Five years ago, my neighbour buried her husband, a decorated veteran, and found herself utterly alone.
That was five years past. My neighbour, Mrs. Edith Barker, lost her beloved husband, Arthura man who had served proudly in the warand was left with only memories for company. Theyd never had children. The old lady was haunted by thoughts of her dear Arthur, drifting through rooms heavy with absence.
Theyd married on the eve of war, and Arthur had marched away while Edith waited, faithful as the calendars turning. Arthur came homethank God!but minus his left hand, claimed somewhere near Dunkirk. Still, his love for Edith ran deep as the Thames. Hed pledged to keep her safe from any sorrow, but fate outmanoeuvred him. He died, leaving her wrapped in silence.
On the anniversary of his passing, a large black cat made its way into her life. It appeared entirely out of the blue, yowling miserably at her front door as a blizzard rattled the hedges and the wind shrieked through chimneys. And yet, for reasons beyond understanding, Edith heard the cry. She hobbled out, discovering a mysterious feline crouched on the doorstep. Pity overtook her; she ushered the cat inside and set out a splash of milk.
The cat rejected her offering, pausing only to gaze regally around the sitting room, tail flicking with kingly entitlement. It examined every corner, flashed its green eyes, then leapt up to Ediths pillow, curled itself tightly, and began to purra low rumble that lulled them both to sleep.
Try as she might, Edith could not bring herself to send the animal away. The next morning, she took a closer look. The cat was sleek and clean, not at all the scruffy stray she expected: jet black, its eyes shining like emerald torches, with a certain air of dignity about it. Then she noticeda chill rushing through herthe paw on the left side was missing its toes, as though torn away.
Just like my Arthur! she sobbed. The cat jumped softly onto her lap, humming its deep purr.
You need a name, Edith whispered, stroking the velvet coat, scratching behind the ears. Perhaps Winston? The cat gave her a thunderous, human stareso intense Ediths heart fluttered.
ITS EYES WERE HUMAN! NOT LIKE HUMAN EYES, BUT HONESTLY HUMAN!
No? she hesitated, Then maybe Rupert? The cat mewled in disapproval, bounded off her lap and started to sharpen its claws against the chintz sofa.
All right, all right! No name, then. Just the Cat. But do leave the sofa, please. Grumbling something strange, the Cat skulked from the room, royal as a bishop.
So, their dreamlike life together began: Mrs. Edith and the Cat. Id frequently visit, and shed regale me with wild stories of her extraordinary companion.
For one, the Cat seemed to heal her. After Arthur died, Edith had suffered a heart attack; pain kept company with long nights. But whenever she lay down, the Cat would nestle on her chest, purring till both of them drifted off. The ache would vanishas if the Cat spirited it away.
Once, something truly uncanny took place. Edith was resting, the Cat beside her, its purrs like distant thunder. Someone knocked briskly at the door. She went to answer, the Cat padding in her wake. There stood Raymondthe local drunk and notorious scoundrelwedging his boot in the jamb, cursing and demanding a tenner for more ale. Edith tried to send him off, but he grew louder, fouler, eventually slinging insults at the memory of poor Arthur.
The Cat hisseda fierce, unworldly growland hurled itself at Raymond. He batted it away, but the Cat was relentless, claws flashing, almost catching his throat. Howling, Raymond fled. The Cat fixed Edith with those HUMAN EYES, raised its tail, and disappeared, solemn as a shadow, into the house.
Another morning, Edith prepared to go into town to petition the council for firewood and asked me to accompany her. We needed to catch the early bus to the market square. I agreed and came to her cottage at sunrise.
She sat on her bed in her housecoat, looking lost and oddly frail.
Mrs. Barker, why arent you ready? Come on, perhaps well hitch a ride if were quick, I urged.
She shook her head gently. I cant go, my dear. Im sorry.
But why?
Its difficult to explain please dont laugh. The Cat forbade me from going.
What do you mean? I booked time off, and now a cat Please, lets just
Darling, listen. I had everything set out last night and went to bed early. I dreamt the Cat was speaking to me. Clearly, just like youre speaking now. It stared at me and said:
Stay home, Edith. Dont go tomorrow.
I could hardly speak. Not just that the Cat spokebut it called me Edith! And only my Arthur called me that! AND THE VOICE WAS HISARTHURS!
Then the Cat began crooning a tunethe song Arthur used to sing:
Down by the willow fields,
Where you find gold in muddy streams
Remember, Edith, I would hum that heading off to war?
Though my soul was quivering, I managed to ask:
Arthur, is it you?
Yes. I couldnt bear your loneliness, so Ive come back…
Tell Mary not to go for her operation. She wouldnt withstand it
Then I woke up…
To say I was stunned barely begins to describe it. For a long while, I sat there gasping, like a fish on the linoleum.
Then suddenlyI dont know whyI said:
Mrs. Barker, do you feel all right? Shall I ring for the doctor? Your blood pressure, perhaps?
She smiled, tears brimming. Better than I have in ages, darling! Ive spoken with my Arthur!
Nevertheless, I checked her pulse. Astonishingly, it was steady as ever.
From that moment, Edith began calling the Cat Arthurand strangest of all, it responded!
Ediths warnings (or the Cats) proved true. The bus wed meant to take nearly crashed that dayblack ice, the driver losing control. No deaths, but plenty injured. Coincidence? Perhaps. And a week later, Edith miraculously received her firewood, without ever stepping out.
Later, Edith asked me to ring MaryArthurs nieceto advise her against her operation. Mary didnt listen, and heartbreakingly, she never recovered from the surgery
ANOTHER COINCIDENCE? I dont think so.
So they lived on: Edith and her Cat, Arthur. He kept tending to her, kept her company and saferemaining faithfully by her side through the long, odd, wistful days, just as hed sworn he would.
Edith lived to 94, passing away last year. To the last, she worried over Arthurher Catand made me promise Id care for him if she left first.
She went gently, slipping away in her sleep without pain.
I remember how Arthur, Ediths black cat, mourned her. He was old, his once-glossy coat turned silver-white.
For the three days her body rested at home, Arthur never left her coffin-side. I SAW TEARS RUN FROM HIS EYES! Wed shoo him, but unfailingly, hed return, ever at her side, sitting and weeping softly.
Arthur followed her to the grave. When she was buried, he lingered still. I tried to bring the poor creature home, but he darted away over the headstones.
So the Cat remained in the churchyard, upon Edith and Arthurs grave. He refused to leave, so I visited, bringing food every day.
I often fretted that winter would break his spirit altogether. Once, I managed to carry him home, but he escaped before dusk, and I found him again at the grave.
That winter was bitter, but he survived it. He died just as spring began. Going, as always, to bring him food, I found him curled in a ball beside Ediths cross, as if keeping her peace…
I dont know if Arthur was ever just an ordinary cat, or ifsomehowEdiths Arthur had truly returned, clothed in fur, to keep his unbreakable promise.
People talk now of reincarnation, as though its possible in the next life to come back as anyoneeven a cat.
I dont know if such things are real. But I like to believe it, somehow. That Arthurs spirit lived on in that cat, returned to guard and comfort his Edith
And, true to his promise, he never left hernot even in the end.
Five Years Ago, My Neighbour Buried Her War Veteran Husband and Found Herself All Alone
