Adele slept at the end of Janet’s bed as she always did. Rising through the levels of sleep, Janet could hear her purring. Daylight drifted gently in to her eyes, as she remembered. In a care home now, she did not know what had happened to dear Adele. Poor cat, running out the door as the cat charity tried to catch her. Maybe she found a new warm bed to sleep on. Maybe they would be together again one day.

**

Hannah tidied the living room, singing softly to herself. Greystone Cottage was her dream house. The old lady who had lived here had kept it beautifully, however it had been such fun renovating, bringing modern day mutes to this delightful little home.

Hannah stopped. It was there again. A cat’s whisker on the table. She had no pet, so where were the whiskers coming from? She looked round as if she knew she was being watched.

She was not alone. But it did not feel creepy.

**

Janet smiled as she watched television, her mind drifting easily to the past. So many memories, so many stray thoughts battling for precedence. But her most precious recollections, jewels in the bottomless handbag of her mind, were of sweet Adele. What a character, what a companion.

**

Hannah rose through the layers of silent sleep, the peace broken by the sound of purring. She rolled over. Such a lovely sound, the root of relaxation. Sleep evaporated, and she sat up abruptly. Purring? Did she really hear it? All was quiet to her listening ears.

**

Janet slept more and more these days, memories melding in to dreams and reality fading in to a collage of days gone by. Adele was by her side more often, although when she opened her eyes she was not there. However the purring continued. Always there, a hum in her mind, honey to her heart.

**

Hannah woke more and more often to the sound of purring. It had become a comfort. She decided it was just the dregs of her dreams: nothing more.

But the purring continued.

**

Janet slept more deeply these days. Dreams dictated her waking thoughts, as reality receded. Sometimes she thought of Adele, at other times she forgot, hearing purring that made no sense.

The sound of her mind unwinding, a lullaby to ancient ears.

**

Hannah found a whisker on the sofa , and an imprint, the shape of a small cat … Did she have a feline ghost? If so, she did not mind. The purring at night was a part of her life now.

**

Janet closed her eyes. Sleep was her favourite activity these days, a dreamworld where she was young again. Today was no different, her younger, fitter self strolling through a garden. Adele came running, tail up and delighted to see her. It felt so good to pet her cat again.

Adele looked in to her eyes, feline smiles in her stare.

The dream became real, as Janet breathed one last time. Then she was still.

**

It took several days for Hannah to realise that she no longer heard purring in her dreams. The house felt different, emptier. Weeks later, no more whiskers had appeared, and the purring was gone for good.

It didn’t feel right. But she knew what she would do.

The rescue centre was full of anxious animals, all staring senselessly, their eyes beseeching her to return their gaze. But she knew the one for her straight away, a small grey and white kitten. As they arrived home, she thought she heard distant purring. Then it was gone, replaced by a real purr as Alfred emerged from the cat basket.

That night, Hannah fell asleep to the sound of purring, alone no more. The house slumbered in peace: no unseen souls graced its corridors. Alfred turned over, then purred once more.

Far away in an unseen world, an old lady and her cat slept together to the sweetest dreams. A cat’s purr lasts forever.

Rachel H Grant
Dec 2016

By Rachel H Grant

It had been a busy day. Fatigue unfurling in his eyes, Michael drove slowly home, savouring the anticipation of a cool beer. The monotony of the country roads relaxed his mind, a path of predictability.

A shadow accosted his eye. Michael braked as a limping animal slowly edged across the road. Conscience cut in to his heart like a knife, and reluctantly he opened his door. A black and white cat shivered at the verge, pain shrieking from its green eyes.

Gently he enfolded the cat in his arms, and felt it turn rigid, pain paralysing its features. Setting the cat on the back seat, he quickly consulted his phone for the nearest 24 hour veterinary practice. There was an animal hospital only three miles away, a welcoming light in the night as he slowly approached. There was silence from the back seat.

Michael never found out the cat’s fate. He left her at the hospital, giving the receptionist his credit card details. Then his busy life took over, and he thought of the cat no more.

Two months later he suddenly remembered the animal, and for one second wondered how it was. As he drove home, sleep attacked his tired eyes. He fantasised about the cool beer awaiting him, lacing his throat with liquid ice.

A shadow hit his windshield, and green eyes tore in to his soul. Then it was gone. Abruptly braking, he sat for a few seconds in shock. That was when it happened.

A car appeared out of the low mist, spinning out of control in the road, cutting through the air like a madman’s knife. Then it stopped, a figure huddled over the wheel like a ghost.

It had missed him by inches. If he had not braked …

Approaching the car, he discovered the figure behind the wheel to be an auburn-haired woman, unconscious but breathing. Waiting for the ambulance, the eyes of the earlier creature tore in to his soul, a message of terror within.

This time he did follow up with the local hospital, and was pleased to discover that the woman, having suffered a mild heart attack, was none the less on the mend.

Now he could forget the incident: if it was not for the memory of those feline eyes. One day he would see them again, he was sure of it. And one day, somewhere in the fog of the future, there would be no happy ending.

So Michael drove home each night, the twists and turns of the country road reflecting his turmoil as he considered the frailty of life. Some days a cold beer awaited him at the end of the journey. But it could not appease the chill in his heart, or hide him from the waxing eyes of tomorrow.

