The Striped Guardian of the Close
In this close, everything was on display: windows faced one another, children knew not just their neighbours’ names but their habits too, and adults noted who left and returned at what hour. By late September, the grass still clung to its green, though the mornings left it flattened under heavy dew. Come evening, the close came aliveboys kicked a football between the kerbs, girls set up a «shop» on the bench beneath the old chestnut tree. Moving among them, smooth as if following a map only she knew, was the cat: a large, striped tabby with white paws and a white chest. She belonged to no one, yet everyone knew herMittens, or simply the Cat.
The children adored her like a living talisman. Some brought her scraps of ham from home, others stroked her back or whispered secrets into her ears as the wind carried their words. The women treated her kindly toosome left a bowl of food by the front door, others invited her into the porch on stormy nights. Even newcomers quickly noticed: without this cat, something vital was missing from the daily rhythm of the close.
But there was one familyTommys mother and fatherwho saw the Cat differently: warily, even with irritation. His mother often said aloud,
«Its dangerous! Who knows what germs she carries? Strays are so unpredictable!»
His father silently agreed, offering only a glance or a sigh. Their fears were simple: cleanliness first, their child should play without risk of catching something «from the street.»
Tommy watched the Cat secretly. If his mother caught him looking, hed pretend to be playing with his toy cars. But once her back was turned, hed follow the Cat to the flowerbeds or wait for her by the sandpit.
Evenings transformed the close. The sun dipped quickly behind the rooftops, the tarmac cooling. The children lingered, as if summer hadnt quite leftbut the air grew sharply colder after sunset, tugging at sleeves and tightening collars.
The Cat knew everyone. She responded only to certain voices or footsteps. If Tommy called softly from behind the bushes, shed approach cautiously; if Mrs. Eleanor tapped a spoon against a bowl by the door, shed appear faster than any other cat in the neighbourhood.
Life moved predictably: schoolchildren vanished around the corner with backpacks slung over shoulders, toddlers and grandparents lingered in the sandpit, and by evening, the close gathered again beneath the ground-floor windows.
Tommys mother sometimes tried to warn the other women:
«No one knowswhat if shes sick? If only she were a proper house cat…»
But the others just shrugged.
«Shes gentle! We keep an eye on her.»
«Without her, wed be overrun with mice!»
The conversation always fizzled out, leaving everyone unmoved.
This continued until one late September evening. The day had been damp after rain, the puddles between paving stones reflecting window frames. The chestnut leaves had yellowed, a few already swept beneath the swings by the wind.
Tommy played near the house with two older girls and one of their little brothers. The Cat lounged nearby on the warm concrete edging by the entranceshe always sought the warmest spots as evening fell.
Then, from the direction of the garages, came a deep barkonce, twice, then a rapid third. The children froze by the swings; even the adults near the door turned at once.
A dog burst around the cornera large black mongrel with a torn collar, its fur bristling. It moved fast, jerking its head as if searching for someone among the crowd.
Tommy froze, then stepped behind one of the older girls.
«Dont worry Itll leave…»
But the dog advanced too quickly. The children backed toward the house, calling for the adults. Tommys mother was first to rush out.
«Come here!»
She sprinted across the rain-damp grass toward her son. His father, still in the kitchen, hadnt yet noticed the danger.
Then, without warning, the Cat shot forwardlow to the ground, straight at the dog. The adults barely had time to react. The dog snapped its head around, bared its teeth, and chased the Cat away from the sandpit, past the bushes along the garage wallout of sight beneath the dim streetlight.
The children were safe. The dog vanished around the corner, its target now the Cat.
Tommys mother clutched him tight, feeling his heart hammer beneath his jacket.
«Its alright Its alright…»
But no one saw where the Cat went after that dash through the bushestoo fast for even the sharpest eyes to follow.
As dusk settled, the close grew quiet. The children searched for the Catby the benches, under cars, along her favourite spots. The adults shone phone torches into shadowed corners, calling her name.
