*”I see youdont hide. What are you doing in our stairwell?”* The cat glanced up guiltily, silently shuffling its frost-stiffened paws at the edge of a puddle formed by the melting ice clinging to its fur.
No one could quite remember when this scruffy stray had first appeared in the courtyard. It lived quietly, almost invisibly, like a shadowbeautiful despite being dirty and thin. The only thing certain was that it had turned up in spring.
A girl named Emily sometimes fed it when she could, doing her best to care for it: leaving the cellar door ajar in winter when it wasnt locked, laying out old clothes for warmth, even once smearing green ointment on its paw when she spotted a wound.
And so the cat carried onsilent, cautious, nearly unseen.
Then, one day, it watched as the same girl, dressed in white with flowers in her hair, stepped out of the stairwell arm in arm with a man in a smart suit. Around them, laughter and cheers. Everyone piled into ribbon-decked cars and drove away. After that day, Emily was never seen again.
The cat was left alone. Hunger drove it to dig through bins at nightit was quieter in the dark, and there was a chance to scavenge before the stray dogs returned. The most important rule was to avoid those vicious mutts. That was how it survived until the bitter frosts came, and the new caretaker barred the cellar, locking it out for good.
Where could it go? Half-frozen, it tried sneaking into the stairwell. But no one welcomed itsome chased it off, others kicked and shouted. No one would let the shivering creature inside.
Desperate, one evening it crept into the stairwell of the five-storey building at the end of the row. It had no strength left to fear or hope. It didnt matter anymorejust so long as it didnt freeze to death that night.
The first to notice was Elizabeth Stephensknown to all as Auntie Lizwho lived on the second floor. Shed been checking her postbox, waiting for the rent bill. A stern but fair woman, respected by all in the building, she had a way of speaking her mind that even the residents’ association hesitated to challenge.
The cat, having slipped in with someone, had curled up by the radiator in a corner of the landing, barely breathing. Its fur was crusted with ice, its eyes pleading and exhausted.
*”I see youdont hide. What brings you here? Frozen and hungry, arent you?”* Auntie Liz snapped.
The cat lifted its gaze remorsefully, barely moving its stiff paws as the ice beneath them slowly thawed.
*”Well, what am I to do with you? Wait here…”*
She knew hunger. Her legs, weakened from childhood hardships, barely carried her upstairs, but she returned with a bowl of food, water, and a moth-eaten old wool jumper.
*”Here, eat. Poor thing, dont worryI wont take it away,”* she sighed, watching the cat devour the buckwheat and liver scraps in gulps.
She spread out the jumper, then went back upstairs, completely forgetting about the rent bill…
The cat, experiencing comfort for the first time, decided this was home now, and the stern but kind woman was its owner.
To avoid being driven out again, it behaved quietly and obediently, just as it had in its past life as someones pet. Auntie Liz even gave it a nameMolly.
But not everyone approved. The Pastons from the third floor came down, Edward stopping in front of Auntie Liz, eyeing the cat with disapproval.
*”Whats thisa zoo now?”*
His wife, wrapped in a fur coat, pinched her nose theatrically.
*”Eddie, that cat reeks!”*
*”Get rid of it,”* the man ordered.
Auntie Liz straightened up.
*”Why? Its not bothering anyone. It stays.”*
*”Fine, Ill call the council. Theyll take it away, and youll be fined. This is a shared space!”*
*”Splendid. And Ill report you for taking stock from the warehouse. The neighbours will back me. Hurt that cat, and youll regret it.”*
After that, Molly was left alone. Even the usually menacing bulldog, George, walked past as if she didnt exist.
Weeks passed, and everyone adjusted. But Auntie Liz knew Molly wasnt truly safe. Though the cat stayed close to her, it remained a stray at heart.
She considered taking it in, but Molly avoided the flats, as if afraid of them. Something terrible must have happened to her before.
Auntie Liz didnt push, hoping Molly would venture in on her own.
And sure enough, whenever the door was left open, the cat would sneak closer, watching, listeningbut never going too far…
Then, in February, amidst a blizzard, Elizabeth Stephens woke in terrorshe couldnt breathe. Pain stabbed through her, too sharp to even cry out. Everything around her blurred into fog…
The neighbours were woken by Mollys desperate yowls. The cat clawed frantically at the door, shredding the faux leather with her claws.
People rushed out, knockingno answer. Then Nina Simmons from the third floor hurried down.
*”Ive got a spare key. Liz and I agreed on it…”*
They opened the door. An ambulance was called. Molly refused to leaveshe hid under the bed, mewing pitifully.
Elizabeth Stephens had no family. The war had taken them all. She was alone…
But the neighbours visited her in hospital, bringing little gifts. Each time, she only said one thing:
*”Look after my Molly. Feed her. Let her come back. She saved my life…”*
Three weeks later, on a March morning, Auntie Liz returned home. Molly was already waiting by the door, as if shed known…
The woman stretched out her arms.
*”Come on home, Molly.”*
And together, they stepped inside. That evening, Auntie Liz held her for the first time. The cat purred, pressing close.
*”Its all right, Molly… Weve got a little more living to do.”*
**Sometimes, the ones who need saving most are the ones who end up saving us.**
