Never Regret Anything
And the flat had better be spotless when I get back! Mrs. Margaret Evans stormed out onto the landing, slammed her door so hard the glass in the stairway trembled.
Heather, who was just descending the stairs at that moment, flinched, pausing halfway down.
She hoped the neighbour hadnt noticed her. In vain, alas.
Ah, Heather dear… Good morning!
Margaret set a cardboard box, once home to a slow cooker, down on the floor and fumbled hurriedly with the buttons on her coat, clearly in a rush.
Hello, Mrs. Evans, Heather greeted her, smiling politely. The children have been up to something again?
Thats putting it rather mildly! I could scream… Margaret muttered as she battled the last button.
The box on the floor suddenly shifted.
Heather almost leapt, despite the safe distance.
Not that she was easily frightened. She just hadnt expected, not for a moment, that there might be someoneor somethinginside that box…
But who exactly?
Her mind conjured a visiona slow cooker, alive and unruly, perhaps hurling raw vegetables at passers-by, now sentenced, quite rightly, to exile at the tip.
Have a look, Margaret said, snatching the box up to show off its contents.
Heather crept onto the landing, drew closer, peered inside.
Of course, she knew she wasnt about to witness an animate slow cooker, but stillwhat she saw made her start, startled but delighted.
Two wide, curious eyes gazed up from the bottom of the box.
A kitten.
Oh, how precious! Heather gasped.
Margaret snorted, unimpressed. Find that adorable, do you? she grumbled, closing the lid.
Where did he come from?
The children brought him home… I do wish Id never said yes. Hes more bother than I have words for. I too was fooled by those big eyes and sweet little face, but as they say’all that glitters isnt gold.’ Looks a picture, temperament like my ex-husband.
Hell calm down, Mrs. Evans. Once hes grown a bit. Are you taking him to the vet?
Margaret looked at her as if shed asked about taking the Queen out for a pint. The vet? Vaccinations? Heavens, no! Hes worn out my patience. Im taking him to the cottage let him live there.
Heather stared, hoping Mrs. Evans was joking.
But the furrowed brow, the sour lookno, this was no April Fool, and it was the 15th of November in any case, not the first.
To the cottage? Now, at the end of autumn?
Would you rather I waited until spring? Its all the same! If it were January, out hed go just the same. Not a kittena mishap, thats what he is.
Margaret caught her breath, flushed with indignation, then carried on:
You should see what he gets up to! I havent needed this many calming tablets since I raised two kids alone. My minds quite made up. Hes going.
But
Oh, could leave him on the estate, I suppose. Thats where he turned up. But I know the kids would bring him back up or hide him in a cupboard. And hed probably wander back himself… I cant go through all that again. Enough!
Margaret checked the time on her phone, tutted.
Well, you have quite distracted me, Heather. I really must dash or Ill miss my bus.
Margaret tucked the box under her arm and, with a brisk pivot, headed down the stairs, knuckles white on the banister.
Heather watched her go, unable to make sense of anyone sending a kitten to winter alone at a country cottage. He wouldnt survive a day.
Wait, Mrs. Evans! she called.
What now? I told you, Im late!
Dont take him to the cottage. Let me see if I can find him a home. Please, give him to me.
Margaret froze.
Slowly, suspiciously, she turned.
A good home? Are you suggesting my hands arent good? Her eyes gleamed. I raised two children with these hands, you know.
No, not at all. I just want to place him safely. He wont make it at the cottage.
If he wants to survive, he will. If not, its fate. Shouldnt have shown up at all if you ask me…
Heathers voice caught. Pleasedon’t say that.
Its not me, its that kittenhe doesnt know how to behave in a house.
Hes still a baby! Hell learn! Heather burst out. You wouldnt take your children off to the cottage, and you shout at them all day.
My children are my children, dont compare them. Still, if you want him, have him.
She set the box down with a thud.
Better for menow I dont need to waste good money on train fare. Lets see how long you last! Margaret smirked, then swept back into her flat, slamming the door once more. Heather faintly heard shouting inside: Why havent you started tidying? Hand over your mobilesnow!
What happened after that, Heather didnt catch. She took up the box, peeked to make sure the kitten still nestled inside, and made her way up to her floor.
Just like that, she had unwittingly become the lucky owner of a slow-cooker box and… a very small kitten.
She had absolutely no intention of adopting a furry lodger.
Especially not today. She was only out to buy coffee, which had run out with suspicious speed, and happened, as it were, to be in the wrong place at an odd time.
She wasnt a great lover of animals, truth be told. No overwhelming affection, none of the rhapsodies recounted by cat or dog owners.
Yet she couldn’t let Mrs. Evans abandon the kitten. Because indifference isn’t unkindness. Because there are limits.
