My Neighbour’s Cat

It was a warm day in April when a small ginger cat jumped over the fence into our garden. The way the cat approached my brother and I was strange. He had confidence like no other cat we’d ever been faced with before.

He was immediately friendly, nuzzling up to us and letting us stroke him. This was unusual to us because when we were little we’d try to lure stray cats into our home with food and milk but to no avail. They’d get scared and run away as fast as they came, or they’d get chased away by my dad, who claimed he hated cats.

The ginger cat began to visit more regularly after that. We fed him milk (which we later found out is bad for cats because they are lactose intolerant) and gave him small bits of food. I knew that we shouldn’t because he was someone else's cat; however, I almost didn’t care because when he was here he felt like ours.

We started to invite him into our home, at first only downstairs but then all over the house. My dad who said cats were “nasty and vicious” soon softened up to the cat we named Thomás, and we even began to notice that he would stroke the cat when we weren’t looking.

My mother began to become obsessed with our little creature. She went overboard and bought him proper cat food, a bed, and toys. He had his own little paradise in our house... but I was still aware that he wasn’t ours.

At night, sometimes he wouldn’t want to leave. We’d put him outside and he’d climb up to the windows and meow. It sounded like he was crying. I couldn’t kick him out most times so he stayed overnight.

One day he came back with a white box attached to his collar. It was a tracking device! I researched the brand and found that they could track anywhere Thomás went and even call him through the speaker on the device. I realised we had overstepped the line.

It was only short visits after that. He was kicked out at night no matter what and little to no food was given to him. But he still came back, he still meowed like a baby, and after a while we gave up, just letting him in when he wanted.

One day there was a knock at the door. It was late and I had an idea who it could be. Who else would come over this late, if not the owners of the cat? Apparently he was tall with dark hair, though I didn’t see him. I hid in the living room with my dad as we listened at the door. He asked if Thomás was here, and so my mother did what you wouldn’t really expect and invited him in. My dad and I looked at each other in shock. He would have seen the bed, the toys, and the cat food all laid out for him. He’d see, he’d judge us, and think of us as Cat Nappers.

My mother didn’t hide anything. She showed and explained everything. He even got to see Thomás in the flesh stretched out and sleeping on the landing floor. The man was taken aback, you could tell by his lack of words. My dad and I cringed and face palmed as the very awkward conversation of why Thomás came over here commenced. We had always wondered why, even when we didn’t feed him, Thomás preferred to stay with us and now was our chance to find out.

The man explained that his son was 2 years old and hasn’t grasped the concept of being gentle with the cat and perhaps that was why Thomás liked our house more. The man said “he probably enjoys the peace and quiet.” Which I remember because I found it odd. Our house wasn’t always peaceful. Throughout our time in the household, my brother and I had fought throughout my teenage years. There had been arguments between everyone with yelling over everyone else to get your point across. It made me think that, yes, we had become a quieter, more serene place.

I believe Thomás (who we found out was actually named Ferdinand) really helped to make it the quiet household it is. We wouldn’t want to argue because it would disrupt him and so we were forced to have a civilised conversation. Us, the family who couldn’t even get a goldfish, had successfully created an escape for a small creature. A creature named Thomás, who is our cat that isn’t ours.