The Striped Guardian of the Square
In that small square, everything was laid bare: windows faced one another, 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 mornings weighed it down with heavy dew. Come evening, the square filled with voicesboys kicked a football between the kerbs, while girls played ‘shop’ on the bench beneath the old chestnut tree. Among them, moving as though tracing a familiar map, appeared the cat: a large, striped creature with white paws and chest. She belonged to no one, yet everyone knew herMarmalade, or simply the Cat.
The children adored her like a living charmsome brought scraps of ham from home, others stroked her back or whispered secrets to her beneath the rustling leaves. The women, too, were fond of her: some left bowls of food by the doorstep, others invited her into the porch on stormy nights. Even newcomers soon noticedwithout her, something vital was missing from the daily rhythm of the square.
But there was one familyyoung Charlies mother and fatherwho saw the Cat differently: warily, even with irritation. His mother often muttered aloud:
“Its dangerous! Who knows what germs she carries? Stray animalsyou never know where theyve been!”
His father would silently agree with a glance or a sigh; he seldom spoke on such matters. Their fears were simple: cleanliness came first, and their son mustnt risk catching something from the street.
Charlie watched the Cat from the corner of his eyeif his mother noticed, hed look away or pretend to play with his toy cars. But the moment his parents turned their backs or busied themselves chatting with neighbours, hed slip after the Cat to the flowerbed or wait for her by the sandpit.
Evenings transformed the square. The sun dipped swiftly behind the rooftops, the pavement cooling beneath bare feet. The children lingered late, as if summer hadnt quite surrenderedyet the air grew sharp after dusk, sending hands into sleeves and collars up against the chill.
The Cat knew them allshe responded only to certain voices or footsteps. If Charlie called softly from behind the bushes, shed approach cautiously; if old Mrs. Whitmore tapped a spoon against a bowl by the door, shed appear faster than any other tabby in the neighbourhood.
Life moved in its usual rhythm: mornings saw schoolchildren vanish around the corner with satchels swinging, afternoons left toddlers and their grandmothers in the sandpit, and come evening, the square gathered again beneath the first-floor windows.
Occasionally, Charlies mother tried to sway the other women:
“Who knows if shes carrying some disease? If only she were a proper house cat…”
But theyd only shrug.
“Shes harmless! We keep an eye on her.”
“Without her, the mice wouldve taken over long ago!”
The conversation would fizzleno one changed their mind.
This was how things stood until one late September evening. The day had been damp after rainthe pavement mostly dried, but puddles still pooled between the paving stones, reflecting window frames. The chestnut leaves had begun to yellow, a pile of them swept beneath the swings by the wind.
Charlie played near the houses with two older girls and ones little brother. The Cat lay nearby on the warm concrete kerb by the doorstepshe always sought the warmest spots as evening fell.
Then, from the direction of the garages, came a low, muffled barkfirst one sharp sound, then another in quick succession. The children froze by the swings; even the adults by the door turned at once.
A dog rounded the cornera large black mongrel with a torn collar, its hackles raised. It moved fast, jerky, as if searching for someone among the crowd.
Charlie stood rooted, then stepped back behind the older girl.
“Dont worry, itll go…”
But the dog came too quicklythe children retreated toward the houses, calling for the grown-ups. Charlies mother rushed out first.
“Come here!”
She sprinted across the damp grass toward her son. His father, in the kitchen, hadnt yet noticed the danger.
Then, without warning, the Cat sprang forwardlow to the ground, straight at the dog, so fast even the adults faltered at the suddenness. The dog veered from the children, bared its teeth, and chased her past the sandpit, through the bushes along the garage wallout of the lamplights reach.
The boy was safethe dog vanished with its quarry, leaving the children trembling, staring where their striped guardian had fled.
Charlies 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 swiftly even for the sharpest eyes to follow.
As dusk settled and the square quieted, the children searchedaround the doorsteps, the benches, the bushes where she once lounged. Boys peered beneath cars; adults shone phone torches into shadowed corners, calling her name.
Beneath the thick lilac bush, where fallen leaves gathered, Charlie spotted her firstthe striped flank, the twisted posture, the white patch of her belly barely visible in the dew-laced grass. She breathed heavily, blinking slowly, her eyes half-lidded. The children gathered; the adults knelt in a circleno one dared touch her until Mrs. Whitmore carefully lifted her, wrapped in a jacket to shield her wound.
In the flat where the Cat was taken, neighbours crowded. Charlies mother held him back but didnt look away. His father stood aside, phone in hand, searching for the nearest vet.
The Cat lay on an old towel, curled tightly. The wound on her side wasnt deep but long, her fur matted with blood. The women fetched iodine, bandages, and cotton wool; someone set out water in case she could drink. As they tended to her, whispers circledwhere was the nearest clinic? Could they get there tonight?
Charlie watched, wide-eyedhed never seen the adults so focused on another creature. Even his mother, usually so stern about strays, now steadied the Cats paw with surprising gentleness.
“Hold her firm… But gently…” she murmured.
The room smelled of damp fur and iodine. Outside, night had fallen. Charlies father slipped into the hall and returned with a clean bedsheet, spreading it beside the towel.
“The vet will see her first thing tomorrowno appointment needed,” he said quietly.
“Thank you…”
For the first time, there was something new in his mothers voicean acknowledgment that this stray cat needed their help. The shared urgency bound them closer than words ever could.
“Lets keep her here tonight and take her to the clinic at dawn,” he suggested.
“Yes, thats safest.”
They lifted her, towel and all, onto the sheet and carried her to their flat.
The night was uneasy. Charlie lay awake, listening for any sound from the next room. His mother checked oftenadjusting the towel, refreshing the water.
Morning came early, before sunrise. The kettle hissed in the kitchen; his father sliced bread near-silently. The Cat lay stillhalf-lidded eyes flickering as Charlie reached to stroke her head. A faint mew escaped her, almost like thanks.
The vet saw them quicklyMrs. Whitmore came too. The wound wasnt life-threatening, he said, but shed need rest and care for days. They left with antiseptic, dietary instructions, and a leaflet on aiding strays”just in case,” the vet said.
Back home, duties were shared: his mother kept the space clean, his father fetched food and water, even Charlie helped change the bandages under watchful eyes. Neighbours visited, bearing treats or hand-drawn cards.
Days passed quietly. The Cat improved faster than expectedher fur drying, her appetite returning, her gaze regaining its old alertness.
One cool evening, his mother pushed the window wide to air the room. The Cat approached the sill, paused by her water bowl, and stared outas if memorising the squares every scent.
“Maybe… we should let her go. She wont stay forever.”
There was no fear left in his mothers voiceonly the softness of releasing an old friend after a long visit.
His father nodded. Even Charlie understood.
With a leap, Marmalade vanished into the twilightlanding softly on the dry grass before melting into the lilac shadows where shed been found.
By morning, the square buzzed againeveryone searching for their striped guardian. When she reappeared near the sandpit at noon, the children cheered; the women exchanged knowing smiles.
Even Charlies family treated her differently nowhis mother left food by the door, his father spotted her first from the kitchen window, and the boy no longer hid his fondness.
The Cat remained, as ever, the squares free-spirited guardianbut now, everyone knew the worth of her presence. No more debates over cleanliness or dangertheyd all witnessed the small miracle of one striped cat uniting a neighbourhood to save a life, however fragile, in this vast world.
