Oi, I see you thereno use hiding. Whatre you doing in our stairwell? The cat gave her a sheepish look, silently shuffling its frostbitten paws at the edge of a puddle formed by melting ice from its matted fur.
No one could recall exactly when this scruffy stray had first appeared in the courtyard. It lived quietly, almost invisibly, like a shadowstill handsome, if a bit grubby and thin. The only thing folks remembered was that it had shown up one spring.
A young woman named Emilysometimes fed it when she could, did what little she could to help. In winter, shed leave the basement door cracked if it wasnt locked, laid out old jumpers for bedding, and once even dabbed green ointment on its paw when she spotted a cut.
So the cat carried onsilent, cautious, barely there.
Then one day, it watched as that same Emily, dressed in white with flowers in her hair, stepped out of the building arm-in-arm with a man in a sharp suit. Laughter, cheers, cars decked in ribbonsthen they were gone. After that day, Emily never came back.
The cat was alone. Hunger drove it to the bins at nightquieter in the dark, better odds of nabbing a scrap before the stray dogs returned.
Avoiding those mangy mutts was priority one. Thats how it survived until the bitter freeze set in, and the new caretaker booted it from the basement, locking the door tight.
Where could it go? Half-frozen, it tried sneaking into the stairwell. But no one wanted it theresome shooed it out, others kicked and shouted. Not a soul would let the shivering thing inside.
One desperate evening, it crept into the five-storey buildings stairwell. Too tired to hope or fear. Didnt matter anymorejust didnt want to die in the cold that night.
First to spot it was Elizabeth StephensAuntie Liz to the neighborson the second floor. Shed been checking her postbox (waiting for the rent bill, like clockwork). Stern but fair, everyone respected her. Never minced words, even the building committee tiptoed around her.
The cat, smuggled in behind someone, had curled up by the radiator, barely breathing. Frost clung to its fur, its eyes pleading and exhausted.
I see you, no point hiding. What brings you here? Freezing and starving, Ill bet, Liz huffed.
The cat lifted its head guiltily, paws stiff with cold, ice slowly melting beneath them.
Well, what am I supposed to do with you? Hang on
She knew hunger. War had taught her that. Her knees creaked, but she trudged upstairs anyway, returning with a bowl of food, water, and a moth-eaten wool cardigan.
There, eat up. Poor mitedont worry, I wont take it back, she sighed, watching it wolf down the liver-spiked barley.
She spread the cardigan out, then left, completely forgetting the rent bill
The cat, cozy for the first time in ages, decided: this was home now, and the sharp-tongued but soft-hearted woman was its person.
To avoid getting booted again, it behavedquiet, disciplined, like it had in its old life, back when it had been someones pet. Liz even gave it a name: Maisie.
Not everyone was thrilled. The Pastons from the third floor came down to complain. Edward, arms crossed, scowled at the cat.
Whats this, a zoo now?
His wife, wrapped in a fur coat (real or not, who knew), pinched her nose. Eddie, it *reeks*.
Chuck it out, he ordered.
Liz straightened up.
Why? Its not bothering anyone. Stays putit lives here now.
Fine, Ill call the council, pest control. Theyll take it, and fine *you* while theyre at it. This is a shared space!
Brilliant. And Ill ring HMRC. Lets see how a warehouse manager lives like a lord, nicking supplies daily. The neighborsll back me. Harm that cat, and youll regret it.
After that, they left Maisie alone. Even Goliath the Rottweiler, usually a menace, walked past like it was invisible.
Weeks passed. Everyone got used to it. But Liz knew: Maisie wasnt safe. Though it stuck close to her, it was still a stray.
She thought about taking it in, but Maisie avoided flats, wary as if they held horrors. Something had happened to itLiz could tell.
She didnt push. Hoped one day itd venture inside on its own.
And sure enough, whenever Liz left the door ajar, Maisie would slink after her, watching, listeningbut never too far
Then, in February, during a blizzard, Liz woke gaspingpain speared her chest, too sharp to scream. Everything fogged over
Neighbors woke to desperate yowling. Claws shredded the faux-leather door.
They rushed out, knockedno answer. Then Nina from upstairs hurried down.
Ive got a spare key. Liz and I agreed
They called an ambulance. Maisie refused to budgehuddled under the bed, wailing.
Liz had no family. The war had taken them all. She was alone
But the neighbors visited the hospital, brought little gifts. Every time, shed say:
Look after my Maisie. Feed her. Let her back in. She saved me, you know.
Three weeks later, on a March morning, Liz came home. Maisie was waiting at the door, as if it knew
Liz held out her arms.
Come on, love. Lets go home.
And they stepped inside together. That night, Liz held her for the first time. The cat purred, pressing close.
Salright, Maisie Weve got a little life left in us yet.
