Enjoy the following short story from Emma Grae, author of The Tongue She Speaks, as part of our Christmas guest blog celebrations!

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‘Boab…’ says a voice. ‘Wee Boab… would ye like some kibble?’

            Ma eyes stir. Ah’d been oan the whisky last nicht. The Rona finally gat me, and ah figured a wee hot toddy – or three – would help me drift aff. It’s no like ah’d anyfin better tae dae at ma age wi nae faimily tae visit me at Christmas - even if Big Boris wasnae makin us stay at hame fur Christmas twinty-twinty-twa. He gat the boot; Mad Lizzie too… and Big Lizzie gat the biggest boot o them em aw. Aw gone.

            Ah’d an awfae fancy fur the Queen. She wasnae a bad luikin lassie in hur day and the thocht o gettin bossed roond suited me. She’d huv kept me mair in line than Peggy ever did wi hur silver sceptre fing wi a baw. She could o gien me a spank wi it. Reid marks. Ah’d huv been well intae that. She owned aw the swans. Ma bum wis small change compared tae they bastarts.

            ‘That cat’s shite, Daddy,’ says another voice, a wean.

            Ah should o stoapped at twa drinks, ah fink. Ma eyes burst open. Whit the actual puck is guan oan? Ah luik roond. Whit in God’s green earth is this?!

            A wee boy tries tae poke ma eye oot wi a lang stick wi a feather attached tae it. This wasnae the Royal wet dream ah wis hopin fur.

            Ma life’s behind me. Ah wished ah’d gane oot like the Queen this year. Ah’ve nought tae live fur these days. Ah dinnae talk tae ma boy Daniel, and ah’ve no seen ma grandson Jamie in whit feels like cuddie’s years. He must be near enough at the high school noo.

            Ma Daniel loved cats, but we couldnae fink aboot gettin wan, livin twinty stories up. Every Christmas, it wis the toap o his list, and it broke ma heart sayin naw year efter year.

            Ah open ma mooth tae tell the dream wean get tae buggery and ‘MEOWWWWWWW!’

            ‘Daddy, why does the cat no want tae play wi me?’ the wean asks again.

            Ah luik aheid o me. There’s flashin Christmas lichts wrapped roond a tiny bridge that goes fae wan end o the ceilin tae the other. An auld wumman’s gettin tore intae toad in the hole while hur pal drinks oot a teacup. Ah narra ma eyes: ‘Wee Boab stole my heart at the Glasgow Cat Cafe’. Ma eyes narra further. Ah’m Boab.

            Ah try tae scream and ‘MEOWWWWWW! MEEEOOWWWWWWWWW!’

            ‘Daddy, whit’s wrang wi that cat?’ the wean asks.

            Ah luik up. A man wi lang hair and daft luikin sunglasses that he’d nae business wearin indoors gies me daggers. He rolls his eyes. Judgemental prick.

            ‘Come oan,’ the man says tae his wean. ‘Let’s see if Wee Jimmy wants some kibble insteid.’

            Wee Jimmy? Ah luik up. There’s a furry hing above me. A lang, black tail hings doon fae it.

            ‘Prrrrrr,’ goes a cat. ‘PRRRRRRRRRRR….’

            The man hus lifted his wean up tae gie it a clap. Bloody sook. Ah’ve luiked everywhere but doon. Ah take a deep breath. Ma mooth tastes like tuna. Ah run ma tongue ower ma teeth. Ma falsers wurnae lang like this.

            ‘MEOWWWWWWWW!!!!’ ah scream, looder than when England wan the World Cup. ‘MEOOWWWWW!!!’

            The wean starts screamin an aw. Ma Daniel wasnae a pussy like this. Afore we stoapped talkin, he wis intae aw sorts. Loved his animals so he did – no jist cats. Beasties, big fish doon the burn.

            ‘Oh no,’ says the wean’s daddy, gien me daggers. ‘Wee Jimmy’s gat spooked by Wee Boab.’

            A paw hits ma face. Ah turn tae face a cat. The wan above me’s jumped intae ma bed. It’s starin me doon wi its yella eyes that luik like Sauron fae Lord of the Rings.

            The cat’s mooth doesnae move.

            Ah finally luik doon. Ah’d hud ma fair share o the whacky backy as a younger man, but nought like this hud ever happened. Mibbie somewan tampered wi ma whisky, ah fink. Ma hauns are gone. The liver spots replaced wi tabby fur. Ah clench ma fists. Claws.

            Wee Jimmy puts a sympathetic paw oan ma ain, despite seemin like a man’s man o the feline wurld. Ah try tae tell him ah’m nae a cat and, ‘Meoowwwwww.’

