THE SAUSAGE THIEF
He couldnt help but notice the cat. It kept pinching food from his little grocery shop, but always in such a disarming way that it was impossible to feel angry. In fact, quite the opposite.
The shopkeeper eagerly anticipated each caper. Hed film them on his mobile, eager to show his wife come evening. Theyd sit together, laughing at the latest antics.
It always began the same way. The cat would plant itself outside the open door, pretending it was merely pausing for a rest. It would peer around, checking that coast was clear, while the shopkeeper lurked behind the big fridge, filming it all in secret.
Carefully, the cat would slip inside, heading straight for the sausage counter. Suddenly it would dash, snatch a Cumberland or Lincolnshire out of the basket, and bolt for the door. But hunger usually got the better of him after only a few steps. Just outside, the cat would flop down and tuck in.
Stepping outside but keeping a respectful distance, the shopkeeper would call out, Tasty, is it?
The cat would look up and give a satisfied meow.
Good on you, then, the shopkeeper would answer. Come back anytime.
You might wonder, sausages just lying about, unchilled and in easy reach? Individually placed pork bangers along the bottom shelf? It was simple, really.
The shopkeepers heart was too soft to resist.
The cat first turned up thin and haggard. Yet, no matter how he tried, the cat would never come close to a human or take food offered from a hand. So the shopkeeper concocted a plan. At first, hed set a sausage just inside the doorway, so the catwhom hed started calling Alfred, after all those Victorian thievescould pilfer to his hearts content. Honest theft, as it were.
It worked a treat. Eventually, Alfred would claim sausages from further and further inside, until the shopkeeper stacked them at the very back, beside the other produce, hidden low on the bottom shelf by the floorhis very own feeding station.
By now, Alfred could have simply waltzed in, picked a bit of ham or a slice of cheddar, and padded out again. But no. To Alfred, it was all about the thrill. Pinched food always tasted better.
Later, the shopkeeper added a water bowl, a large dish of the poshest cat food, and even a plastic litter box outside. Not far off, a small dog kennel lined with a woollen blanket stood ready as well.
Alfred was still wary of human touch, but he loved a good natter. After a successful pinch-and-run, the shopkeeper would step out for a chat. Between mouthfuls, Alfred would pause and answer with his best attempt at conversation.
Yet recently, the shopkeeper had begun to puzzle over something. Alfred, rounder and sleek now, no longer truly needed to steal sausages. Still, every daytwice, perhapshed make off with a couple and vanish round the back.
No matter how many times the shopkeeper tried to follow, Alfred always gave him the slip.
So, in proper English fashion, he installed a tiny camera with a good view, the feed going straight to his back office. And, one afternoon, the mystery at last revealed itself.
From a cellar window behind the shop, a ginger kitten bounded out, trembling with excitement, and pounced on the sausage Alfred brought.
The shopkeepers wife, upon seeing this, was in bits.
Tomorrow! she sobbed, wiping her cheeks. Tomorrow you bring them both home, do you hear me?
Of course, that was easier said than done. Alfred, these days, would happily nap inside the shop and was easy enough to scoop up, but the kitten? Youd never catch him within a mile.
Day after day, the shopkeeper watched on the cameras. The ginger kitten had started drinking from Alfreds bowl, sometimes dozing in the little dog kennel. But at the slightest approach, the tiny tail would shoot up like a flag and the kitten would vanish like orange lightning.
Everything changed one day when the shopkeeper heard a strange yowling by the entrance. No customers about. Rounding the counter, he followed the sound.
There, right on the doorstep, sat the ginger kitten yowling at the top of his lungs.
Whats wrong, little chap? the shopkeeper asked.
The kitten darted over, looked him dead in the eye, and then dashed out the door. Instinctively, the shopkeeper followed. Around the corner, Alfred lay sprawled and groaning, a nasty bite on his back right leg from some local dog. Hed fought free, but the wound ran deep.
The ginger kitten nudged Alfreds side and cried again.
Oh, you poor souls, the shopkeeper murmured.
He shrugged off his coat and wrapped Alfred inside, then scooped up the now quiet ginger kitten and tucked him gently into his jacket pocket.
He locked the shop and drove in haste. They spent five hours at the vet. While Alfred was patched up and stitched, the shopkeeper made fast friends with little Blazethats what he decided to name the kitten, for his fiery coat and spirit.
That night, the groggy Alfred and lively Blaze came home with him. His wife was over the moon. And, as any happy woman would, she rang up every friend on her list. It took ages, with all the explanations and advice exchanged.
By the end of it all, the shopkeeper, Alfred, and Blaze were snoozing in a jumble on the bed.
Typical! his wife declared when she found them. And where am I supposed to fit?
But Blaze obligingly nudged over, snuggled up next to her, and started kneading her with tiny paws.
And so, a family was made.
Now, two large, pampered cats lounged about the flat, no longer resembling their scrappy pasts. Occasionally, Alfred would lick Blaze by habit, and Blaze never minded a bit.
Across the road, outside the shoe shop, a little grey tabby had set up camp. The lady at the till ran in every day to pick up a tin of sardines or some chicken for her.
Maybe shell take her home? Perhaps, someday, theyll all be swept up by kind souls until cats in England become so rare, you need to join a waiting list and take a training course just to keep one.
Well, what do you reckon? Could it ever come to that?
