Chapter 02. The First Letter

The house is not mine yet. But there are warm footsteps beyond the door already. In the morning — the small room, water, sand, and the first crunch of food.

I had ended up in a small room on the first floor; the door a flat, even plane; on the other side of it, a different beat altogether. It smelled of damp and of something that nipped at the nose — the way a place smells when the floors have lately been scrubbed and all the old smells driven out, leaving one smell only, flat and belonging to nobody. In the corner — a tray of sand, and beside it a bowl of water and a scrap of old blanket. No palace. But dry. And nobody driving me off.

The day hung still. I lay on the blanket and watched the light from under the door cut the floor into long strips and creep slowly towards the wall. The wooden house creaked a little, murmuring to itself. From below came voices and the knock of crockery; now and then iron clanged. Up here the sounds arrived soft, muffled. There was no time to be bored — I was going over the new house with my ears and my nose; I would get to the whiskers later. The sand in the tray smelled of some business with a meaning hidden inside it; not my business yet. The water in the bowl trembled in fine rings with my breathing. I took note of things and did not hurry.

The light from under the door crept on. The creak of that same board.

I waited. Sniffed at the gap. Listened to the board. Shifted my tail in closer against my side.

Frightened? A little. I pretended all was well. Never mind. That way it is easier not to bolt.

The gap under the door drew me. I looked at it. Then at the bowl. Then lay down on the blanket again.

The smell of soap spoke of order. The order did not stifle me. It held me up, the way a hand slipped under the belly holds you.

Beyond the door are my gods. I am not grovelling — I am granting that they are strong. They made a world in which I have a blanket, water, and a closed door. If I am told to wait, I wait. My answer to them is quiet.

Towards the middle of the day the woman came — the one who had brought me here. She opened the door and narrowed her eyes, not unkindly but in a businesslike way, as though working something out. A bowl of dry food went down on the floor, and clean water beside it. I sniffed: food with no history to it, but with a rule attached; somebody else’s rule-book, which would in time become mine. The first crunch rang out — loud, for a quiet like that. The water was cool and woke my mouth up — a puddle after rain, only without the mud. I snorted and set to crunching.

The woman crouched down beside me; her hands smelled of soap and of something flowery. Her fingers felt carefully at my belly; she frowned.

‘Belly’s full. Go on. Do your business.’

I looked straight at her and gave a purr with a faint mockery in it. Sorry to disappoint. She went out, and the light folded itself back into a thin strip. I was left to sniff at the sand, the water, and the edge of the blanket.

It matters to them, it seems. The sand. The belly. A thing that ought to happen of itself, and yet somehow troubles the gods.

Pride whispered: hold out a little longer. I could have. But the belly thought otherwise. And the sand made more sense by the hour.

After that the time ran on softly. I sprawled on the blanket, got up now and then, worked my way round the edges of the room, counted my steps, learned by heart the loose board by the wall and its quiet creak. The sand kept calling, but I was in no hurry. Towards evening I went into the tray after all. Dug about. Did my business. Came out, shook off a paw, and sat down beside it.

The woman came back. She looked into the tray. Her face lit up as though she had found something of great value.

‘Oh my God. Look at that. That’s bigger than he is.’

The first letter. I learned it with a paw in the sand — and now there is hardly room in me for the pride of it.

I turned away with dignity and made out I couldn’t care less. In fact a quiet, very warm little flame had started up inside. A small victory. The room had come a little closer. Beyond the door were the ones who can rejoice over sand and warm the air with a single movement of the fingers. I licked the paw that still smelled of that very sand, and felt the warmth spreading slowly out under my fur.