The Striped Guardian of the Square
In this neighbourhood, everything was out in the open: windows faced each other, children knew not just their neighbours names but their habits, and adults noted who left and returned home at what time. By late September, the grass still clung to its green, though mornings left it flattened under the weight of heavy dew. As evening fell, the square filled with voicesboys kicked a football between the kerbs, girls set up a makeshift «shop» on a bench beneath an old chestnut tree. Moving smoothly among them, as if following a familiar map, was a cat: large, striped, with white patches on her paws and chest. She belonged to no one, yet everyone knew herTabby, or simply the Cat.
The children treated her like a living talisman, offering scraps of ham from home, stroking her back, or whispering secrets as the wind rustled. The women, too, were fond of her: some left bowls of food by the door, others invited her into the porch on stormy nights. Even newcomers soon noticedwithout this cat, something vital seemed missing from the daily rhythm.
But one family saw her differently: a mother, her son Alfie, and his father. They watched Tabby with wariness, even irritation. The mother often said aloud:
«Its not safe! Who knows what germs shes carrying? Strays come from who knows where!»
The father silently agreed with a glance or a sigh; he rarely spoke about animals at all. Their concern was simple: cleanliness first, their child must play without risk of catching something «from the street.»
Alfie stole glances at the cat when his parents werent looking. If his mother noticed, hed quickly look away or pretend to play with his toy cars. But the moment their backs were turnedchatting with neighbours by the doorhed follow Tabby to the flowerbed or wait for her by the sandpit.
Evenings transformed the square. The sun dipped fast behind the rooftops, the pavement cooled. Children lingered late, as if summer hadnt quite leftyet the air grew sharply colder after sunset, making them huddle into jackets or tuck hands into sleeves.
Tabby knew everyone here: she responded only to certain voices or footsteps. If Alfie called softly from behind the bushes, shed approach cautiously. If Mrs. Margaret tapped a spoon against a bowl by the door, shed arrive faster than any other stray in the area.
Life flowed predictably: schoolchildren vanished around the corner each morning, toddlers and grandparents took over the sandpit by afternoon, and by evening, the square gathered again under the glow of a first-floor window.
Occasionally, Alfies mother tried to sway the other women:
«No one knows if shes carrying diseases! If she were a proper pet…»
But theyd only shrug:
«Shes harmless! We keep an eye on her.»
«Without her, wed have mice everywhere!»
The conversation would fizzle out, leaving everyone unmoved.
Then came an evening in late September. The air was damp from recent rain, puddles still clinging between the paving stones. Chestnut leaves yellowed visibly, some already blown into piles beneath the swings.
Alfie played near the house with two older girls and ones little brother. Tabby sprawled nearby on the warm concrete edging by the doorher favourite spot as the day cooled.
Suddenly, a deep bark echoed from the garage block: one sharp sound, then another. The children froze; even the adults by the door turned at once.
A dog burst into viewa large black mongrel with a torn collar, hackles raised. It moved erratically, as if searching for someone among the crowd.
Alfie stumbled back behind the older girl. «Dont worry, itll go away…»
But the dog advanced too fast. The children scrambled toward the house, calling for help. Alfies mother sprinted across the wet grass: «Get over here!» His father, still in the kitchen, hadnt noticed yet.
Then Tabby moved. She shot forward, low to the ground, straight at the dogso fast the adults barely registered it. The dog whirled, bared its teeth, and chased her past the sandpit, through the bushes along the garage wall, beyond the reach of the streetlight.
The danger was gone. The children stood shaking, staring where their striped guardian had vanished.
Alfies mother clutched him tightly, feeling his heart hammer through his coat. «Its alright… Its alright…»
But no one saw where Tabby went. The dusk deepened; the square grew quiet. Children searched by the benches, adults shone phone torches under cars, calling her name.
Alfie spotted her firstunder the lilac bush where leaves collected after the wind. Her striped side heaved, paws stretched stiffly, white belly trembling in the dew. She breathed unevenly, eyes half-lidded. The children gathered; adults knelt in a circle as Mrs. Margaret carefully lifted her, wrapping her in a jacket to avoid the wound.
In the flat where Tabby was taken, the mood was tense. Alfies mother held him back but didnt look away. His father scrolled his phone for nearby vets.
Tabby lay on a frayed towel, wound tight. The gash on her side wasnt deep but long, fur matted with blood and damp. The women found iodine and bandages; someone set water nearby. As they cleaned the wound, whispers flew about vet clinics and opening hours.
Alfie watched wide-eyedhed never seen adults so focused on another creature. Even his mother, usually strict about strays, now steadied Tabbys paw, murmuring, «Hold still… Gently now…»
The room smelled of wet fur and antiseptic. Outside, night settled fully. Alfies father returned with a clean bedsheet, spreading it beside the towel. «The vetll see her first thing tomorrow,» he said quietly.
«Thank you.»
For the first time, her voice held something new: acknowledgment that this stray cat mattered.
«Well keep her here tonight,» he offered.
«Yes. Thats best.»
They transferred Tabby carefully to their flat.
Alfie lay awake, listening for any sound from the next room. His mother checked often, adjusting the towel, refreshing the water.
Morning came early. The kettle hissed; his father sliced bread soundlessly. Tabbys eyes flickered open as Alfie stroked her headshe gave a faint mew, as if thanking him.
The vet visit was swift. Mrs. Margaret joined them. The wound wasnt life-threatening, but rest was needed. They left with antiseptic instructions, a soft-food diet, and a stray-care leaflet»just in case.»
Back home, duties were shared: his mother kept the space clean, his father brought fresh water, even Alfie helped change bandages under watch. Neighbours visited with treats or handmade cards.
Days blurred. Tabby improved faster than expectedher fur dried, her appetite returned, her steps steadied.
One crisp evening, his mother opened the window to air the room. Tabby hopped onto the sill, paused by her water bowl, and gazed out as if memorising the squares every scent.
«Maybe… let her go? She wont stay forever.»
His mothers voice held no judgement nowjust quiet resolve.
His father nodded. Alfie understood.
Tabby leaped onto the dry grass below, vanishing into the lilac shadows where shed been found.
By morning, the square buzzed again. When she reappeared near the sandpit at noon, children rushed to greet her; women exchanged smiles across the distance.
Even Alfies family treated her differently nowhis mother left food by the door, his father spotted her first from the kitchen window, and Alfie no longer hid his affection.
Tabby remained the squares free-spirited guardian. But everyone now knew her worth. No more debates over «cleanliness» or straystheyd all witnessed how one striped cat could unite a neighbourhood, saving something fragile in this vast world.
