Get rid of the cats spirit or clear out the flat, the landlady shouted.
The room Emma had taken was small but bright. The furniture was old, yet sturdy. Mrs. Margaret Hargreaves, the owner, warned me straight away:
Im a strict sort of person. I like order, cleanliness, and quiet. If somethings wrong, tell me straight away, dont keep it to yourself.
Emma nodded. All she wanted was a peaceful night without neighbours brawls or drunken shouting. After a stint in a noisy suburb where the neighbours never gave her a moments peace, this seemed like heaven.
She settled in, and I could see that Margaret wasnt cruel, just closed off, almost silent. In her eyes lingered a kind of permanent grievance against the world, against people, perhaps against life itself.
Emma tried not to disturb her. She cooked early in the morning while Margaret still slept, moved quietly, barely turned on the TV, lived like a mouse.
Then Lila appeared.
A stray cat, gaunt and grey with sharp green eyes, showed up by the front steps, mewling plaintively as if saying, Please, take me in.
Emma couldnt resist. She carried the kitten upstairs, fed it, gave it water, and tucked it into an old towel in a cardboard box. The cat curled up, purred, and for the first time in months I saw a flicker of warmth in Emmas eyes.
Little Lila, youre a good thing.
Hiding the cat seemed easy. Margaret rarely entered Emmas room, and Lila was a quiet creatureno scratching, no prowling, just purring and napping on the windowsill.
One evening, however, a sharp voice cut through the flat:
Emma Clarke!
The tone was so chilling that Emma jumped. She stepped into the hallway where Margaret stood in the doorway, face twisted, a clump of grey fur in her hands.
What is this? Whos there?
Mrs. Hargreaves, I
Is that a cat?
The landlady shrieked as if shed spotted a snake or a rat. Her face flushed, her hands shook.
I cant stand them! Dirt! Fur everywhere! The smell!
But shes clean.
To get rid of the cats spirit, or youll have to leave the flat!
Margaret turned and slammed the door.
Emma sank onto the sofa, trembling. Lila padded over, brushed against her leg and let out a plaintive meow.
What are we going to do, love? Where will we go? Emma whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Start over again? Pack up? She felt powerless to leave; she simply didnt have the strength.
So Emma decided to stay as long as she could, and to hide the cat better. The next days turned into a covert operation. She stashed Lila in the wardrobe whenever Margarets footsteps echoed in the corridor, fed her only at dawn or dusk when the landlady was out shopping, and tucked the litter box in the far corner behind an old suitcase.
Lila seemed to understand, never meowing, just sitting silently on the windowsill, watching the street with sorrowful green eyes, as if she breathed more gently to avoid detection.
Youre a clever one, Emma whispered, stroking the warm grey back. Hold on a bit longer. Everything will work out.
But nothing improved. Margaret prowled the flat with a look as if shed been betrayed, checking every corner, sniffing around. One night she lingered at Emmas door, listening intently. Emma froze, clutching Lila to her chest, her heart hammering as if it might burst out.
Lord, just dont hear her, she thought.
Margaret lingered a minute longer, then left, the atmosphere in the flat thickening to a suffocating pressure.
During dinner Margaret ate her soup in silence, then snapped, Do you think Im a fool?
Emma choked on her tea.
I know what youve done. You havent thrown her out. Youve hidden her. Do you think I cant feel it?
Mrs. Hargreaves
Stop it! Margaret snapped up from the table. Dont lie to me. I warned you. But if youre so clever, keep her hiddenno fur, no sound! And when my grandson comes, make sure theres no cat spirit!
She stormed off, leaving Emma bewildered.
The grandson?
The next day Margaret spoke dryly about her grandson, but Emma caught a tremor of excitement in her voice.
My grandson James is coming for the holidays. Hes twelve, his parents are always working, so they send him to me. Hell arrive on Friday.
Thats nice, Emma responded, trying to sound supportive. Youve missed him, havent you?
