THE SAUSAGE THIEF
You honestly couldnt miss that cat. Mainly because he kept pinching food from Simons little corner shop, and, honestly, the way he did it you just couldnt get angry. Quite the opposite, really.
Simon actually started looking forward to the daily routine. He even recorded the whole spectacle on his phone, then played it back to Emma in the evening so they could both have a good laugh together. This is how it all happened.
The cat would sit for ages just outside the open door, pretending hed just wandered over for a little rest, nothing dodgy, obviously. Hed look around, making sure no one was watching. Simon would always hide behind the big drinks fridge, filming away.
Finally, the cat would tiptoe inside and head straight for the deli counter. Hed pick up speed, nab a sausage or a pork pie, and dash out of the shop but not very far. His hunger would get the better of him, so hed plonk himself down a few steps from the front door and start munching away.
Simon would come to the door and call out, standing at a polite distance, Tasty, is it?
The cat would look up and give a satisfied meow.
Good job, then! Simon would chuckle. Come again tomorrow!
Youre probably wondering why thered be sausages on the counter, not in a fridge, and cut up in nice neat pieces, too. Seems peculiar, right? But its simple, really: Simon had a soft spot for animals.
He wanted to feed this cat in a way thatd still feel like an adventure for him. When the cat first rocked up, he was all skin and bones, looking absolutely knackered. But he absolutely refused to get close to Simon or take food straight from his hand. So Simon thought up a plan.
At first, he placed the sausages just near the entrance, to make it easy. He named the little rascal Oliver which, lets be fair, sounds about right for a sausage thief.
Oliver could steal his dinner all by himself honest work, in a way. And it worked a treat! Bit by bit, Simon moved the meaty treats deeper and deeper inside. Before long, hed even set aside a little section on the bottom shelf, right by the floor, where Oliver could help himself.
Oliver was perfectly capable now of strutting in, grabbing whatever took his fancy, and strolling out. But, the thing is its all about the thrill, isnt it? Stolen food just tastes better.
Soon enough, Simon put out a water bowl, the fanciest cat biscuits he could buy, and a box with some nice soft soil. He even put a small doghouse with a fleece blanket next to the shop, just in case.
Oliver was still a bit skittish and didnt let anyone come near, but he did like a chinwag now and then. Simon would pop out and chat to him while he had his nicked sausage, and the cat would look up, take a break from chomping, and make the odd comment back, in his own way.
But there was one thing that started bugging Simon. Oliver was filling out nicely now and looked healthy hed obviously had his fill, so why did he still keep nabbing two or three sausages a day and scampering off round the corner?
Simon tried countless times to see where he went, but Oliver always managed to give him the slip.
So, in true British spirit, Simon got himself one of those little cameras with a wide-angle lens and hooked it up to his computer behind the counter. And one day, he finally figured out Olivers secret.
From a little basement window around the back, a tiny ginger kitten would dart out and pounce straight onto the sausage Oliver had brought. It was adorable.
The next night, Emma was in floods of tears as she watched the footage. Youre bringing them home tomorrow, do you hear me? Both of them! she sobbed, wiping her cheeks. But that was easier said than done. By now, Simon could catch Oliver the cat had started snoozing in the middle of the shop! But the kitten? That was another story.
Days went by. Simon would watch on the camera as the ginger kitten shyly crept up for a drink from Olivers water bowl or caught a nap in the doghouse. But try to get close, and hed shoot off like a rocket, tail up and all.
Then one day, Simon heard a strange noise coming from the entrance not a customer, but something else.
Stepping out from behind the till, he spotted the ginger kitten on the doorstep, yowling its head off.
Whats the matter, little one? he said gently.
The kitten dashed to him, gave him a wide-eyed stare, then trotted off down the alley. Simon didnt hesitate he followed. And there, behind the house, was Oliver, curled up and whimpering. Hed been bitten on his back leg by a dog deep, nasty wound, poor bloke.
The kitten shoved his tiny head into Olivers side and let out another squeal.
Oh, mate, sighed Simon. He whipped off his jacket, wrapped Oliver up, scooped up the kitten (who, for once, didnt struggle), and popped the little one in his blazer pocket. He locked up the shop and drove them straight to the nearest vet.
They were there five hours while the vet stitched Oliver up and cleaned his wound. By the end, Simon and the kitten whom he decided to name Spark (because, honestly, what else would you call a fiery little ginger?) were proper mates.
That evening, Simon brought Oliver, still groggy from the anaesthetic, and Spark home to Emma. She was over the moon. And you know what women do when theyre thrilled, right? Ring every friend to tell them the whole story, in great detail, of course with plenty of advice and opinions thrown in.
By the time she was done, Simon, Oliver, and Spark were crashed out on the bed.
Well, thats marvellous, Emma quipped. Where am I supposed to sleep now?
But Spark was happy to shuffle up, nuzzling in next to her and padding at her side.
So that was it. Theyd found their home. These days, Oliver and Spark have turned into big, dignified cats, a far cry from the skinny strays they once were. Occasionally, Oliver will still give Spark a good wash, and Spark doesnt seem to mind one bit.
And across the road, next to the shoe shop, a little grey tabbys settled in. The assistant from there is always popping into Simons shop to get some food for her.
I sometimes wonder maybe, one day, shell take the tabby in, too. Maybe, eventually, every cat in town will have a home? Who knows maybe well even end up queuing for cats, applying through some official register and waiting our turn after passing a test!
Do you reckon that could ever happen?
