A Friend Called Alfie. Rachel WellsЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘But when I’m at work, he’ll be here with Claire, and with you guys when you get back from school, so in a way, he’s all of ours.’
‘A bit like Alfie and George?’ Toby asked. He was a bright boy.
‘Exactly.’
‘What’s his name?’ Henry asked.
‘We don’t have one yet, love,’ his mum replied. ‘So this afternoon we should all think of a name for him. He’s a pug by the way.’
‘Yay.’ The children all started throwing out suggestions and George and I backed away into the kitchen.
‘Puppy,’ Summer shouted.
‘Nah that’s boring,’ Henry replied.
‘Flower,’ Martha suggested.
‘But he’s a boy,’ Toby pointed out.
‘Spiderman,’ Henry shouted.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Summer replied.
George and I left them to it.
‘Is this what I think it is?’ George asked, sounding horrified.
‘What do you think it is?’ I asked.
‘A dog, they got a dog.’
‘I’m afraid it seems as if they have. Although it’s quite a strange-looking dog. And small, but it’ll probably grow a bit like you did.’ I couldn’t believe Polly would betray us like this. Who on earth got a dog when there were two perfectly good cats around?
‘And they said this dog will be at our house a lot,’ George said. ‘This cannot be happening. It’s the worst thing in the world.’ He put his head in his paws. I have to admit I felt like doing the same, but I had a feeling that this puppy was here to stay, and therefore, I had quite a lot of sorting out to do.
I’ve never been a dog fan, Tiger and I used to tease dogs on leads by getting them to chase us and sit just out of reach so they couldn’t get us – it was just so much fun. Although I have been chased by a dog or two in my time, I have never let one catch me. I always outsmart them. But I digress. The problem is that I think of dogs as being like cats but without the brains, which is why they don’t get to be independent the way we cats are. Perhaps my prejudice wasn’t a good thing to pass onto George. Because by the sounds of it, this puppy was going to be at our house a lot and I knew that we needed to be friends with it, I mean him. We couldn’t be mean, that wasn’t what we did. And the humans seemed to like him, so we had to too. It might not be easy, but we would have to do our best.
‘George, I might not be a fan of dogs, but I have to be honest with you, I haven’t actually spent any quality time with one.’
‘What? Never?’
‘Nope, and I don’t actually personally know any dogs,’ I explained.
‘So why do you say they are all terrible?’ George asked, eyes wide.
‘Um, good question. Sometimes we judge things before we really know them, I may have done that with dogs.’ I was desperate to limit any damage before George traumatised the very tiny dog. ‘I think it’s just a cat and dog thing, we are different from them, and that’s OK. This puppy, he’s a baby, we need to give him a chance.’ I wasn’t sure if I was making any sense, but this was a new side of me. I was being forced to turn my long-held convictions on their head. That wasn’t going to be easy.
‘So you mean this dog might be OK?’ He didn’t sound convinced, but then neither was I.
‘He might be, in fact, I’m sure he will be. Remember how we try to get everyone to be friends, well in this case that includes the puppy dog, I’m afraid.’ I had a feeling I wasn’t doing the best job ever. But this was a new situation for me.
‘Um, so I shouldn’t hiss at him? Or try to scratch him.’
‘No, George.’ Something occurred to me. ‘The thing is that he’s clearly a baby and he’s come to live with Polly and family, the way you came to live with us as a tiny kitten and that was quite frightening in the early days wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, and when Toby came to live with us he was frightened too wasn’t he?’ George had many faults, but he was a very perceptive lad. Toby was adopted by Claire and Jonathan a few years back. Now it seemed as if he had always been here with us, but it had been hard for him at first.
‘This dog might be feeling frightened and we must be superior cats to make sure he’s alright.’ I had always tried to impart that kindness was the most important thing we could do for one another.
‘Alright, Dad, in this case, I will do so but also if he does turn out to be the way you say dogs can be I can’t guarantee that I’ll be nice to him forever.’
‘That sounds reasonable and fair, George,’ I said. I hoped this puppy might prove me wrong about dogs. I’m not sure I felt that optimistic, though. But even I, faced with one of my long-held views, was questioning myself.
Claire came into the kitchen, clutching the puppy to her chest. He was tiny and had quite short legs. Even though I wasn’t sure how big he would grow to be, I desperately hoped he wouldn’t grow too big. Big dogs definitely scared me if they got too close.
‘Alfie, George, come and meet our new friend,’ she said, gently, moving towards us and kneeling down.
George and I exchanged glances as we tentatively moved nearer. I had never seen a dog like this up close before. He was calmer now and, as we peered at him, the little dog put his tongue out and licked his nose. Then he seemed to focus on us, with his big eyes, but it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Just then he gave a little wag of his short tail which sort of stuck to his bottom.
‘Oh goodness, he already likes you!’ Claire exclaimed. ‘Welcome to the family, and Alfie, George, it’s time for you to formally meet Pickles. The children voted and this name, which was Polly’s idea, actually won.’
Really? Just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Pickles? What kind of name was that? Even for a dog.
It was Monday, our first day alone with Pickles the pug. We’d locked eyes with him a lot, but not one of the children let him out of their sight. They really did seem to adore him, which put George’s nose out of joint a bit. Being usurped by a dog was pretty low.
Claire had given us a bit of a lecture this morning, because Pickles was coming to our house and would be left alone with us while Claire took the children to school. She wasn’t ready to take him on the school run, but said she would be doing so when he was a bit bigger. What this had to do with us, I had no idea, but we listened. Or I did, George was cleaning his paws and sulking.
She went on to share that our new ‘friend’ Pickles was two months old. He was supposed to go to a family, but something happened, and they couldn’t have him at the last minute. Someone Polly worked with asked her if she knew anyone who wanted an adorable pug puppy, and Polly knew Matt had always wanted one. I was still coming to terms with the fact the children had been asking for a puppy (how dare they?), as it would also mean they had a pet who lived with them. I suppose, we visited often but didn’t live there, so Polly and Matt decided we all had a share in a puppy. Hmm.
Not one to keep things succinct, Claire told us that Pickles was allowed outside, because he had been to the vet. Apparently, he’d had the right injections, but he mustn’t go out on his own because he was a dog, not a cat. Not that we needed reminding of that. So, she was asking us to stay in with Pickles until she got back from the school run, rather than go into the garden or for our usual early morning walk. Torture