A Home for Merlin

by Sheila Jeffries

Genres: Friendship; Animals

Synopsis

As the sun dips from the sky and drizzle begins to fall, a small ginger cat finds himself homeless and alone.

Desperate for warmth and a home he scurries from house to house on the heels of a group of people delivering care packages. Each time a door is opened, the cat slips inside, and each time he is evicted. No one wants him until Theo, a gruff old man, opens his heart and home.

Abandoned and friendless but for each other, Theo and Merlin try to find a way to heal, and hope for the future. But neither can forget those they left behind. For Merlin it's young Imelda, a troubled 15-year-old girl, and Bully Boy, the feral cat that once mentored him. For Theo it's the family that no longer speaks to him. Both wonder: can forgiveness ever be found?

An inspiring, heartbreaking and uplifting story about friendship and forgiveness, and the extraordinary cat who is the most faithful of friends.

Release date: July 8, 2021

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Chapter 1

A Broken Heart

‘Out you go, cat.’

A pair of bony hands grabbed me and dumped me outside. Raindrops glistened on the doormat, soaking my soft golden paws as I turned to look reproachfully at the woman who had evicted me. Didn’t she know I had a broken heart and was desperate for a home? Didn’t she care?

She didn’t. The door slammed in my face. I could still smell the toast and coffee aroma of the bright interior. It was a cold December night and the heat of a log fire was something I craved.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been chucked out that day. I’d been following a group of fundraisers who were knocking on doors, rattling their red collecting tins, giving out stickers and talking in cheerful voices. They wore warm coats, boots and scarves. ‘Thank you very much. Thank you,’ they said as the donated coins jingled into the tin. Then a conversation would start and a door would be open – my chance to slip inside and head for the cosy fire. My fur was wet from the rain, and each time I was thrown out the ache in my ribs deepened, and loneliness throbbed in my veins.

I was a ginger cat. A NICE ginger cat.

And nobody wanted me.

I’d lost my beloved human, Imelda. It wasn’t her fault, or mine. For weeks and weeks, I’d been searching for her, living wild, running miles across country. I was only a young cat, and tonight I felt old and thin, my paws were sore, my lovely ginger fur harsh and matted. Cold wind and driving rain had made me seek shelter in this village by the sea, and the cheerful group of fundraisers had given me hope.

I charged after them as they plodded on up the street. I mustn’t lose them.

‘Here he is – still following us.’ A man with white hair, who the others called Theo, kept looking down at me, a glint of kindness in his eyes. He stooped to stroke me and I arched my back, appreciating his touch and the homely smell of his overcoat. This might be my only hope of finding a fireside. I trotted after him with my tail up.

Cats don’t give up, I told myself. A cat never gives up, not even one with a broken heart.

I pressed myself against Theo’s legs and purred. He seemed frail but his voice had a special resonance that sent tiny bubbles of pleasure coursing through me.

Again I waited for the next cottage door to open and, when it did, I shot in. Oh, the bliss! Inside was a massive iron stove and a woolly hearthrug, exactly right for a cat. I kneaded its sumptuous pile with my front paws, turning around slowly, preparing to flop down and stretch out in the delicious heat. My bones ached with the cold. I was tired, very tired, and hungry too.

In a chair by the fire was a newspaper with legs. It didn’t notice me so I focused on the glorious heat from the dancing flames.

For a few moments, I luxuriated in the warmth, listening to the clunk of coins and Theo’s low-pitched voice. ‘Thank you, my dear. And I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

‘Goodnight, Theo,’ she called and closed the door. I heard her brisk feet tapping through the hall, and then a scream. ‘A CAT! Get it out of here. You know I hate cats. Wake up, you useless lump, hiding behind yer newspaper as usual.’

I rolled over and tried to appear harmless and friendly.

‘Get rid of it, Percy.’

A startled face emerged from behind a newspaper and studied me with guarded wonder. Obviously, Percy loved cats. He wanted to touch me. But before he could even stretch out a hand, SHE snatched his newspaper and rolled it furiously into a baton. I knew exactly what a folded newspaper meant to a cat so I moved fast, my claws ripping threads from the rug. I fled to the front door and scrabbled at it, meowing piteously, praying she would open it before she swiped me.

