Jane, wheres Muffin? The question escaped my lips the moment I stepped over the threshold, a knot of worry twisting in my stomach. My ginger fluffball always bounded into the hallway, tail in the air, meowing loudly to remind me that his bowl was empty. But today, the house greeted me with an eerie silence.
Roger sat hunched at the kitchen table, gaze fixed downwards, making a point of not catching my eye. His mother, Margaret Williams, who had been staying with us for over a week now, sipped her tea serenely, as if nothing were amiss.
Where is the cat? I repeated, feeling a chill creep through my fingers.
Oh, dont start, Margaret said, dismissing me with a wave. Theres no cat anymore. Hes gone.
Gone? What do you mean, gone? Hes an indoor cat! Hes frightened of the outdoors! Who left the door open?
I took him, she replied, not an ounce of guilt in her voice. Out to the countryside, deep in the woods. Fresh air, real freedom, plenty of mice. Let him live as a proper animal should. This place was turning into a tip fur everywhere, that filthy litter tray stinking up the flat. Roger and I are thinking about starting a family. You cant raise a child in this mess!
I felt rooted to the spot. Had she really left my house cat out in the woods? In the middle of winter?
You agreed to this? I stared at Roger.
Jane, Mum said its her allergies, he mumbled, unable to meet my eyes.
Her only allergy is to simple decency! The words tumbled out. Where did you leave him, exactly?
Oh, I dont know, Margaret sniffed. Somewhere off the A303, about twelve miles from the city. Youll never find him again. And dont you dare start crying I did you a kindness.
Without a word, I grabbed my car keys.
If I dont find him I said through gritted teeth. Pray.
For three days I searched for Muffin. I traipsed through snowdrifts, calling his name, plastered lampposts with flyers. I took days off work, barely ate or slept, desperate to get there before it was too late.
On the third evening, my phone rang.
Miss, are you looking for a ginger cat? Hes here, by the petrol station. Sitting outside, crying his heart out.
I raced there, roads a blur. There he was gaunt, dirty, shivering with one frostbitten ear. The moment he saw me, he leapt into my arms, purring feebly, all his strength spent.
I rushed him to the vet. He needed drips, jabs, then to stay at the clinic. The vet said hed pull through, given time.
I returned home at dawn furious, drained, hollow.
Margaret Williams was sprawled on my settee, snoring softly. Her suitcase stood in the corner, as shed planned to stay until the weekend.
I quietly took her suitcase, fetched her coat, boots, and hat from the wardrobe, and packed them all in the car.
Then I woke Roger.
Get up. Were going out.
Where? he asked, half asleep.
To take your mum to the station.
We woke his mother.
Mrs. Williams, get ready. Were off to the station. Now.
What? My trains not until the day after tomorrow! she spluttered.
Change of plans.
I drove in silence. Roger tried to speak, but with one glance he thought better of it.
I passed the turn for the station, heading towards the countryside.
Jane, youve missed it! The stations the other way! Margarets anxiety grew.
I know.
I pulled over by that very same petrol station, twelve miles out of town. Woods, snow, and a biting wind.
I got out, opened the boot, and heaved her suitcase onto the verge.
Come on, Mrs. Williams.
Why? she watched me, fearfully.
Why? Fresh air, nature, freedom. A bit of time living wild will do you good.
Youre mad! she shrieked. Its freezing! Ill catch my death!
Muffin was freezing too. You called it a kindness.
Roger! she wailed, turning to her son.
Roger went pale, glancing between us and then at the dark woods.
Mum call a taxi, he said quietly. Janes right.
I took my seat at the wheel again.
Youve got your phone. Taxi ought to be here in forty minutes or so. Muffin didnt have that luxury.
We drove away. In the rear view mirror, I saw her waving frantically beside her suitcase.
Of course, she wasnt left out long shed summoned a cab. But she never set foot in my home again. As for Roger he apologised for weeks. I told him plainly: if you cant protect those were supposed to care for, then youll be out in the cold next, just like your mother. Out to the woods.
Was it cruel vengeance or fair justice? Can one ever truly forgive cruelty to those weaker than ourselves? Now, looking back, I still wonder.