            Ah swalla. Ah knew ma days wur numbered, but this wasnae exactly whit ah’d in mind when it came tae the efterlife. Ah must be pished. Ah fink o the shootin star – or mair likely, rogue firewurk – ah’d wished oan this November past. Ah wished, hoped, fur a chance tae richt ma wrangs afore the Reaper came knockin.

            ‘Daddy,’ the wean says. ‘Ah’m bored.’

            The pair turn and walk away. Wee Jimmy gestures tae a wumman wearin a pair o cat ears. She rings a bell.

            ‘Hanks fur comin tae the Glasgae cat café! Yer oor’s up, but dinnae forget tae visit the gift shoap oan the way oot if any o wur cats stole yer heart.’

            Ah take in the whole room fur the first time. There’s a plastic fountain wi a flower sprinkler oan the flair, cat beds in every shape and size ye could imagine, and a wee gift shoap oan the way oot. Tackier than the wurst shite in Blackpool.

            Ah soon clock that there’s new folk every oor. Wee Jimmy stretches his paws. There wur plenty o dull moments in ma flat afore the end. Ah doot there’s many in here.

            Ah aften wondered if Daniel passed his love o cats ontae wee Jamie. There wis a stray that came by ma four-in-a-block at the end. A big broon fing wi lang hair and a ginger patch roond its eye. Ah wish ah could o introduced them.

***

            Ah wis never the same efter ma Daniel and me fell oot. Christmas wis the hardest time o the year, no the maist wonderful. He said he’d never break breid wi me again efter whit ah did, but ah’d nae choice – or at least it felt like it. It wis an impossible situation.

            We aw make mistakes in life. Ma Daniel wis nae exception. Ah jist didnae expect tae find masel in the middle o it. It aw went doon wan nicht at the pub. This lassie walks in. She couldnae huv luiked mair oot o place – even mair so when she opened hur mooth and spoke in a richt English accent. No posh enough tae be fae the richt side o London but doon sooth aw the same.

            ‘Daniel McGee?’ she asked the barman.

            She hud thick, lang broon hair and wis wearin a pair o frilly earmuffs.

            ‘That’s ma boy,’ ah said, wioot finkin. ‘Kin ah help ye?’

            She smiled a Hollywood smile and outstretched a haun.

            ‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m Sarah,’ she said. ‘I’m here to surprise him.’ She paused. ‘Like really… I’m not very far along but I guess we’re family now!’ she added, gesturin tae hur tummy.

            Ma face must o said it aw.

            Daniel wis happy wi Susi the hairdresser, or so ah thocht. They wur a faimily, hur, him and wee Jamie. Ah didnae fink he wis the kind o boy who’d play away in a million years… least o aw wi a lassie like this. She micht as well be fae the moon. Susi hud a similar hairstyle mind. Ah guess ma boy hud a type.

            ‘He’s not mentioned me…’ Sarah says, statin the obvious.

            Ah shake ma heid and usher hur tae the back o the pub. Ah could feel the punters’ eyes oan us and ah didnae want tae be the talk o the steamie fur mair than a week.

            The lassie took a seat oan a wobbly wooden stool, even though ah offered hur the comfy green wan oan account o hur condition.

            ‘We met online,’ she explained, afore revealin that the pair hud been chattin oan and aff fur years. Jist pals at first.

            She said she knew aboot oor Jamie, but ma Daniel said he’d broken up wi Susi and went tae doon sooth fur a weekend.

            So much fur guan tae see the fitbaw.

            ‘Cannae wait tae see England get humped in the flesh,’ that wis his words tae me.

            Mair like him daein the humpin.

            Sarah begged me no tae breathe a wurd tae Daniel when she realised she’d been played. She said she didnae want tae break up a wee faimily. They wur ma wee faimily as well. Ah certainly wasnae gonnae be the wan tae dae it.

            Ah lost ma ain Faither in the Blitz and reluctantly agreed it wis best she kept away. Ah thocht ah wis daein richt by ma Jamie. It hud nought tae dae wi Daniel.

            Efter that, ah took tae the bottle. The guilt o it aw ate me up. Bit by bit. Ah guess ah wanted the drink tae swalla whit wis left o me. Luiks like it finally did.

            But the truth always comes oot in the washin.

            Emotion eventually gat the best o Sarah as she telt ma Daniel aboot the baby months later – she went oan tae lose it – and begged him tae never dae dirty by Susi again. She didnae want any other lassie tae feel the pain she wis in.

            Daniel came intae ma hoose that nicht luikin fur ma drink, and it came oot in wan, drunken confession. His heid wis buried in his hauns. Then ah telt him she’d came fur him. He callt Sarah a liar. He said there couldnae huv been a baby.

            ‘Why the puck would the lassie lie like that?’ ah mind askin.

            Ah lifted a haun tae gie him a clout ower the ear but stoapped when ah realised ah didnae huv the strength.

