Throw him out onto the street. I found the neighbours house cat in the snow, but his owner refused to help him.
Ive never exactly trusted the neighbours cat. I didnt dislike cats, but this massive tabby really tested my patience once.
This diary entry isnt about cats or gardens, thoughits about how important it is to keep your humanity, whatever the circumstances.
Last summer, the neighbours tomcat, Jasper, decided my veg patch made the perfect loo. More than once, I caught him digging up my poor little radishes as if he were searching for Roman coins. Id yell and chase him off, but hed just glance over his shoulder, completely unbothered, before sauntering over the fence. My cottage is small but sturdy, left to me by Gran, and nestled in a lovely spot on the edge of a village, barely a drive from Oxford.
Go a bit further up our lane and you end up deep in proper countryside. But walk down to the main road and youre back in the city in twenty minutes. Growing up, I adored coming here. Even after Gran passed, Id often bring friends for weekends: wed heat the old stove, have barbecues, and pick wild berries. You could fill a pan with mushrooms from the nearby woodland in an hour. The stillness, the fresh air, the spaceeverything you needed to recharge. My cousin Emily lived in the same village, the daughter of Mums brother, Uncle John. Wed always been inseparable. There was the garden, the brooknever a dull moment.
I planted a few small beds: salad leaves, herbs, a row of spring onions. Just a little veg patch, but it was mine. And it was exactly this patch that Jasper decided to colonise. One afternoon, I confronted his owner, Mrs Green. She just rolled her eyes and muttered, What do you want me to do? Stand guard over him? Chuck a log at him if hes such a bother!
Her hard stance was no great mystery. Jasper had belonged to her late husband, Mr Harold Green. Shed always claimed, Ive never had time for cats! seeing herself as a real dog person. After her husband died a couple of years ago, Jasper stayed on simply because he had nowhere else to go.
Jasper didnt need much caring for. He was a first-rate mouserpeople even said hed pinch a trout from the stream. In Harolds time, hed join every fishing trip. He only needed a roof and a warm hearth on wintry days.
Fighting with Jasper proved hopeless. I tried reasoning, coaxing, even slipping him chicken, but he turned his nose up at anything from Sainsburys. He eyed me warily from afar, never coming closer than a few paces.
One time, I gave him a good spray with the garden hose. Another, I came out to weed the beds brandishing a whistle, and when I saw him, I charged down the rows blowing furiously like a football referee. Later, I collapsed in fits of laughter picturing his outrage as he cleared the fence with a leap, shot me a look as if to say, Now thats just not cricket, and vanished with his tail high.
Mrs Green always watched our drama from over the hedge, chuckling. All the more now that her dream had come true: she finally got a dog. Her daughter dropped off a tiny Yorkie named Pippa for the summer, giving her something else to fuss over. I resolved my veg problem easilyhauled in three sacks of sawdust and piled them in a nettle-choked corner of the garden.
Jasper took the hint and took his digging there instead. Thank goodness. But I soon realised he kept tabs on me: watching from bushes, from the shed roof, between fence slats. One night I nearly screamed the village down when I stepped out for the bins and saw his eyes glinting in the dark. With Jasper, you never quite knew where hed turn up next.
I spent most of the summer in the cottage; come autumn, I headed back to university in London and only visited on weekends.
One such weekend, I came out one crisp morning to find a lump on the back step shrouded in a dusting of snow. It was Jasper. The huge cat sat hunched over, a layer of snow on his back, icicles on his whiskers. He didnt stir, didnt even twitch his tail, only drooped, head bowed. I brushed the snow off him; nothing. I stroked him gently, and he only mouthed a silent meow, his breath not even fogging in the cold.
I scooped him up despite myself, brought him inside, wrapped him in a blanket and slowly warmed his face, melting the ice on his fur with a hot towel. Jasper didnt resisthe hadnt the strength. With hot water bottles tucked round him, I marched straight over to Mrs Green.
She only said flatly, He lives in the shed now. Hes ruined the carpets in the house, and I wont let him back in! Turns out after Pippa arrived, Jasper started attacking the puppy and scent-marking everywhere. To keep the peace, Mrs Green banished him to the outbuilding.
Hed survived the summer, but winter in an unheated shed had left him a shadow of himself. I tried pleading: He used to hunt, but now lookice, snow, and cold. Mrs Green only replied, I put food out therehe wont starve. If he doesnt like it, throw him out.
On the way back, it struck me: Jasper hadnt come to my door by accident. Hed come for help. Having long abandoned hope for his own owners mercy, he came to the enemy of the veg patch.
I started ringing round everyone I knewanyone want a cat? No luck. Emily suggested we put him with the cows and pigs in the barnwarmer than the streetbut could never take him in, with animals already over the limit.
Meanwhile, warm again, Jasper slunk out of the blanket, gave the room a dainty inspection, brushed against my legs, and sat down in front of me, fixing me with a steady stare. It was as if he understood his whole fate now hung in the balance. I sighed, picked up the phone and rang my mum.
Mum had always said no to pets in her flat. But remembering how kind Mr Green had been when Gran needed help, how hed share his catch from the river and how that great cat never left his side, her heart softened. She even shed a tear, thinking how sad it was for an old animal to be so thoroughly unwanted.
So the answer came to me.
I bought a plastic pet carrier from the local shop, settled Jasper gently inside, and took him back to the city with me. A new chapter was startingfor both of us.
