The Uninvited Cat
Today, Emily moved into her own flat. It didnt matter that it was small or on the outskirts of London. The ground floor of the three-storey building was so low that stepping over the windowsill landed you straight in the garden. The twelve-square-metre room held a bed, a double-door wardrobe, a coffee table, and two chairs. The kitchen was just big enough for a table, a sink cupboard, a stooland nothing else. A tiny flat, but hers.
Emily had bought it with her inheritance from Aunt Margaret, who had adored her for her easygoing nature and eagerness to help. The money only covered this placethere were no other options in the city for the price.
“Its a lovely flat, bright and well-located,” the estate agent had said. “Perfect for one.”
“For one, yes,” Emily had agreed. “But I still need to find somewhere for the fridge…”
She spent the day scrubbing, dusting, and polishing. By evening, everything gleamed, her belongings were neatly arranged, and the kettle whistled on the stove. Her dishes sat on the wide windowsill. Emily circled her new domain again and again, trying to figure out where the fridge might go.
Night fell. Tea was drunk, but the fridges future home remained a mystery.
Emily climbed into bed, pulled the duvet tight, and let the chirping crickets outside lull her to sleep.
A crash from the kitchen jolted her awake. She grabbed her phonethree in the morning. Dark. Still night. Burglars? A ghost? The wind?
Tiptoeing to the door, she peered into the kitchen.
The dishes from the windowsill were scattered across the floor. Her favourite mug had split cleanly in two, and between the halves sat a cat.
An ordinary tabby. Only enormous. It stared at her calmly.
“Where did you come from?”
The cat glanced at the window, as if answering.
“Well, go back!” She flapped her hands at it. In one leap, the cat bypassed her and landed on the bed, settling in as if it belonged there.
Morning found them bothEmily on the chair, the cat on the bed. At six, the uninvited guest stretched, yawned, and vanished.
The day passed in a flurry of unpacking.
By evening, Emily remembered the intruder. She stashed the dishes in the cupboard and shut the window, certain this would keep the furry visitor out.
But at exactly three in the morning, rustling came from outside. The same cat perched on the windowsill, pressing its forehead to the glass, its heavy gaze fixed on her.
“Stay there, then,” she muttered, going back to bed.
Morning brought a weight on her legs. She stretched and opened her eyesthe cat lay across her feet.
“Oh, you!” She swung a pillow at it. The cat yawned and sauntered to the open windowwhich she had definitely closed the night before.
The next night, Emily stayed awake, determined to catch the trespasser. She turned off the lights, perched on a chair by the window, and watched the garden. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, picking out shapes. Trees swayed, crickets hummed, her eyelids grew heavy, her legs warm…
She woke up still in the chair, the cat rumbling loudly on her lap.
“Fine. If I cant beat you, Ill join you. Every home needs a man, I suppose. Ill make room.”
From then on, the cat stayed day and night.
When the long-awaited fridge arrived, Emily still hadnt decided where to put it. The cat solved the problemit sat in the hallway corner and yowled until she took measurements. Perfect fit.
The fridge became the cats kingdom. It slept, ate, and groomed up there, practically living on it.
One evening, the cat acted strangely. It leapt down, circled the fridge, jumped back up, fidgeted, then froze in a sphinx-like pose.
“Calmed down?” Emily asked. “Good. Sleep.”
The cat didnt move.
A piercing howl shattered the night, tearing Emily from sleep.
The cat stood atop the fridge, wailingno ambulance siren could compete.
“Whats wrong? Are you ill?”
It arched its back, howling relentlessly, ignoring her pleas. Then it leapt down and pressed against her leg. At the same moment, sparks crackled behind the fridge. Smoke curled up. The cat scrambled to the door, clawing franticallyoutside, the fuse box waited. Emily flipped the switch, killing the power, and threw open the windows.
“Electrician tomorrow. But for nowsleep. Thank you, kitty. What would I have done without you?”
By morning, the cat was gone.
It didnt return that evening.
Or the next day.
Some called it coincidence. Some said Aunt Margaret had sent help. Emily knewit had been her guardian angel. That cat had walked into her flat, and her life, like it owned both.
