**The Striped Guardian of the Close**
Everything in this close was out in the open: windows faced each other, children knew not just their neighbours names but their habits too, and the adults kept track of who left and returned at what hour. By late September, the grass still clung to its green, though the heavy morning dew weighed it down. Come evening, the close filled with voicesboys kicking a ball between the kerbs, girls setting up a pretend shop on the bench beneath the old chestnut tree. And among them, moving as if tracing a familiar map, was the cat: a big, striped thing, with white paws and a white patch on its chest. She belonged to no one, yet everyone knew herMarmalade, or just the Cat.
The children treated her like a living charmsome slipping her bits of ham from home, others stroking her back or whispering secrets into her ears as the wind carried them away. The women were fond of her toosome left a bowl of food by the front door, others let her shelter in the porch when the weather turned. Even newcomers soon noticedwithout her, something vital was missing from the daily rhythm of the place.
But there was one familyyoung Alfies mother and fatherwho saw her differently: wary, even irritated. His mother often said aloud,
*”Its not safe! Who knows what germs its carrying? Strays are unpredictable.”*
His father rarely spoke on the matter, but his silence was agreement. Their worry was simplecleanliness came first. A child shouldnt risk catching something from the street.
Alfie stole glances at the Cat when his parents werent looking. If caught, hed pretend to be busy with his toy cars. But the moment their backs were turned, hed follow her to the flowerbeds or wait by the sandpit for her to appear.
Evenings changed the close. The sun dipped behind the rooftops, the tarmac cooled, but the children lingeredas if summer hadnt quite left. Yet the air grew sharp after sunset, making you pull your jacket tighter or tuck your hands into your sleeves.
The Cat knew everyoneresponding only to certain voices. If Alf called her softly from behind the bushes, shed approach with care. If Mrs. Wilson tapped a spoon against a bowl by the door, shed appear faster than any other stray in the neighbourhood.
Life carried on as usual: schoolchildren vanishing around the corner in the mornings, toddlers with their grandmothers in the sandpit by day, and by evening, the whole close gathered again under the first-floor windows.
Sometimes, Alfies mother tried to warn the other women:
*”What if its sick? Its not like its a proper pet…”*
But theyd only shrug.
*”Shes harmless! We keep an eye on her.”*
*”Without her, wed be overrun with mice!”*
And the conversation would fizzle outeveryone holding their ground.
Then, one late September evening, everything changed. The day had been damp after rain, the pavement still glistening in places. The chestnut leaves had yellowed, a few already swept under the swings by the wind.
Alfie was playing near the house with two older girls and one of their little brothers. The Cat lay nearby on the warm concrete ledge by the front doorshe always sought the warmest spots as evening fell.
Then, from the direction of the garages, came a deep, throaty barkfirst once, then in quick succession. The children froze. Even the adults by the door turned at the same moment.
A dog rounded the cornera large black mongrel with a torn collar, its hackles raised. It moved fast, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.
Alfie went still, then stepped behind the older girl.
*”Its fine… itll go away…”*
But the dog kept coming. The children backed toward the house, calling for the grown-ups. Alfies mother was the first out, sprinting across the wet lawn to reach him. His father, still in the kitchen, hadnt seen the danger yet.
Then, without warning, the Cat shot forwardlow to the ground, straight at the dog. The adults barely had time to react. The dog whipped its head around, snarled, and gave chaseaway from the children, past the garages, into the dark beyond the streetlight.
The boy was safe. The dog vanished around the corner, and the children stood trembling, staring after the striped guardian of the close.
Alfies mother clutched him tight, feeling his heart hammer beneath his coat.
*”Its all right… its all right…”*
But no one saw where the Cat had goneshed moved too fast, slipping into the shadows like a ghost.
As dusk settled, the close grew quiet. The children searchedunder cars, along the bushes, anywhere she might be hiding. Alfie was the first to spot hera striped flank beneath the lilac bush, her paws stretched out, her white belly barely visible in the damp grass. She was breathing hard, blinking slowly, her eyes half-lidded.
The neighbours gatheredMrs. Wilson carefully lifted her, wrapping her in a jacket to avoid the wound.
Back in the flat, Alfies mother kept a hand on his shoulder, holding him back but watching just as closely. His father was already on the phone, searching for the nearest vet.
The Cat lay on an old towel, curled tight. The wound on her side wasnt deep, but longher fur matted with blood. The women worked quicklyiodine, bandages, a bowl of water placed nearby. As they cleaned the cut, whispers passed about which vet might still be open.
Alfie watched, wide-eyed. Hed never seen the adults so focused on a creature that wasnt theirs. Even his motherusually so strict about straysheld the Cats paw gently to keep her still.
*”Keep her steady… just a little longer…”* she muttered.
The room smelled of damp fur and antiseptic. Outside, night had fallen. Alfies father returned with a clean sheet, spreading it beside the towel.
*”The vet will see her first thing. Ive just rung.”*
*”Good…”*
Something in his mothers voice had shiftedan unspoken admission that this stray mattered.
*”Lets keep her here tonight. Well take her in the morning,”* his father said.
*”Yes. Thats best.”*
They moved her carefully, carrying her into their home.
The night was restless. Alfie lay awake, listening for any sound from the next room. His mother checked on the Cat oftenadjusting the towel, refreshing the water.
Morning came early. The kettle hissed in the kitchen, his father slicing bread quietly. The Cat was awakeher eyes half-open as Alfie reached to stroke her head. She twitched her ears and gave a soft mewalmost like thanks.
The vets visit was quick. The wound wasnt life-threatening, but shed need rest. They returned with antiseptic, a diet plan, and a leaflet on helping strays*”just in case.”*
Duties were sharedhis mother kept her resting spot clean, his father brought fresh water, and even Alfie helped change the bandages under supervision. Neighbours stopped by with treats or hand-drawn cards.
Days passed quietly. The Cat grew strongereating from Alfies hand, letting herself be stroked, sometimes padding to the door as if testing her new boundaries.
Then, one crisp evening, his mother opened the window wide. The Cat jumped onto the sill, paused by her water bowl, and stared outsideas if memorising the close one last time.
*”Maybe… we should let her go? She wont stay forever.”*
There was no dread in her voice nowjust quiet acceptance.
His father nodded. Alfie understood without words.
The Cat leaped downlanding softly in the dry grass before vanishing into the lilac shadows where shed been found.
By morning, the close was alive againchildren calling for her, women exchanging smiles when she reappeared near the sandpit.
Even Alfies family treated her differently nowhis mother leaving food by the door, his father spotting her first from the kitchen window, Alfie himself no longer hiding when he stroked her or played nearby.
She was still the guardian of the closefree as ever. But now, everyone knew what her presence meant. No more arguments about strays being dirty or dangerous. Theyd all seen ithow one striped cat had brought a whole street together to save something small and fragile in this big, wide world.
*Sometimes, the things we fear most are the ones that teach us the most about kindness. And so the close carried on, quieter in some ways, fuller in others. The Cat returned each evening, not as a stranger, but as kinher white paws stepping lightly over the same ground where fear once lived. Children still whispered secrets into her ears, but now Alfies mother listened too, watching from the doorway with a softness she hadnt known she had. The world had not changed, not reallybut in that small corner of it, something had shifted, quietly, like a door left open on a summer night.
