Chapter One

“I’m going out! Be back inna, back inna bit!”

Twitching my tail, I leap up once, twice, three times, climbing a dusty bookshelf by following old pawprints. Pressing my whiskered face against the glass, I watch Joseph shuffle away. His head is bent over and he’s wearing the big coat that he always wears when he goes out. We’re alone, alright.

I pause for a few moments, until our old owner turns at the end of the garden path, littered with old newspapers and tin cans. Satisfied, I make my way back down to the floor, my paws meeting plastic and greasy paper. This house… it’s not the best, and I can admit that. Joseph isn’t one for cleaning—but he’s old! He’s too old to be scurrying here and there with a broom or making who-knows-how-many trips out to the bins. It’s not his fault.

But it’s not ours either. Padding over to the armchair, the centre of our world, I find my tribe, settled in their normal places. Ruby, a stark ginger queen (or female cat), looks up from one arm and tilts her head to the side. Her shadow, Sapphire (same colour, same copper eyes) is perched on the other arm, maybe asleep, maybe awake. That’s her attitude: aloof, confusing, quiet. You’ll never know what she’s thinking unless she tells you.

And between them, curled up on the seat? That’s my Sophia. Well, she isn’t mine, but I protect her because of… a long story, to put it a short way. She’s a sweet little kitten, snow-white with large, round eyes you could get lost in. I’ve seen my fair share of kittens, but none of them were like Sophia.

“Where’s he gone?” Ruby speaks first, getting up and stretching a little, her eyes staying on me. “To the shop?”

“No bags.” Shaking my head, I jump up, nuzzling the dozing Sophia before continuing to the back of the armchair: my spot. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

“Can’t be a walk. He’s still in the cupboard.” Gesturing towards the kitchen door, hanging a little off its hinges, she lies down again and looks up at me. I can’t work out the exact look in her eyes, but previous conversations tell me it isn’t happy. It never is when we talk about him. “Shadow, is he ever going to get rid of it?”

“He’s not an it—”

I try to argue, but sudden barking from the kitchen interrupts me. Typical. Ruby sends me an annoyed look, but Sophia catches my attention. Moving about a little, her two innocent eyes open, both kitten-blue, and she looks around, afraid.

Getting up, I climb down and let her snuggle into my dark, shaggy coat, her little paws pressing on my chest. Any sort of point I try to make now, in defence of him, will be redundant, but I’m happy with Sophia being comfortable and safe. Arguments with Ruby push themselves to the back of my mind, letting responsibility take over.

The barking stops almost as abruptly as it began and we find ourselves in a comfortable quiet. The house creaks a little and a stray gust of wind whistles through the hall, as Sophia closes her eyes for another nap. The twins, Ruby and Sapphire—we call them twins because they’re from the same litter and look extremely similar—are talking silently in tail twitches, ear movements and blinks; it’s a language I’ll never understand.

This is our normal. Lounging in the dirty house that has become our home, wondering what will be done about him and sleeping the days away.

After maybe an hour, Sophia wakes up again, mewing for food. I ask Ruby and Sapphire and we all agree to move to the kitchen and eat the rest of the food in our bowls. As a rule, we never enter the kitchen alone, just in case. I’ve seen into that ‘cupboard’ (it’s actually a small room), and the terrifying jaws were enough to satisfy my curiosity for life. It was only a second, but I’ve never forgotten it.

The kitchen might be the worst bit of the house, if I’m being honest. Cat food tins, some empty and some full, fill the room. It’s gotten so ridiculous that Ruby and Sapphire made a bed out of the full ones and I don’t think Joseph even noticed. He just keeps buying it and, along with his own food, it ends up everywhere. Counter-tops, the sink that hasn’t worked for a while, the floor and every single shelf and cupboard.

Light comes in through the locked windows as we wander over to our plastic bowls, mostly still half-full with a mix of wet food and biscuits. A bucket of water (rainwater collected from outside by Joseph) stands by them, but we’ve all got little compartments in our bowls for water. He fills them, and we use the bucket for cleaning if we need to—Sophia has to use her bowl water for that, or one of us will wet a paw and clean her.

Our meal is interrupted several times by scratching and whining at that door, but we do our best to ignore it. Honestly, it’s a mystery why Joseph keeps him, but we can’t question his judgement.

He’s a loving owner, never forgetting our food or water and always petting us and giving us attention when he’s here. The most attention he gets is a walk and he’s taken out the back door so that we never even see his full body. Not that I’d want to see it, of course; I’m grateful to Joseph for keeping us separate.

In many ways, he’s the best owner I’ve ever had, but that isn’t saying much when he’s also my only owner ever, as well.

“No more dog.” Surprising everyone, Sophia’s quiet voice drifts over from her bowl, where she’s stopped lapping at the water for a moment. “Don’t like dog.”

“Finally, some sense in this house!” Ruby exclaims, looking at me deliberately. I can only sigh in response. “I don’t understand why you defend him! Even Sophia understands that he’s horrible!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t.” Attempting to take back some control, I let the conversation pause while I nibble at the last of my food, feeling two pairs of eyes on me. Sometimes, I wonder how much Sophia understands—and hope that it’s not too much. Some things are better not heard by little kittens. “I’m saying that it isn’t his fault.”

“How is it not his fault?” She hisses, bounding over. Anticipating an attack, maybe out of desperation or urgency, I hiss back, warning Ruby to keep her distance. She stops, but her ears are flattened back and her eyes are swimming with anger. “He could just be nice! He could just be calm! There’s no one forcing him to try and attack everything, is there? Or do you know something that I don’t?”

“Enough, Ruby.” This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve had this argument over and over, with the same outcome: nothing ever gets done, because we can’t do anything. It’s Joseph’s decision and his alone. “I don’t want to fight. Is everyone ready to go back to the living room?”

The rest of our afternoon passes fairly normally. Sapphire scampers around chasing mice, which is the only time she ever seems active and full of energy, with Ruby watching closely.

Sophia and I work on making her a little bed of her own. She usually sleeps with me or the twins, depending on who she feels like being with on a particular night. But recently, I’ve decided that making her a new bed might be a fun way to introduce independence to the little kitten. Looking for little scraps of fabrics takes up our time—an old shirt here and a torn tablecloth there—so I don’t mind the work.

By the time the sun begins burning golden-orange through the misty windows, we are all back together again, discussing mice. Sophia wants to know why we hunt them, and why it’s okay to chase them around. Ruby is passionately listing all the reasons that her and Sapphire’s favourite pastime is ‘the best thing to do in the world’. Sapphire observes this silently, looking amused.

I’m half-dozing, not too fussed with the topic. Mice have never been that important to me. They taste fine, but why eat them when we have food? Nevertheless, it’s nice to hear Sophia questioning Ruby’s strong views and learning a little along the way.

Finally, I hear the front door open, with stamping feet and an ‘I’m home!’. Shaking myself awake, I jump down from the chair and race into the hall, ready to greet Joseph with the twins and Sophia close behind.

There he is—smoothing down unruly hair, looking a little wet, taking off the big coat, hanging it on the hook and… he’s got a lead in his hand.

Attached to that lead is a slender, mouse-grey dog.