A story about a cat.

Roxo

Roxo lay on his back in the long grass watching the clouds float across the sky, the summer breeze flowed through the grass like a river. It whistled past the daisies and carried their pollen across the garden. Roxo loved the smell of the grass in the summer, he rubbed his nose against their blades and purred.

It wasn’t every day that he got to relax but today he really had nothing to do, no one to talk to. He had been slightly put out by this because up at the house he was practically royalty and that morning everyone he passed had simply ignored him, but now he was warm and comfy and he really didn’t mind if they left him there all day.

Popo was sniffing around under a tree, his long ears caught under his feet and he tripped onto his nose, Roxo laughed to himself, then he realised how odd it was for Popo to be out in the garden alone, the maids never aloud him out. His curiosity getting the better of him Roxo begrudgingly got to his feet and went over to see him.

“It’s here somewhere. I know it’s here somewhere.” Popo said.

Roxo cleared his throat loudly.

“It’s somewhere, got to be here.”

Roxo cleared his throat again. Popo looked up.

“You know you really shouldn’t spend so long lying in the grass, sounds like you’re getting hay fever!” He said.

Roxo glared.

“I was letting you know that I was there.” He said

“Well why didn’t you just tell me instead of standing there coughing, honestly!”

Roxo stood slightly dumbfound for a moment and Popo began sniffing again.

“Popo,” He said eventually “Why are you out here?”

“Looking for my bone, I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” He said, going over the tree roots.

“No,” Roxo said feeling annoyed “I mean why isn’t Her Lady with you?” Roxo always referred to his owner as “Her Lady”, it made him feel grand to be owned by such an important sounding person. Popo stopped sniffing and looked up at Roxo with a tilted head.

“Her Lady’s not in the house anymore.” He said as though it were common knowledge. Roxo frowned then laughed.

“I think you mean today, not anymore. Silly dog.” He said to Popo’s ignorance.

“No,” Said Popo, his head still to one side “I heard the maids shouting about it this morning ‘She’s gone, she’s gone, gone forever’, that’s what they said.” Popo watched Roxo’s smile change to a look of confusion. Gone? How could Her Lady be gone? How could she be gone without him? This was strange, too strange.

Roxo picked up his tail as Popo’s nose hit the floor again, he ran up the grassy garden towards the back of the house. He would find Her Lady and then punish Popo for worrying him. Reaching the house Roxo found the open trapdoor that led to the kitchen, he jumped down the stone steps two at a time thinking of all the ways he could punish the silly dog. He would maybe wait until he was sleeping and scratch him with his long claws or bite his ears with his sharp teeth.

Roxo reached the kitchen and hopped over the door frame. Now as he entered he saw another strange thing. The kitchen, that was usually filled with servants preparing dinner, was completely empty. The washboard was piled high with dirty pots and pans, plates lay on the surfaces laden with food, a great pot hung above the fire place brimming with cold soup because the fire beneath it had long since burnt out and the door at the opposite end of the room stood open which, as a house rule, was not aloud. Roxo skipped quickly through the oddly quiet kitchen his whiskers twitching nervously. Through the door he went and up some more steps that opened out into a hall that was decorated with tapestries and old paintings and a bear skin rug that lay in the middle of the marble floor.

Roxo knew Her Lady would be in her room still, and without pausing he dashed up the main staircase that spiralled up the wall and onto the first floor landing.

“Third door to the left,” Roxo kept saying to himself “That’s where she’ll be”

The silence was making him more and more worried, the absence of maids and butlers was unnerving.

He reached the top step, turned left and counted, “one…two…three.” He stopped.

This was it. The door, behind which he would find the truth. It was ajar; he nudged it with his nose and slipped through.

The room was in blackness, except for a single candle that flickered on the corner table.

Slinking forward Roxo peered at the red armchair that stood before the fire. There she was, sleeping.

Her long grey hair tied in a tight knot at the top of her head which was lolled to one side, her arm draped over the edge of the chair and a book lay open on the floor, the tips of her long fingers brushed the pages. Roxo breathed a sigh of relief. He carried on around to the front of the chair and looked up. His heart stopped. The candle had thrown light over her face and now he really saw her. Her eyes stared so blank into the fire and her skin was pale. So pale.

Roxo felt the floor disappear from under him, his world falling. Falling down, beyond the kitchen and the basement, beyond the ground that held the house. He was falling into the unknown. His mind whirring.

Popo had been right. Her Lady had gone forever, gone to where she could never come back.

Roxo stared into the ashes of the fire that lay just as dead and cold as Her Lady and that was when it dawned on him why it was so quiet. Her Lady had died in the night and the servants, though so loyal, had never cared and they had left her, and they had left him. She had left him. She had left the one who had loved her most in a great empty house, broken, scared and alone.