‘Don’t hit the poor devil,’ the man called as she flung open the door. Devil? Me? I burst out of the house and fled into the night. I’d had enough. That lovely fire. A haze of warmth lingered on the tips of my coat but it hadn’t had time to seep through my dense ruff of fur. Hunger growled in my belly and I slowed to a trot. I thought of happiness and the fun I used to have. I felt miserable now. Starving and unwanted.

The fundraisers were crowding into the pub further down the road. There was laughter and the clink of glasses. I shivered as they disappeared inside. The night was bitterly cold and I hadn’t got a bed.

‘Come on, puss.’ A voice – calling me! Theo was outside, by himself, sitting on a bench. I ran to him, meowing. ‘Lost, are you?’ he asked as I gazed into his eyes. ‘That makes two of us.’ Theo was eating an enormous Cornish pasty wrapped in crackly paper. It steamed in the cold air and flakes of pastry were getting caught in his silver beard. ‘You want a bit, do you, puss?’

I meowed, and he broke off a chunk of pasty and put it on the ground for me. It had ragged cubes of peppery meat inside. I ate every bit except the lumps of tangy turnip, which I disliked. The heat of it in my tummy felt good.

‘So you like Cornish pasties, puss?’ I meowed for more and he gave me another piece. When we’d both finished, I sat looking up into the glint of his eyes.

‘That makes two of us,’ Theo said, again, and I sensed the meaning of his words. He slowly added more. ‘Lonely . . . and unwanted.’

I gazed, and began to purr deeply, knowing how it comforted humans. Theo stooped and picked me up. He unbuttoned his coat and held me against his heart. It was beating steadily and I could hear a watch ticking in his waistcoat pocket. He wasn’t who I would have chosen . . . but he would have to do. Clearly, he needed a cat, and not just any old cat. Theo needed me.

‘Where do you live then, puss?’ He fiddled with my collar. ‘You’ve lost the medallion, haven’t you?’ I leaned against him, feeling his breath in my fur as he slid the collar round. I remembered Imelda taking my collar off one day and writing my name along it with a sparkly pen. Was it still there? I hoped Theo would read it to me, and he did.

‘M . . . E . . . R . . .’ He paused, and his old eyes twinkled with forgotten fire. ‘MERLIN!’ A change came over him, a kind of light, like late afternoon sunlight flooding a garden and turning the twigs golden. ‘Merlin,’ he said again. ‘It can’t be! But strange things do happen, here in Tintagel.’

I was so pleased to hear my name. The sound of it awakened my own special light. We studied each other under the glow of a lantern above us on the wall. I began to notice things that sparkled in the night. The stars, high up and distant. The glow from cottage windows. I knew I was meant to be with Imelda. She loved me, and I’d helped her a lot just by listening and purring, and by sitting with her and waiting for her to calm down when she was upset.

But perhaps Theo would give me a home, just for now.

Theo was quiet for an expanded moment, as if he were deep under water, in the dark of his darkest thoughts.

I waited, purring.

‘Merlin,’ he said at last, in a respectful whisper. ‘A cat called Merlin. You’ve been sent to me. I’ve got a little place, with a cosy fire. Come home with me, Merlin. Come home.’ He patted his shoulder and I climbed up there, and purred in his ear.

It was good to be carried again, to cling on and feel his warmth under the thick jacket. Good to experience the rhythm of footsteps carrying me like a boat over waves. I looked around with interest, studying the night sky, like cats do. At the edge of the village were cliffs with black, mysterious rocks and the phosphorescence of the sea.

Theo’s place seemed a long way out of the village. With me on his shoulder he plodded down towards the sea, along a rocky path, the beam of his torch illuminating a wall built from sharp slates, encrusted with tough little cushions of plant life. Beyond the wall the land dipped steeply into a chasm darker than midnight. I could hear waves a long way down, sucking and splashing, and the high-frequency song of dolphins far out on the night sea. Dolphins were creatures I found interesting. I longed to sit there, on my own, in the morning sun, and communicate with them. Being a cat is brilliant, for we cats have heightened awareness and sensitivity that few humans can match or even imagine. Especially in a place like Tintagel, where the rocks and the cottage walls are storehouses of legends and stories. I could sense them, more and more, as we approached Theo’s home.