Margaret grimaced.
Hes become a stranger, glued to his phone, never really talking to me. He comes for a week, then disappears again. Every year.
Pain cut through her words, deep and genuine.
Youre his grandmother. He loves you! Emma protested.
He loves it when the internet works, Margaret muttered, then softened, And make sure your cat is gone, understand?
Emma nodded, wondering where she could hide Lila for an entire week.
Friday came too quickly.
James arrived in the evening, a lanky teenager with headphones and a scowl. He greeted Emma curtly, slipped into his room and shut the door.
Margaret fussed about dinner, coaxed him to sit, but he stared at his phone.
James, at least eat something, she begged.
I dont want to.
I made special cutlets for you.
I said no!
Emma listened through the thin wall, her heart tightening. Poor Margaret, trying so hard, yet her grandson barely noticed her. Lila perched on the windowsill, watching the darkness outside with mournful eyes.
Hang in there, love. Just a little longer.
The next day an unexpected thing happened.
Emma stepped out for a quick bathroom break, left the bedroom door ajarthere was no lock. Lila, perhaps curious or restless, squeezed through the gap and slipped into the hallway.
When Emma returned, the cat was gone. Panic surged, cold sweat ran down her spine.
Lila! Little Lila! she shouted, darting into the corridor.
There, in the middle of the living room floor, sat James, gently stroking Lila, which was purring loudly as if a tractor had started up.
Oh, Emma breathed.
James looked up, surprised, then smiled for the first time since his arrival.
Whose cat is that?
My, Emma stammered, Im sorry, James, shes mine.
Can I pet her a bit more? he asked, his voice suddenly childlike. Shes so sweet!
Of course.
Emma was torn. Margaret could burst in any second and a huge scene would follow, but Jamess eyes were shining with genuine delight.
Just then Margaret emerged from the kitchen, froze at the sight, and stared. Emma braced herself for an explosion.
James, Margaret said quietly, are you playing with a cat?
Yes, Grandma! Look how she purrs! Can I feed her?
She hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly. Fine.
From that moment everything changed.
James never left Lilas side. He fed her, played with her, even sketched her with a pencil. He tossed his phone aside and laughed, telling Margaret about school, friends, and how hed love to have a cat of his own someday.
Margaret sat at the kitchen table, listening, and for the first time a warm glow softened her eyes.
One evening she slipped into Emmas room and said gently, Let her stay, dear. Lila brings a bit of joy to this house.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Three months passed.
James called every evening, not his parents, but his grandmother, asking about Lila, begging to see her on video call. Margaret struggled with the shaky connection, cursing the technology, Useless thing! James, can you see her?
I see her, Grandma! Hi, Lila!
The cat, hearing a familiar voice, would trot closer to the speaker, meowing as if she recognized him.
Grandma, Ill be back for the spring break, right?
Absolutely, love. Lila and I will be waiting.
They were indeed waiting. Margaret had even bought a feathered cat toy at the local shop, thinking James would love it.
Emma no longer hid in corners. She cooked alongside Margaret, sipping tea, sharing stories of her late husband, how hard life had been after he passed.
You know, Margaret, if it werent for Lila, I dont think I could have carried on.
Margaret nodded, understanding.
Animals sense when were down. They come to us without a word.
They grew close, two solitary women bound by fate and a tiny grey cat.
When spring arrived, James returned with a hefty backpack full of gifts: Lilas favourite food, a new collar with a tiny bell, and a soft bed.
Grandma, I bought everything with my own pocket money! he declared proudly.
Well done, sweetheart.
He spent the week playing with Lila in the garden, sketching, and before he left, asked, Grandma, could I stay here for the summer?
Of course, love.
Margaret hugged him, realizing happiness wasnt in silence or strict order, but in these embraces, childrens laughter, and the patter of little paws on the hallway floor.
All thanks to an unremarkable grey cat.