And if theres no one in the world to love a little kitten, why not find someone who would be glad to?
This one, surely, would find a home easily. Heather had no doubt.
All it would take was some charming photos from various angles and the internet would delivershed have a queue at her door, itching for fluffy happiness.
Easy.
***
Heather wasted no time. Once home, she took the kittens photograph and uploaded his mug on all manner of forums: Free to a loving home.
Then she popped out to finally buy coffeeand kitten food. One must eat, after all.
She added a plastic litter tray and filling, toounplanned spending, but what else could she do?
Ill just hand it all over to whoever comes for him, she thought.
She grinned, pleased with herself for doing a good deed. Not a single penny spent here would be missed.
According to Margaret, the kitten was named Muffin, but he wasnt responding to it. Heather made a listshe finally stopped at the 132nd choice.
Youre Scrumpy now! Dont mind if I call you Scrumpy, do you? she asked.
Mew! came the reply, before Scrumpy darted off to have a set-to with an old pair of fluffy slippers. Never mind these impostershe was the fluffiest and whitest in the flat.
Heather laughed, watching as the kitten tumbled and pounced, then settled down to do some work.
She was a freelance photographer, holding regular portrait sessionsa job she thoroughly enjoyed, and which paid rather well, to boot.
She needed to edit her last set of photos, so she perched at her desk, powered the computer on, and soon had Photoshop openface deadly serious.
Except, peace was not to be.
Scrumpy, having subdued the slippers, thundered around the flat like a tiny hurricane, never once taking the corner.
The racket was unholy.
Oi, you! Heather twirled around, wagged her finger. Scrumpy stopped dead, gave her a meaningful stare: Well, what is it? Im busy playing, you know.
I understand, youre bored and want to play, but youre only here for a while…
Mew!
And dont argue! Youre a guest. Dont get under my feetlet me work.
Wrong thing to say.
Scrumpys face fell. He gave her such a pitiful look Heather was mortified.
How could she scold something so small and fluffy?
Alright, you can play. But keep it down, she relented.
With a joyful mew, Scrumpy resumed tearing round the flat, colliding with chair legs and furniture.
So Heather stuck on her headphones, dialled up some music, and got back to photo edits.
Five minutes later, Scrumpy, now at full pelt, shot right under the desk, yanked out the computers power cable with a wild swipe, and vanished. Try pinning that crime on anyone.
Oh, for! Heather stared at the blank screen in despair.
For the next half hour, she and Scrumpy both raced round the place, one chasing the other.
She never did catch him.
Instead, she stubbed her toe on the chair, twice bashed her knee on the desk. Typical.
Back online, Heather scrolled anxiously through her forum posts.
Likes galore, but the commentsoh dear.
Wow! What a sweetie! Youre so lucky with that kitten! What a miracle! On and on. Not one single person wanted to actually collect him.
No calls, no knocks at the door. Forget standing room only for kitten adopters.
She edited her postsshed bring the kitten herself, anywhere in London, further even. The moon, if need be!
People must just find it hard to get here, thats all.
Meanwhile, Scrumpy, exhausted, managed at last to jump onto the sofa, flopped on his back, inviting a belly rub. Heather obliged, stroking his soft fur until both of them dozed off.
They slept well into the evening. That days work, needless to say, went unfinished.
***
A week later, Heather realised finding Scrumpy a loving home was trickier than shed imagined. People liked his photos, commented sweetly, but nothing more. No further interest.
Three days on, Heather began to wonder: If no one takes him… does he just stay with me?
Of course not! Thats the last thing I need! she said aloudthen felt bad at herself.
Scrumpy, napping with both paws wrapped round the mouse (meaning Heather hadnt been able to work for a good forty minutes), opened one eye in protest.
Its nap time, not shout-at-the-kitten time! Mind yourself!
Heather sighed, scanned messages for anything promising.
Nothing new. More praise for Scrumpy, more comments on her luckeach one chipping at her hope.
Not long before, shed been to see a therapist, wanting to discover what exactly was missing in her life.
She had a job she loved, money was no problem, even her own flat, thanks to her parents.
Yet, shed felt something was missingdefinitely not a boyfriend; shed put dating on ice for a while.
What, then? No answer. The therapist encouraged her to talk to herself, dig deep to the heart of the matter, somewhere near the bottom of the Mariana Trench, but…
All shed achieved was downing a glass of water and a headache pill.
So much for therapy. She turned to her friends.
I think youre just being precious, opined Lisa, who always just slightly envied Heathers flat and job.
No, Lisa. I work five days a week, just like you. Sometimes no weekends at all. Theres no reason
Maybe its THAT youre missing! said Eve, spooning up her favourite pudding.
