A Friend Called Alfie. Rachel Wells
is so great, and there’s nothing wrong with it. You like spending time with me as well,’ I pointed out.
‘Yeah but it’s different with Ally, I can’t explain it, and I’m probably far too old to be feeling like this, but I look forward to spending all my time with her, and I never want to be apart from her. Even now I kind of miss her.’ He sounded so young and unsure as he explained this.
‘Sorry, Dustbin, but you’re in love, it’s clear to see.’ I did a little hop, I loved to see my friends happy.
‘Don’t know about that, but she’s alright,’ he replied gruffly. I could see through his facade, he was different, had a bit more of a spring in his step, and he definitely seemed happier.
‘Right, well then, why don’t you and I find a nice sunny spot to chill out in, and you can tell me all about alright Ally.’
‘She’s a very good mouser,’ he said, sounding impressed and then he continued to talk about her.
It was both wonderful and slightly weird to see Dustbin this way. Only because he had never been one for other cats or people. Although he had grown fond of George and me, it was more because I didn’t give him much choice in the matter. When we first met he wasn’t that keen on being friends really. So to see him talking about Ally with his eyes lighting up and his voice almost bashful, it was definitely unexpected. Of course, I was happy for him. I’d been in love twice after all, so although it hurt when it was over, it was wonderful while I had it. Claire always went on about some bloke who said ‘it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,’ or something like that, and I totally agreed with that. Because love and loss go hand in hand, but they also both mean you are alive, your heart still beating. Listen to me; Dustbin had made me get all nostalgic and gooey. What was the world coming to?
‘If you ever need any advice about women, you know where to come,’ I offered as I stretched my paws out and got ready to leave. I needed to get back and make sure that Pickles and George were alright. Although part of me didn’t want to go there at all, terrified of what I might find.
‘Thanks, Alfie, but you know, it’ll be, you know, fine. I mean it’s nothing to worry about.’ He was still feigning nonchalance, but I saw how he really felt. We said our goodbyes, and I smiled all the way home.
The smile disappeared from my face as soon as I got through the cat flap. Claire was chasing Pickles. Arms outstretched she was running around after him but every time she got close he seemed to dodge her. Her face was getting redder and redder.
‘Pickles, drop, bad puppy,’ she said. George was sitting by idly licking his paws. What had he done? When Claire caught Pickles, she picked him up and took one of Jonathan’s favourite slippers – Italian and expensive – out of his mouth. Oh no, Jonathan would be furious.
‘Oh thank goodness you’re back, Alfie,’ Claire said. She looked a little frazzled. ‘These two have been running me ragged. Firstly, Pickles managed to get stuck under the sofa, and I have no idea how that happened, then he chewed a chair leg. All I did was visit Harold to take him his lunch and came back to find that George and Pickles were nowhere to be seen. I panicked and then found them in the garden, they’d got through the cat flap. Then finally he stole Jonathan’s favourite slipper, and he’s going to be so cross. How can a puppy be so much work? I’m going to collect the children. Please make sure that nothing happens when I’m gone.’ She barely took a breath before she left the house and stalked off.
‘Who wants to tell me what’s going on?’ I asked when alone with George and Pickles.
‘It was so much fun,’ Pickles said.
‘I was teaching him what I knew,’ George said. ‘Just like you said. So, I showed him the warm spot under the sofa, how was I supposed to know he wouldn’t be able to get out? And I can’t take responsibility for the chair leg, I did tell him that cats don’t chew things, but he’s not that quick to learn. He also licks everything which I think is weird.’
‘And the garden?’
‘I needed to go out, you know, for obvious reasons and he followed me through the cat flap. So you see, none of this is really my fault.’
The joys of parenting.
‘Right, listen up, both of you,’ I started in my sternest voice. ‘Pickles, George is right, we don’t chew things, so please can you try to keep your chewing to your toys.’ I walked over to his nice soft bed, full of toys that he could chew.
‘OK.’ he said, but as George said, he was young and I wasn’t sure if he understood or if I would have to tell him lots more times.
‘Secondly, if George goes out, then I don’t see why you can’t go with him as long as you both promise to stay in the garden.’
‘I promise I won’t let him leave the garden,’ George said.
‘Besides I need to learn to climb the tree,’ Pickles said,
‘Seriously?’ I turned to George, who tried not to smile. I swished my tail. George was definitely having a bit of fun with Pickles. Someday soon, Pickles would learn for himself that he can’t climb trees, I was pretty sure he couldn’t anyway.
‘So, on the whole, did I do good, Dad?’ George asked.
‘Not bad for your first day,’ I conceded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Claire clearly wasn’t anyway, but I needed to encourage George and Pickles’ relationship in whatever way I could.
‘And me, was I good?’ Pickles asked. I chose to pretend that I hadn’t heard. It was easier.
Thankfully before any more trouble could occur, the door opened, and Claire and the four children rushed in. They all headed for the kitchen and made a fuss of all of us, which was nice for George, before demanding snacks.
‘We’re going to put Pickles on the lead and take him to the park,’ Summer announced bossily. She was wearing her school uniform, her fair hair in a ponytail was bobbing behind her.
‘I’m so going to hold the lead,’ Henry said. He was the biggest of our younger children, very tall for his age, and he looked a little like his father with his light brown hair and nose sprinkled with freckles.
‘But I want to,’ Martha asked. Martha was usually the most laid-back of the children, apart from when it came to Pickles it seemed. She was such a pretty child with dark hair and big dark eyes. Polly, her mum, used to be a model and she often said that Martha took after her.
‘And me,’ Summer shouted.
‘But what about me?’ Toby said. Toby was the same age as Henry but was smaller. He had sandy blond hair and serious blue eyes. He was so gentle which with bossy Summer as a sister was a very good thing.
‘Listen.’ Claire had her best parenting voice on. ‘We will all take turns looking after Pickles. I will have to take him across the roads because I’m the grown-up, and the rest of the time you will have equal time holding the lead, I’ll use the stopwatch.’
None of them argued with that. If only Pickles and George were so easy to control.
I was tired by the time everyone had left for the park. I lay down on the sofa, and George joined me. We snuggled up together, which was lovely, and rare these days. George was usually too busy or pleaded to be too old for a cuddle with his old dad. He told me all about his day with Pickles.
‘He’s quite funny really, but then so naughty, and also a bit too easy to tease, so I’m sorry, but when I told him to stop chewing, he really didn’t listen. And he tried to eat my food, which he doesn’t even like. When I pointed out that you already told him it was cat food, he claimed he forgot. I think it might be harder than I first thought for him to be like me.’
‘Keep trying,’ I said, deciding not to tell him that I didn’t necessarily want Pickles to be like George, but to humour him for now. ‘And you’ll never guess what I found out