If theres any cat spirit left, get out of the flat shouted the landlady.
The room Ethel rented was tiny but bright. The furniture was old, but solid. The landlady, MrsMargaret Hughes, laid out her rules straight away:
Im a strict sort of person. I like order, cleanliness, quiet. If anythings wrong, tell me straight away, dont keep it to yourself.
Ethel nodded. All she wanted was a peaceful nights sleep, no neighbour brawls or drunken shouting. After a string of noisy council estates, this quiet flat on the edge of Manchester felt like paradise.
She moved in, tried to make a good impression. Margaret turned out not to be cruel, just very closedoff, almost mute. There was a permanent look of hurt in her eyes, as if the world had let her down.
Ethel did her best not to get in the way. She cooked early while Margaret was still in bed, moved around quietly, hardly ever turned the TV on. She lived like a mouse.
Then one day Milly appeared. Not a stray, but a skinny grey cat with sharp green eyes. Shed been sitting on the footpath, meowing plaintively, as if saying, Please, take me in. Ethels heart melted.
She scooped Milly up, fed her, gave her a drink, and set her down in an old towelfolded box. The cat curled up, purred, and for the first time in months Ethel felt something inside her thaw.
Milly, my sweet girl, was easy to hide. Margaret rarely entered Ethels room, and Milly was the perfect quiet petno scratching, no dashing about, just purring and napping on the sill.
One evening, however, Margarets voice cut through the hallway, sharp as ice.
Ethel!
She stood in the doorway, face twisted, a clump of grey fur in her hands.
What is this? Whos that in my flat?
MrsHughes, I
A cat?!
She shrieked as if someone had brought a snake into the house. Her face flushed, hands shaking.
I cant stand them! Filth! Fur everywhere! The smell!
But shes clean.
Get rid of it, or Ill have you out of this flat!
She stormed off, slamming the door. Ethel sank onto the sofa, trembling. Milly padded over, brushed against her leg, and let out a soft meow.
What are we going to do, love? Ethel whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. Where will we go?
Should she start again, pack up, move? She couldnt just leaveshe was exhausted, worn out.
So Ethel decided: as long as Margaret didnt force her out, shed stay, and shed hide the cat even better.
The next few days turned into a covert operation. Every time Margarets footsteps echoed down the hallway, Ethel shoved Milly into the wardrobe. She fed her only early in the morning or late at night when Margaret was out shopping. The litter box was tucked away in the far corner, behind an old suitcase.
Milly seemed to understand. She never meowed, just sat quietly on the sill, watching the street with those sad green eyes, as if she were breathing extra softly so as not to be caught.
Youre a clever one, Ethel murmured while stroking Millys warm grey back. Hang on a bit longer. Everything will sort itself out.
But nothing sorted.
Margaret prowled the flat with a look of betrayal, sniffing every corner. One afternoon she even stopped at Ethels door, listening for any sound.
Ethel froze, clutching Milly tight, heart pounding like a drum. Please, dont hear us.
Margaret lingered a minute longer, then left, but the atmosphere stayed heavy.
At dinner, Margaret ate her soup in silence, eyes glued to the bowl. Then, suddenly:
Do you think Im a fool?
Ethel choked on her tea.
I get it. You didnt kick the cat out; you hid her. You think I dont feel it?
Margaret, please! she snapped, standing up. Stop lying to me. I warned you. If youre so clever, just keep her hidden. No hair, no noise! And when my grandson comes, make sure theres no cat spirit lingering!
She stormed back to her room, leaving Ethel bewildered.
Grandson?
The next day Margaret mentioned the boy. Her voice was dry, but there was a tremor she hadnt shown beforea mix of nervousness and worry.
Ilyas coming for the holidays. Hes twelve, his parents are always busy, so he stays with me. He arrives on Friday.
Thats nice! Ethel tried to be upbeat. Youve missed him, havent you?
Margaret grimaced.
Missed him? Hes practically a stranger now, glued to his phone. He barely talks to me. He comes for a week, then is gone. Every year, the same.
A genuine hurt slipped into her tone.
But youre his grandmother! He loves you!
Loves? He probably doesnt even care, as long as the WiFi works.
She fell silent, then added quietly:
And make sure your cat is gone. Understand?
Ethel nodded, already wondering where to stash Milly for a whole week.
Friday came faster than expected. Ilya walked in that eveningtall, lanky, headphones in, a bored expression. He gave a curt hello and disappeared into his room.
Margaret fussed about dinner, calling him to sit, but he slumped at the table, eyes glued to his phone.
Eat something, Ilya, she begged.
No thanks.
I made your favourite meatballs.
I said no!
Ethel, tucked in her own room, heard it all through the thin wall, her heart squeezing for the poor lady. Meanwhile, Milly perched on the sill, watching the dark outside with mournful eyes.
Hang in there, girl. Just a little longer.
The next morning, an unexpected thing happened.
Ethel popped into the bathroom for a quick wash, left the bedroom door ajarthere was no lock. Milly, perhaps feeling restless, slipped through the crack and trotted down the hallway.
When Ethel returned, the cat was gone. Panic surged, cold sweat down her spine.
Milly! she shouted, darting into the hallway, and froze.
Right there in the living room, on the carpet, sat Ilya, gently stroking Milly, who was purring so loudly it sounded like a small engine revving.
Oh! Ethel breathed out.
Ilya looked up, surprised, then smiled for the first time since arriving.
Whose cat is that?
Mine, Ethel stammered, cheeks burning. Im sorry, I didnt mean
Can I pet her a bit longer? he asked, his voice suddenly childlike. Shes so soft!
Of course.
Ethel was torn. Margaret would explode any second, but Ilyas face lit up with pure delight. Before she could decide, Margaret stepped out of the kitchen, saw the scene, and froze.
Ethel braced herself for a blast.
Ilya, Margaret said softly. Are you playing with the cat?
Yes, Grandma! Look how shes purring! Can I feed her?
She looked at her grandson, then gave a slow nod.
You may.
From that moment everything shifted.
Ilya never left Millys side. He fed her, played, even tried sketching her with a pencil. He tossed his phone aside, laughed, and told Margaret about school, friends, and how hed love a cat of his own one day.
Margaret, sitting at the kitchen table, finally let a warm smile creep onto her face.
One evening she walked over to Ethels room.
Let her stay, she whispered. Your Milly. Shes brought a bit of joy into this house.
A single tear rolled down Margarets cheek.
Three months later, Ilya called every evening, not his parents but his grandmother, asking to see Milly on video chat. Margaret fumbled with the phone, cursing the poor technology, but eventually managed.
I can see her, Grandma! Hi Milly!
Milly would purr louder, leaning into the speaker as if she recognised his voice.
Ill be back for the spring break, right? Ilya asked.
Absolutely, love. Milly and I will be waiting.
They even bought a little feather wand for the cat from the local shop. Ilya proudly announced hed bought it with his own pocket money.
When spring arrived, Ilya returned with a big backpack full of treats, a new collar with a tiny bell, and a soft bed.
Grandma, I bought all this myself! he beamed.
Well done, dear.
He spent the week frolicking with Milly, drawing her, and running around the garden. Before leaving, he asked:
Can I come back for the summer, maybe stay longer?
Of course you can!
Margaret hugged him tightly, realising happiness wasnt found in spotless rooms or strict rules, but in the laughter of a boy and the gentle purr of a grey cat.
All because of a modest little cat that turned two lonely women into friends.
