It must have been many years ago now, but I remember it as if it were yesterdaythe day a cat quite by chance stumbled across a lost mobile phone.
This was not just any cat, but a ginger tom with the world-weary look only a street cat in some forgotten corner of London could possess. The phone, too, was no ordinary device. It carried the scent of its owner and a curious, gentle warmth. Making himself comfortable, the cat curled his paws around it, settled on topand to his surprise, the smartphone flickered to life with just the light press of his fur.
Charlotte had barely had time to be delighted with her new smartphonesleek, with a massive touchscreen and a battery that, ironically, proved to be too powerful for its own good. From the very start, it overheated with the slightest use. Then, to cap it off, shed managed to lose it somewhere during her errands that day.
What a shame She had spent a good £400 on that phone at the shop on Oxford Streether little treat to herselfand now it was gone. No chance of a refund if she couldn’t even show proof that it existed.
She muttered under her breath, calling herself a fool, then picked up her old, battered pay-as-you-go mobile, dialling her own number, half hoping someone honest would pick up. The dial tone rang and rang. No answer.
Sighing, she fetched some valerian dropsher mothers remedy for a troubled mindand tried to retrace her steps in memory, hoping shed remember where she might have dropped the phone. Suddenly something vibrated under her hand: her other mobile was receiving a call. The number glowing on the tiny screen was hers.
Hello? she answered quickly.
Only rustling, deep sighsthen suddenly, a plaintive Meow
Flustered, Charlotte hung up. Someones clearly having a laugh, she grumbled, regretting she hadnt put a password lock on her new phone. Whoever found it seemed to be enjoying the game. Before she could finish the thought, the phone rang again.
Rustling, sighs and another meow in response to her greeting.
Dont call me again! she snapped, more rattled than she cared to admit.
But the calls wouldnt stop. In the end, deciding things couldn’t possibly get more ridiculous, Charlotte pulled on her coat and went outside. The strange meows suggested someoneor somethingwas not far away. Perhaps she could follow the sound, revisit her steps, and hunt down whichever prankster was toying with her phone.
She started walking, pausing now and then to dial her number. Then, unexpectedly, she heard the familiar ring tone she had chosen only yesterday. She quickened her pace, preparing a stern word for whoever had picked up her phone and decided to play tricks on her.
Meanwhile, the ginger tom cat, pleased with the warm, humming device beneath him, watched it light up and babble away in gentle human voices. He sniffed it curiously, and, unsure what else to do, replied as any self-respecting cat would: Meow.
The device fell silent. Cautiously, the cat prodded it againimmediately, it resumed its excited chatter. And, as the night air grew colder, the phone heated ever so slightly. Bliss. Ginger gave the buzzing thing another gentle nudge, and it sprang to life again.
Suddenly, the phone burst into song with Charlottes ringtone. Startled, the cat swatted it sharply, and it slid across the grass, still singing loudly. The tom, too busy wrestling the noisy thing, didnt notice he was no longer alone.
All thoughts of confrontation vanished when Charlotte saw the real culprit: under an old sycamore sat a ginger cat, cross and world-weary, angrily pawing the phone as though trying to silence it for good. The minute he noticed her, though, he dashed over as if racing to greet a long-lost friend. He wound himself round her legs, arched his back, and purred so forcefully it made her laugh despite herself. Charlotte couldnt help but bend down, stroking his cold, silky fur, and wondered at how lonely he must have been to seek warmth from her hot-blooded phone.
With the phone in her pocket and the grateful, purring cat in her arms, Charlotte made her way home at a slow, thoughtful pace, musing over the strange, instant fondness that had sprung up between them. The little fellow nestled his head against her and nuzzled at her chin, greedy for affection, and she found she didnt mind his clamorous demonstration of gratitude at all. For a supposed stray, he was awfully affectionate.
Of course, the explanation turned out to be rather plain: the poor thing was still dizzy from the smell of valerian Charlotte had spilled earlier to calm herself, and had followed the trail straight into her arms.