Missing what?
Missing THAT. Fat, for one! Youre so thin, its alarming. Shouldve eaten more pudding as a child.
These conversations yielded nothing. Heather decided to stop filling her head with silly doubts.
But the thought returned. Unexpectedly.
Is that it? Maybe Scrumpy is exactly what I needed all along! Well, well see.
***
A whole month flew by in Scrumpys company, passing as if in a blink.
No one came to collect him. Heather was genuinely baffledout of precisely 1,228 likes beneath his photos, not one person wanted to actually take Scrumpy home.
A month brought plenty of happenings. So many that telling them all would take four fat volumes.
But, in short: Scrumpy was no fool.
He understood Heather (even after her tenth attempt to stop him shredding her sofa).
He also tried his paws at new trades, aiming to be productive.
First, interior design. Thanks to him, Heather changed the curtains four times, then decided windows needed nothing at all.
After the design fiasco, Scrumpy turned chef, sampling anything within reachpickled onions, mushrooms, cold potatoesonly to spit them all out in disgust.
He gave it up quickly. Why mess about cooking when the food in the cupboard was already delicious?
So, he contented himself with bringing Heather happiness.
Heathers idea of happiness: sleep in, edit photos.
But with a kitten, peace was a fading dream.
Somewhere upstairs, the fates had decided Heathers life was too neat, so they sent Scrumpy.
Sit down for five minutes, the kitten appeared from nowhere: Will you play?
What followed… beyond words.
Heather now understood Margaret Evans, though shed never abandon a kitten. Not now, not ever. Even if Scrumpy had her run ragged.
Still, there were joyful moments.
First, she stopped worrying about what was missing from her life.
Second, she became faster at tidying. Not that there was less mess, but shed got into a habit of whizzing around quickly before Scrumpy woke up.
Plenty of good feelings, enough to last her years.
She cheered when Scrumpy learnt to use the litter box alone. Before, shed had to carry him theremidnight, 3:41am, whatever the time.
Hed wake her, shed carry him. Thank heavens for progressnow she could snatch a precious extra hour in bed.
Scrumpy developed other quirks. He loved the nightlighton, off, on, offall night.
Eventually, Heather took it down, along with the curtains. Oddly, the place felt brighter without them.
Life with Scrumpy was as mixed-up and patchwork as any, and Heather adapted.
After a month, she realised: she didnt own Scrumpyshe visited him. She was out all day at work, he was in charge at home. He greeted her at the door, saw her off in the morning. A proper host.
Suddenly she understoodthere was no need to seek a good home for Scrumpy. She was the good home, the loving owner with gentle hands whod forgive him anything!
She was ready: up at any hour for hide-and-seek or a match of hallway football, ready with strokes when Scrumpy sprawled across her bed and, miraculously, claimed most of it.
She was ready, and she didnt regret a thing. Because she loved him. Because he was impossible not to love. And Scrumpy loved her, too…
He no longer woke her at dawn, letting her sleep before work.
He simply came and curled up by her side, waiting for her to wake.
He waited patientlyalthough, sometimes, there was a hint of reproach in his eyes: How long are you going to sleep, Heather? I do miss you, you know……I only have nine lives, after all.
With a sleepy smile, Heather stretched, her hand automatically finding Scrumpys warm little side. His purr blossomed beneath her palm, rumbling deeper than seemed possible for something so small.
Sunlight drifted in through the curtainless windows, golden and fearless, pooling across the battered sofa and beneath the battered slippersthe ones that, now, she would never let go.
Heather propped herself on her elbow, meeting Scrumpys steady gaze. It wasnt a look of possession or demand. It was more like understanding. Like belonging.
Maybe this is all I was ever missing, she thought. Not something grand or monumental, not a perfect job or a perfect plan, but a soft-pawed surprisesomething that demanded nothing but her time, her care, her heart.
She got up, made breakfasttwo bowls side by side. She snapped a photo of Scrumpy as he lapped up his food, intending to post it online. But she paused mid-upload.
She didnt want a barrage of comments anymore, or the distant possibility that someone else might still want him. Scrumpy had chosen her, and she, at last, chose him right back.
Heather closed her phone and reached for the kettleScrumpy winding round her ankles, tail high, bright-eyed with the promise of another ordinary, miraculous day.
Together, they faced the simple morning: a little chaos, a little coffee, andat lastthe unshakeable feeling that both of them, in this tiny patch of sunlight, were exactly where they belonged.
Heather glanced down as Scrumpy flopped across her feet, purring like a distant storm.
I never planned for you, she said softly.
Scrumpy blinked, slow and content.
And Ive never regretted a thing.
