Member-only story
Cat Lover
Katie Halloway lived close by and was a lover of cats.
In the village, a short way from the harbour, it was said that the old, weathered house at the bend of Nook’s Lane belonged not to people but to cats. However, the property deed bore the name of eighty-six-year-old Kathreen Halloway. Most who spoke of the place never mentioned her — only the cats and the curious way they came and went like whispers.
Inside the ivy-veiled home, Katie moved with the hush of one long proficient in stealth. She lived alone, but never lonely. Cats padded silently at her heels, curled into the hollows of window cushions, and blinked their slow approval from mantel ledges. They had names — peculiar ones she claimed came to her in dreams — and personalities so distinct the postman began referring to them in gossip as if they were the town’s aristocracy.
There was Lena, of course, with her tragic eyes and magnificent tail. She was Duke’s shadow when he left, which he often did, as Duke rarely stayed in places that asked for good behaviour. Lena would mourn by walking the house’s perimeter in slow, aimless loops — her tail trailing like she was spurned.
But Lena soon transformed, should Lancelot arrive. Lance didn’t come daily or for a reason, just when it pleased him.