‘Nearly there, Merlin.’ He reached up and stroked my chin with his chunky thumb. He took a huge iron key from his pocket. ‘My little cave,’ he said happily and shone the torch over an extraordinary cottage, built into the cliff face. I saw tiny diamond windows and a hanging mass of creeper. Clusters of icicles glinted in its tangle of branches but even in the depths of winter the creeper bristled with hibernating life: ladybirds, moths, wild bees and sleeping sparrows; goldcrests and wrens huddling together in tightly woven nests. Around the front door the walls glittered with crystals. I had come to a place where even the stones were alive. My fur began to prickle. I slid down from Theo’s shoulder and sat close to his feet. A new home. A cosy chair. A safe place to sleep. I couldn’t wait.

But seconds later we were inside that ancient oak door and I was desperate to get out. I glimpsed the embers of a fire and two chairs. A bookshelf. I heard Theo’s concerned voice. ‘What’s the matter, Merlin? There’s nothing to be scared of.’

How could I tell him? I wailed and scrabbled. My eyes must have gone black with terror. I couldn’t possibly stay in there. I wailed and cried and, with a sigh of disappointment, Theo let me out and I vanished into the night.

Chapter 2

Imelda’s Kitten

It was the way their eyes gleamed and glittered in the firelight. A line of fierce cats on a high shelf in Theo’s living room, glaring down at me!

Naturally wary, I had spotted them before Theo managed to shut the door. Imagine being trapped in there – with them! I knew how to fight. How to bush out my fur, flatten my ears and make bloodcurdling yowls in the back of my throat. My claws were sharp, and fast, and accurate. So why was I afraid?

Upset and shaken, I scrambled up a small yew tree, the night air chilling my fur. Safe in the dense greenery, I clung to a branch, peering out between clusters of leaves.

Theo stood in the doorway in a shaft of light, calling me. ‘Merlin? Come on. Come on . . . it’s warm in here.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘I thought we were friends.’ I didn’t move. Surely he couldn’t see me hidden in the tree.

‘Come on. Puss, puss.’ He tried whistling. Then he disappeared inside and came out with a food bowl. He stood there tapping it. He lowered his voice to a whispery squeak. ‘Kitty, kitty.’

My nose twitched. Fish. I could smell fish. Yum. But I wasn’t going to move. Was it my destiny to be alone and hungry? Why were those terrible cats in there, in what might have been my new home? I stared, my neck stretched out, my whiskers tense, my heart beating furiously as I tried to see those cat faces inside. They’d been high up, on a shelf, and I couldn’t see them now. I wanted Theo. I trusted him. Why didn’t he come out and sit in the yew tree with me? Disappointed, I watched the calling and dish-tapping become less and less hopeful, and, predictably, he turned and went back inside. I stared at the firmly closed door. Moonlight glinted on its two whorls of thick glass and on the brass knocker, which was shaped like a lion’s head.

Then I saw something that made me sit up very straight. A cat flap! In the lower panel of the door. I could get in . . . or those bone-chilling cats could get out. I listened attentively. The trouble with cat flaps is that you never know who or what is going to come out, or come in.

I focused on it. Was it moving? I imagined a cat with angry eyes. It would know exactly where I was hiding.

I tensed as the main door swung open, but Theo was there again, in his slippers, without his hat, his tufts of hair silver in the lamplight. He was clutching one of those cats. Its eyes gleamed. It was rigid, like a dead cat. My fur began to prickle.

‘Come on, Merlin. I know you’re out there,’ Theo called, ‘and I know what you’re scared of: my cats. There’re not real. I brought one out to show you. It’s china.’ He tapped it with a coin and made a chinking sound. He put the stiff cat on the doorstep and gave it a push. It fell over sideways and lay deathly still, the moonlight pooled in its porcelain eyes. Not a twitch or a flicker of movement.

I was spooked. My tail had expanded to twice its usual size. I couldn’t take my eyes off the motionless body of the china cat. Theo was looking down at it as if he hoped it might come to life. With my intuition on alert, I sensed this ‘cat’ had no heat and no energy. It was cold, cold, cold. It was a nothing cat.