Beneath the thick lilac bush, where leaves gathered after the wind, Tommy was first to spot herthe striped flank, the stiff limbs, the white patch of her trembling belly barely visible in the dew-wet grass. She breathed heavily, blinking slowly, her eyes half-lidded. The children gathered, the adults knelt around herno one dared touch her at first, their fingers stiff with cold until Mrs. Eleanor gently lifted her, wrapping her in a coat to shield her wound.
In the flat where Mrs. Eleanor took her, neighbours crowded in. Tommys mother held him back but didnt look away from the Cat. His father stood aside, searching for the nearest vet on his phone.
The Cat lay on an old towel, curled tight. The wound on her side wasnt deep but was long, her fur matted with blood and damp. The women fetched antiseptic, bandages, and cotton wool; someone set a water bowl nearby. As some cleaned the wound, others whispered about nearby clinics and whether they could get help so late.
Tommy watched, wide-eyedhed never seen the adults so focused on another creature. Even his mother, usually so stern about strays, now held the Cats paw gently to keep her still.
«Hold her steady Be careful…» she murmured to herself.
The room smelled of damp fur and iodine. Outside, night had fallen. Tommys father slipped into the hallway, returning with a clean bedsheet to lay beside the towel.
«The vet will see her first thing tomorrowno appointment needed,» he said quietly.
«Thank you…»
For the first time, his mothers voice held a new noteacknowledgment that this stray cat needed their help. What was happening bound them together faster than words.
«Lets keep her here tonight and take her to the vet early,» he suggested.
«Yes, of course. Its safer.»
They lifted the Cat carefully, towel and all, onto the sheet and carried her to their flat.
The night passed uneasily. Tommy lay awake, listening for any sound from the next room. His mother checked on the Cat repeatedlyadjusting the towel, refreshing the water.
Morning came early, before dawn. The kettle hissed in the kitchen. His father sliced bread quietly. The Cat lay still, her eyes half-open. When Tommy reached to stroke her head, her ears twitched, and she gave a soft mewas if thanking him.
The vets visit was quick. Mrs. Eleanor came too. The wound wasnt life-threatening, the vet said, but needed time to heala few days of rest under watchful eyes. They left with antiseptic instructions, a soft-food diet, and a leaflet on helping strays»just in case.»
Back home, the family took shiftshis mother kept the space clean, his father brought fresh water and food, even Tommy helped change the bandages under supervision. Neighbours visited, bringing treats or drawing get-well cards.
Evenings passed quietly. Outside, darkness fell fast, but inside, there was a peculiar calmlike after a shared hardship or a celebration, where everyone feels needed. Mittens recovered steadily: eating from Tommys hand, allowing gentle strokes, sometimes padding to the door as if testing her new boundaries.
Within days, she improved faster than expected. Her fur dried around the wound, her appetite returned, her movements grew sure again, her gaze alert.
One crisp autumn evening, his mother opened the window wideMittens hopped onto the sill, paused by her water bowl, and stared outside as if memorising the closes every scent.
«Maybe we should let her out. She wont stay forever.»
His mother spoke without her old worrysoftly, like releasing an old friend after a long visit.
His father nodded. Even Tommy understood.
Mittens leaped from the sill into the closelanding lightly on the dry grass by the wall before vanishing into the lilac bushes evening shadows, right where theyd found her after the fight.
By morning, the close buzzed againeyes searching for the striped guardian among the flowerbeds and benches. When she appeared near the sandpit at noon, the children rushed to greet her; the women smiled at one another across the distance, sharing something wordless.
Even Tommys family treated her differently nowhis mother left food by the door, his father spotted her first from the kitchen window, and Tommy no longer hid his affection when he stroked her or played nearby.
The Cat remained the closes sovereignindependent and free as ever. But now, everyone knew her true worth. No one argued about «germs» or strays after witnessing the small miracle of one striped cat uniting a neighbourhood to protect a lifeeven the most fragile in this vast world.
Sometimes, the bravest guardians come in unexpected forms, teaching us that kindness needs no pedigree.