Yes it is that time of year again – the local Cats Protection open day! Three hours of feline bliss, home bakes, cat toys, and the ever popular tombola. But the many kittens stole the show with their frolics and overall cute factor. My favourite however is the first cat pictured below: the dignified Daisy, a friendly girl who gave dainty head butts.

Doodles and feline dreams. The new mindfulness routine is bliss!

The soft perfume followed her inside, a sighing fragrance of yesterday.

Janice had slowly watered the flowerbed, religiously but without relish: seeds of a new world beneath her feet, spring signing a lease of new life. A tear formed in her eye. Under the seeds, sorrow spiking her heart, lay the remains of beautiful tabby cats Georgie and Gina.

Their glowing fur fading in the sunset of her mind. So she tended the seeds each day, and tried to recall.

Spring matured like a girl uncertainly clutching at womanhood, confidence unfurling. Above the adolescent shoots, two daffodils danced to a gentle beat, a silent sigh in their nodding heads.

Janice had not planted them, stray bulbs blown on a wizard wind. Each day she watched them, ballerinas in time to a spring symphony. She stroked their sleek stems, a smile turning upside down as she noticed the cat fur beneath. Tabby fur.

Janice picked it up and felt the smooth comfort of memory returning.

The daffofils swayed conspiratorially, whispering in the wind. That night she dreamed of them, two daffodils stroking her arms, confiding in her, feline power in their yellow gaiety. When she woke, there was tabby fur in her hands.

The daffodils became the highlight of her garden; each day she tended them, and each day her heart felt easier. Their spring sunshine suffused her soul with hope. She began to speak to them, and in her head felt the presence of Georgie and Gina.

Weeks passed, the daffodils wilted, victims to the relentless rhapsody of time. She tended the empty shells one last time. Pawprints appeared in the earth beneath the sagging stems.

The daffodils were gone. But they remained in her dreams. Daffodil dust shone on her pillow, the dying fragrance of days gone by.

Feline doodles, colour collage, perfect pastime to unwind. From: “Cats: Colouring for Mindfulness.”

Aberdeen has succumbed to the latest trend of “cat cafes.” As a cat lover, I had to see it for myself.

The main cafe space was a pussy paradise of climbing walls, soft cat beds and toys. Some cats were sleeping, a not to be disturbed sign on their frozen features, the house rules strictly prohibiting the picking up of resting cats. However others were more lively, playing with the visitors, happy witnesses to a private feline party of fun, frolics and feline antics.

Two friends hug as they share a dream of feline heaven.

Zues enjoyed serious fun with a ball, showing off his skill to an enchanted audience.

Even the crockery was feline in nature, a venue where the smallest touches were stitches in a feline tapestry of indulgent delight.

Looking for a gift for a cat lover?

Nineteen sonnets of purple purrs and feline frolics. “Tom Cat” by Elizabeth Reinach is an intellectually inspired ode to all cats.The hero, Tom Cat, strides from sonnet to sonnet with unneutered pride and delinquent disdain: true feline poetry in motion.

Each sonnet begins with a line from Shakespeare. Most poems are narrated by Tom’s frustrated owner, a Director of Finance, who attempts to impose daily law and order on his cat: but the strongwilled sir has other ideas!

Contemporary concerns mix with domestic disgrace. From female conquests to stolen delicacies, scratching noble visitors to biting feet in bed, hunting trophies that cause hysteria to credit crunch pet food, Tom’s antics warm the heart and the words that weave his tale satisfy the intellect.

Extremely well written, this is a unique collection of at times funny, at times philosophical, but always eloquent, soundly structured sonnets.

My favourite poem is the final one: Heaven.com, in which the narrator muses on his own future passing, stating firmly that:

“When I sign on to Heaven.com, My password will be ILOVETOM.”

This sonnet marks a beautiful end to the collection, and one which sticks on the heart like a post-it note promise from the future.

All proceeds from “Tom Cat” go to Aberdeen branches of Cats Protection. To purchase a copy of the book, please contact Keith Murray Advertising. www.malfranteaux.co.uk

The book will also be on sale in local stockists, including Books n Beans, Belmont Street, Aberdeen: where it is formally launched at 6.30 pm on Thursday January 28th 2016.

This Christmas and its feline-themed presents.

Two years since I hung up my mop bucket and broom, I remember fondly a decade and a year of volunteering at the local cat shelter. So many feline friendships, some fleeting, some etched in time like a memory engraved on your heart.

I recall gentle grey giant Tyson, an elderly gentleman later diagnosed with thyroid disease; the turbulent team of Spritzer, Tango and Morgan – the most charming feral kittens ever, the pens were their playground and fun resounded in the air; dignified black and white Cleo and Jess, the longest residents when I first started in 2002; playful kittens Bubble and Squeak, and so many many more.

But the sweetest memory of all was meeting my own cat Tessa, so shy and startled when first at the shelter, nerves and affection competing as she pondered each new volunteer to enter her pen. She has blossomed over the last few years, confidence clawing away the debris of trauma. There can be no greater joy than the love of a pet.

Here Tessa is with her catnip mouse.