With that revelation, my fur subsided and I began to feel foolish. I’m a sensitive cat and my brilliantly clear eyesight plays tricks on me. I’d been the same with Imelda’s collection of teddy bears. Spooked. Until I realised they were inanimate lumps of fluff, and I got fierce with them, beating them up, even dragging them into the bathroom, or rolling them down the stairs. My tail twitched with glee at the memory.

Ashamed of my mistake, I called to Theo with a loud meow, and jumped nonchalantly out of the yew tree, my tail like a tall ship’s mast, my fur flouncing as I trotted over to him.

‘Aw, there you are. Lovely boy.’ He looked pleased, and I was glad to be welcomed. Disregarding the china cat on the floor, I rubbed my head against Theo’s legs. ‘Are you coming in now?’ he asked. He wasn’t going to force me. Trust is a soothing flow of warmth to body and soul, and I basked in it. I ran to the hearthrug. The flames were luminous. They danced for me, twisting and weaving, orange with sudden spurts of blue.

After long hours of cold, the heat was already reaching my bones. What bliss! I purred and kneaded the thick woolly rug with my front paws. Theo sat watching me, his hands wrapped around a chunky blue-and-white mug. ‘You’ve got really big paws,’ he remarked. ‘Broad and powerful. Like a Shire horse.’ He grinned. I didn’t know what a Shire horse was, but it sounded good. I was proud of my golden paws. They were soft and strong.

I love it when humans smile at me. Aware of my power to coax a smile from Theo’s rather serious face, I made a decision to behave nicely. With Imelda, I’d been a mad, tearaway kitten. That had to change. This was an old man’s cottage – polished wood, dark-red rugs, copper kettles and shelves of books. Later, I’d show Theo how I was able to pull down a book with my paw and open it, but I wouldn’t tear the pages. Books were important to humans. Books were mysterious and interesting. Imelda used to read me stories and I enjoyed looking at the pictures and trying to figure out what they were supposed to be.

I followed my nose and strolled through another door into the kitchen, and devoured the tuna Theo had put down for me. When I’d had enough, I sniffed the earthenware dish again. Another cat had used it. Then I discovered a cosy cat bed in a corner and found the same familiar scent on it, with traces of fur. Theo saw the question in my eyes. ‘That was my Josephine’s bed.’ His old eyes filled with grief. ‘She’s gone. My daughter, Sarah, took her away. She was a lovely little cat.’ He picked me up and carried me back to the fireside chair. ‘She was a sweetie. Light as air, she was – I could pick her up with one hand – and so pretty, silver-grey and white, with big, expressive eyes, like a frost fairy.’

I listened, intrigued by the passion in his voice. He tapped a photo frame, which was on the table beside his chair. ‘Here she is, see, my Josephine.’ I stared at a picture of a wispy, whimsical cat. A spark of surprise went through me. I couldn’t understand how she could be there, in a flat square of glass.

Theo seemed to know my mind. ‘I’ve lost her, Merlin,’ he confided, ‘but you’re here now, and you are marvellous. You’re a golden cat. Like the Sun King.’ He nodded and sat down with me on his lap. ‘I hope you’ll stay with me, Merlin – even if Josephine does come back. This is your home.’

I gave a deep sigh. If only I could explain how much it meant to me. I sent him the thought and, after a moment of quiet, he said, ‘You’ve been a stray for too long, Merlin, haven’t you?’

I wanted to respond but drowsiness overwhelmed me. At last I could sleep. A home. I’d found a home.

I stretched out over Theo’s warm body and allowed myself to purr, sending the vibration into his heart. A sad old heart, like a tulip with only one petal left. I gazed up at him and caught the sparkle of a teardrop on his cheek.

‘Dear cat,’ he murmured, and we touched noses, bonding for ever. I relaxed into a new wave of purring, loving the touch of his hand caressing my back. He went on and on smoothing me and I felt my coat recovering from being harsh and bristly in the cold. The rhythmic stroking was turning my ginger fur to silk.

We fell asleep together in the chair with the fire burning down into crimson caverns and snowy white flakes of ash. Outside, the night moved on, sighing with the roar of waves foaming against cliffs. Inside, a clock ticked and the wind s. . .