Horrified, I crept close to her, purring and licking the tears from her hot cheeks. It was all I could do.
I wanted to understand, so I remembered my previous life and why Ellen had cried when she was a child. When Ellen was ten years old, I’d wanted to give her a present to show how much I loved her. I knew she liked robins because there were cards all over her bedroom with pictures of them. So early one morning I headed out into the frosty garden and caught one for her. As I ran up the stairs with the robin’s soft body in my mouth, I was excited. It was the first bird I’d ever caught, and I was going to put it right on Ellen’s bed for her. A real robin!
Ellen was sitting up in bed, waiting for me as usual. I put the robin down with the greatest care on the duvet in front of her and sat back, satisfied with my act of giving.
But instead of saying thank you, Ellen burst into tears. Her mum came running in and gasped when she saw the robin lying on her little girl’s pink duvet.
Ellen cradled it in her small hands, sobbing and sobbing. ‘Look at his lovely colours,’ she cried, stroking the robin’s breast with one finger. ‘His breast is orange, not red. Look at his tiny feet all curled up. And he feels so warm. Look at his beak, and his sweet little face. Oh Mummy, he’ll never sing again will he? He’s dead.’ Ellen howled in grief. ‘I can’t make him fly again.’
She looked up and saw me sitting there. ‘You horrible cat, I HATE you. Go away!’
Her mum picked me up. ‘That’s not fair, Ellen. It’s natural for cats to catch birds, isn’t it, Solomon? He thought he was bringing you a present.’
She tried to take the robin away, but Ellen sobbed even harder. ‘No Mummy. I’ve got to look after him, even if he’s dead.’
Later, I watched in astonishment as she wrapped the dead robin in layers of rainbow tissue paper and put him in a cardboard box. When her mum wasn’t looking she took the bread knife from the kitchen, dug a hole in the ground under a rose bush, and buried the gift-wrapped robin. Ellen didn’t stop crying all day, but she did forgive me when I cuddled up to her, purring. It taught me a lesson I would remember forever.
But I didn’t understand why she was crying now, over the piano! I soon found out though when Ellen began to talk to me quietly, her speech interrupted by sobs.
‘I love music so much, Solomon. But I can’t do it now. I’m too exhausted. Music feeds my soul you see, and I can’t do it in fragments of time. It has to be total, so that I disappear into it. And I’ve got painful memories of it too. Mum was always pushing me to perform for people, and she’d get so angry because I just couldn’t. I used to freeze. Then she would punish me by locking the piano, or taking my ballet shoes away.’
We both looked up at the pair of faded pink ballet shoes hanging under the mirror on the wall.
‘It was the same with ballet. She and my teacher wanted me to perform. And it wasn’t about performing, Solomon,’ she said passionately, stroking my fur very fast. ‘It– it was about joy. Like you and Jessica when you play on the stairs. It’s pure joy and fun.’
I sat up and looked at her for a long time, trying to show her that I understood. I kissed her on the nose and purred into her soft ear. That made her smile, and she said, ‘Were you that cat, Solomon? Were you?’ I did a loud purr-meow. ‘I do believe you are the same cat, come back to me. We’ll be friends forever, Solomon, won’t we?’
She got up and walked over to the piano.
‘Maybe I will play a bit – for John,’ she said, and stroked the lid thoughtfully. ‘And for you. But there’s not time right now.’
I knew Ellen was unhappy. Often she’d sit in the garden so tired that she would almost fall off her chair. She coped patiently with John’s lively, bubbling personality. She was always there for him, playing with him, reading him stories and laughing with him. Ellen’s mother love was too strong for her own good. If John hurt himself she panicked, and if he was ill she always thought he was going to die. She worried about him so much.
‘Why isn’t she happy?’ I asked my angel one morning. I’d climbed onto a post in the garden to catch the morning sunshine on my fur.
‘She’s frightened.’
‘Of Joe?’
‘Yes – but she is also frightened of being homeless and starving. Because she is a mum, she’s very vulnerable, she has to protect and feed her child and provide a home for him. The man is not wise. He’s getting into debt.’
When the angel explained to me what debts were, the anxiety started. I could lose my home. I was still only a kitten. Who would feed me? Would I be able to stay here and become Jessica’s lover?
Then the angel used the word ‘repossession’, and explained what that meant. Bailiffs could take Ellen’s lovely home away, and evict the family into the street.
I climbed down from the post feeling old and responsible, a big burden for a kitten. I didn’t want to talk to the angel any longer. Being spiritual seemed increasingly irrelevant in this earth life. Survival was paramount. It went something like this: get Kitekat. Keep warm and dry. Keep fur clean. Don’t go on other cats’ territories. Be assertive with dogs. Stay out of Jessica’s basket. Get humans to open doors for us. Resist climbing the curtains. Forgive humans when they step on you. Resist thieving cheese off the table even if Jessica does it. And so on. It didn’t seem to leave much time for loving Ellen.
But love was all I had to offer.
So I swanned into the kitchen with my fur radiating love, and enjoyed eye contact with Ellen. She scooped me up at once, hugging me against her heart. Alarmed to hear the heartbeat unusually loud and fast, I leaned my cheek against her chest and purred endlessly. As I turned my head, I saw Joe standing on the other side of the room, arms folded, his eyes glittering with menace.
‘Anyway Solomon LOVES me,’ Ellen said defiantly to Joe. His aura was dense with anger and prickly like a teasel. I could feel its destructive power in Ellen’s pretty kitchen. John was sitting on his plastic tractor in the doorway, looking anxiously at his parents.
I tried to stay calm while Ellen clutched me too tightly as Joe shouted at her. He sounded like a dog barking in a concrete kennel. The pain in my ears was terrible, but I concentrated on purring, knowing I was protected by angelic light. The shouting filled the kitchen and spread through the house like smoke, going under doors, into corners and up the stairs. It permeated everything; the apples in the fruit bowl, the cosy cushions, the clocks, the bright sunny bedrooms. Then it exploded into the street in a shower of glass.
‘No Joe. Stop it. JOE!’ Ellen screamed, and put me down. I ran under a chair, terrified by the crack and crunch of Joe kicking the front door with his boot. His ginger hair and red face made him look like a man on fire, and his eyes were bleak slits of pain. Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth.
‘Shut up! Shut up screaming you silly cow or I’ll give you something to really scream about.’ Joe turned on Ellen, muscles quivering, breathing fast, his skin sweating.
‘We can’t afford a new door, Joe. Don’t do this, PLEASE!’
‘And why can’t we afford a new door?’ Joe raged. ‘Because you insisted on giving up your job, didn’t you? Selfish cow!’
‘I wanted to look after John whilst he’s little,’ said Ellen, glaring right back at Joe. ‘You promised me you were going to get a job, didn’t you?’
Joe hunched his shoulders and clenched his teeth. He towered over Ellen, shuffling closer and closer.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed, ‘or I’ll smash that smug face of yours and then I’ll get some peace from your endless nagging, woman.’
Ellen went quiet. She went limp against the wall, and slid to the floor, her hands over her ears.