            ‘We’re done, Dad,’ he said. ‘Yer a liar and a drunk and me and ma faimily are better aff wioot ye.’

***

            ‘Meow,’ says Wee Jimmy, bringin me back intae the moment.

            Ah’m tearin up. Ah luik intae Wee Jimmy’s eyes. Ah open ma mooth and nae wurds come oot. Ah go tae sigh and let oot a deflated, ‘Meow.’

            Folk are floodin intae the cat café noo. Ah try tae blink back ma tears. If ah’m honest, ah could dae wi a clap. Ma Daniel wasnae an affectionate boy.

            We’d locked eyes daein wur social distancin in the supermarket wance. Ah mind sayin his name. He wouldnae huv seen ma lips move under ma mask. Ah jist wanted a hug fae ma boy then. A squeeze o the shoulder. It didnae matter that it could o kilt me, but we went wur separate ways again. Not a wurd properly uttered.

            Wee Jimmy stauns and jumps oantae the table next tae wur cat tree. He sticks his tail up, showin aff, as a bunch o folk search fur a seat tae gie them a solid clappin opportunity.

            ‘Meow! Meow! Meow!’ says whit soonds like a bunch o cats.

            Wee Jimmy shakes his heid, gesturin tae a bunch o kittens wi a paw. The folk who’re floodin intae the room make a beeline fur them. The auld cats are left oan the shelf.

            Ah fink o that Sarah lassie. Ah hope she gat a kitten or sommat tae help hur through hur grief. Losin a wean’s hard. Ma Liza lost a few.

            Ah find masel lickin ma paw wioot finkin. Ah certainly wasnae this vain as an auld duffer. Ah luik roond. A man who puts me in mind o ma Daniel walks ower tae Wee Jimmy.

            The last time ah saw him, it wis obvious he’d taken tae the bottle and then some. It wasnae jist that last nicht wi me. He wis a shadow o the man he used tae be. Aw skinny, dressed in black tracksuits. This man’s plump by comparison.

            Ah jump oot the bed. Ma subconscious is probably gien me the run roond, but ah want tae be near him, tae pretend it’s ma Daniel.

            ‘Aww, luik at that cat,’ says another wean’s voice. Ah follow the sound instinctively. ‘Big liony bastart,’ the wean declares. ‘He’s ma favourite. Kin we sit here?’

            ‘Aye,’ says a wumman.

            Ah turn tae a ginger lassie wi big trout lips. She’s wearin a gold chain and a grey jumper that’s sensible fur the occasion. She gies me a clap.

            ‘Prrrrrrr,’ ah say, wioot finkin. She’s gat these big, lang nails, and ah’m scared ah’ll get a haird oan. ‘Prrrrr. Prrrrrrrrrr.’

            ‘Kin ah get a turn?’ the wean, a boy, asks again.

            Ah feel his wee hauns oan me. Ah luik at his faither. Ah inspect his hauns, avoidin luikin at the wean. There’s a scar oan the side o his finger. Daniel hud wan there an aw. Cut his haun while slicin turkey wan Christmas.

            ‘Whit a sook,’ the man says.

            ‘Prrrrrr.’

            Ah want tae luik at the wean, but ah resist fur a second langer. Ah catch sicht o his hauns as he bends tae pick up ma paw. He must be ages wi ma Jamie.

            Ah luik up. It’s him. Aw grawn up, near enough. Ah jump intae his arms. He struggles tae grip ma massive furry boadie. He droaps me. Ah land oan the cauld, concrete flair. His daddy grabs me and ah dinnae squirm.

            ‘This wan’s a chonker,’ he says, positionin me.

            Daniel pauses fur a moment. Ah luik up at him. He luiks intae ma eyes. He’s soon smilin and gies ma heid a gentle rub.

            ‘Please put the cat down!’ shrieks a voice.

            A lady in cat ears wi tinsel roond hur neck is rushin taewards us. She’s carryin a big, regal luikin Siamese wi a gold bell roond its neck. Could be the reincarnation o Big Lizzie fur aw ah know.

            Daniel sits, and ah settle oantae his lap. Ah luik at this new lassie and wonder whit happened tae Susi. Mibbie she’s a guid influence. She must o gien him a shake aff the drink.

            Ah guess it wis inevitable. Wance a cheat, always a cheat. Susi’s better aff wioot him. But ah’m no. He’d probably be a better man if ah wis in his life… even like this.

            Wee Jamie inspects ma collar.

            ‘Daddy, this wan’s up fur adoption…’

            ‘He’s taken a shine to you,’ the wumman chimes. 

            Daniel pauses. Ah want tae seal the deal, but ah dinnae want tae scare him aff either. Ah lay ma heid oan his arm, purrin like it’s the maist natural fing in the wurld.

            ‘Oh, go on then,’ he says.

 

Emma Grae