“Oi, dont you dare run off. What are you doing in our stairwell?” The cat blinked up guiltily, silently shuffling its frostbitten paws at the edge of a puddle from melted ice dripping off its matted fur.
No one could remember exactly when this scruffy stray had first appeared in the courtyard. It lived quietly, almost like a shadowpretty, though filthy and skinny. The only thing folks recalled was that it had turned up sometime in spring.
A girl named Emily sometimes fed it when she could, looking after it as best she couldleaving the basement door cracked open in winter if it wasnt locked, laying out old jumpers for bedding, once even smearing ointment on its paw when she spotted a cut.
And so the cat carried onsilent, cautious, nearly invisible.
Then one day, the cat 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 smart suit. People laughed and clapped around them before piling into ribbon-decked cars and driving off. After that, Emily was never seen again.
The cat was alone. Hunger drove it to the bins at nightquieter in the dark, with a better chance of nabbing scraps before the stray dogs came back. The main thing was avoiding those vicious mutts. Thats how it survived until the bitter frosts set in, and the new caretaker locked it out of the basement for good.
Where could it go? Half-frozen, it tried sneaking into the stairwell. But no one wanted it theresome shooed it away, others kicked and shouted. Not a soul would let the shivering creature inside.
Desperate, one evening it crept into the five-story buildings entrance. Too weak to hope or fear anymore. It didnt careso long as it didnt freeze to death that night.
The first to spot it was Elizabeth Stephens, known to everyone as Auntie Liz, who lived on the second floor. Shed been checking her postboxwaiting for the rent bill. A stern but fair woman, respected in the neighbourhood. Never one to mince words, even the residents association minded their manners around her.
The cat, slipping in behind the postman, huddled by the radiator, barely breathing. Its fur was stiff with ice, eyes pleading and exhausted.
“Oi, I see you. Dont hide. Whats brought you here? Freezing and starving, arent you?” Auntie Liz huffed.
The cat lifted its head, too weak to even shake off its frozen paws.
“Right, what am I supposed to do with you Hang on.”
She knew hunger. Her legs, stiff from war-time rations, carried her upstairs anyway. She returned with a bowl of food, water, and a moth-eaten old wool cardigan.
“There, eat up. Poor thing, dont fretI wont take it back,” she sighed, watching the cat gulp down the mashed potatoes and liver scraps.
She spread out the cardigan, then headed back upstairs, completely forgetting the rent bill
The cat, warm for the first time in ages, decided: this was home now, and the strict but kind woman was its person.
To avoid being chased out again, it behaved quietly, disciplinedlike it had in its old life, back when it had been someones pet. Auntie Liz even gave it a nameMolly.
Not everyone was happy about the new lodger, though. The Pembrokes from the third floor came down. Edward stopped in front of Auntie Liz, scowling at the cat.
“Whats this, a bloody zoo now?”
His wife, wrapped in a fur coat, pinched her nose dramatically.
“Eddie, that thing *reeks*!”
“Chuck it out!” he ordered.
Auntie Liz straightened up.
“Why? Its not bothering anyone. Stays right here.”
“Fine, Ill call the council. Theyll take it away, and youll get fined. This is a *shared* space!”
“Brilliant. And Ill ring HMRC. Lets see how a warehouse manager lives like a bloomin lord, carting off supplies every day. The neighbours will back me up. Harm this cat, and youll regret it.”
After that, they left Molly alone. Even the nosy caretaker, Greg, who usually had a word for everyone, walked past like he didnt see her.
Weeks passed, and folks got used to her. But Auntie Liz knew Molly still wasnt safe. Though the cat stayed close, it was still a stray at heart.
She thought about taking her in, but Molly avoided flats like they scared her. As if something awful had happened inside one once.
Auntie Liz didnt push. She hoped Molly would come in on her own someday.
And sure enough, whenever she left her door open, the cat would slink closer, listening, watchingbut never too far
Then in February, during a blizzard, Auntie Liz woke gaspingshe couldnt breathe. Pain shot through her chest, too sharp to even cry out. Everything blurred, like fog rolling in
The neighbours woke to Mollys desperate yowls. She clawed at the door, shredding the faux leather with her nails.
People rushed out, knockingno answer. Then Nina 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 wouldnt budgeshe crouched under the bed, wailing.
Auntie Liz had no family. The war had taken them all. She was alone
But the neighbours visited her in hospital, bringing little gifts. Every time, shed only say one thing:
“Look after my Molly. Feed her. Let her back in. She saved my life, she did.”
Three weeks later, on a March morning, Auntie Liz came home. Molly was waiting at the door, like shed known
The old woman held out her arms.
“Come on, love. Lets go home.”
And together, they stepped inside. That evening, for the first time, Auntie Liz held her. The cat purred, pressing close.
“Its alright, Molly Weve got a bit more living to do yet.”
