**A Mother’s Heart**
“Mum, whos Agnes? Is she our mistress? Then why does she feed us so poorly?” Tiny curious eyes stared up at Sima, waiting for an answer. “No, my dear, shes no mistress of ours. Just a frail, sick old woman. She doesnt know what shes doing…” “Mum, will the big cats eat me too, like they did my sister?” whispered Ginger, trembling with fear. Sima sighed heavily. “No, my love, they wont eat you! I promise!” She began licking her beloved, now only child, and slowly, Ginger calmed and dozed off.
Sima had been born in the cellar of a towering block of flats. There were four kittens in her litter. Her mother had been youngtoo youngand when another tomcat came prowling, she abandoned her kittens without a second thought. Still, Sima remembered her with gratitude. Despite her flightiness, she had nursed them, taught them to eat on their own. After she vanished, the kittens crept out of the cellar into the harsh world beyond. At first, they huddled together in the courtyard where kind souls sometimes left scraps. But time passed… Grey Brother was struck by a carriage, Tiger was torn apart by hounds. Sima wept over their lifeless bodies until the groundskeeper chased her away, scooping their small forms onto his spade and tossing them into the bin. Her sisters fate remained a mystery.
Growing older, Sima learned the brutal laws of the streets. She kept to herself, silent and unseen. Then, one day, she found hell itself.
Agnes.
She met her by the refuse bins, where the old woman rummaged with frantic interest, stuffing odd treasures into her tattered sack. Agnes fixed Sima with a wild stare and crooned, “Puss, puss, come ‘ere!” No one had taught Sima to fear toothless old women, so she approached, hoping for food. In an instant, bony fingers clamped around her, and she was whisked away to a nightmare.
The flat reeked of filth. Piles of soiled clothes, mountains of unwashed dishes, the stench of waste, swarms of flies and roaches. And catsdozens of them. Gaunt, sickly, trembling. A few, though, were strong, viciousAgness favourites. Why she kept the others, no one knew.
Simas life became one of hunger and terror. Starvation was constant, as was the horror of watching sickly cats die or grown toms devour newborn kittens before Agnes could drown them. She found a dark corner and clung to it.
Then came the day she realisedshe would be a mother. There had been a tom on the streets, handsome and fleeting in his affections. Now, in this wretched place, her children would be born.
She bore them silentlytwo perfect kittens: a black girl, like her father, and a ginger boy, the very image of herself. Pearl and Ginger.
She guarded them fiercely. But hunger drove the other cats closer, and the kittens, now curious, dared to stray. The memory of that day haunted Sima. Exhausted, she had dozed for only a momentthen came Pearls shrill cry, the sickening crunch of tiny bones. Her baby had wandered out. Sima snarled, fur bristling, ready to tear into the toms throatuntil she heard Gingers voice. “Mum… did they eat Pearl?” She turned. His wide, terrified eyes stared back. If she died now, who would protect him?
“Well escape,” she whispered through tears. “Ill save you.”
The chance came with a thunderous knock. “Open up! Police!” Agnes flinched, panicked. The officers wouldnt leave. As the door creaked open, a flash of ginger darted pastSima, gripping Ginger in her mouth, fleeing down the stairs.
Boris looked into her pain-clouded eyes and wept. He understood. “Dont worry,” he murmured. “Ill care for him. Hell be safe.” Beside him, Ginger purred softly, licking his mothers face. Sima was dying. Her heart, broken by loss, could bear no more.
Rain fell the day she passed. Boris buried her beneath an oak tree, then stood with Ginger, remembering. It had been a dark time for himhis parents, lost in a carriage accident. Duty called him to that reeking flat, to the mad old woman and the desperate ginger cat clutching her kitten. She couldnt open the door. Her eyes pleaded.
“Run away, did you?” he had said softly. “I dont blame you. Come home with me.” He opened his door. She followed.
He called her “my beauty.” Ginger kept his name. Boris gave them warmth, safetya grand cat tree, the finest foods. When Sima fell ill, he begged her to stay. But her eyes, dull and distant, asked only for release.
Now, as the rain ceased, a rainbow arched over the oak grove. Boris lifted Ginger, kissed his damp nose. “Well manage, little one.”
Two wounded hearts, but not alonea strong, grieving man and a tiny ginger kitten, stepping forward together.
