a happy woman do in England? Well, she rang all her friends, of course. That whole business took hoursfull of detailed updates, advice, and giggles.
By the time she was finished, I was already fast asleep. Oliver and Ember, stretched out beside me on the bed.
Lovely! my wife remarked wryly, And just where exactly am I meant to sleep?
Ember obligingly budged up and nestled into her side, gently kneading her with his tiny paws.
And so, thats how we became a family. These days, two plump and comfortable cats lounge on our furniture with not a trace of their former street life.
Sometimes, Oliver will give Ember a wash, just for old times sake. Ember never protestsquite the contrary.
Meanwhile, across the road, by the cobblers shop, theres a little grey female cat whos made her home there. The shoe shop assistant is always popping by my shop to buy her a tasty treat.
Maybe shell take her in one day. Maybe one dayjust imagine!every cat will have a home, and cats will be in such demand theyll have waiting lists and special training courses for new owners.
What do you think? Do you think such a thing could ever happen?
