Free Phoenix by Raine Anthony

you’re around either, darling,” he replies and
then moves onto the other foot.

Nine
     
    As I wave Phoenix
off from my front doorstep later that evening, a scruffy ginger cat walks by my
door and then stops when he sees me. He’s one of those big muscular looking tom
cats, possibly wild. He reminds me of Thomas O’Malley from The Aristocats .
    I leave the door open and hide in the living room doorway to see if he’ll
follow me into the house. Maybe I can domesticate him. Warily, he makes his way
into the hall and passes by me into the kitchen. I quickly go and close the
front door.
    When I go into the kitchen he’s sitting in the middle of the floor as if
it goes without saying that I will feed him. His big dark green eyes watch me
as I look in the fridge to decide what to have for dinner. I suppose he can
have whatever I’m having. I’ve always wondered if cats and dogs get sick of
eating cold squelchy meat from a tin.
    I decide on cooking chicken in black bean sauce with rice. I’m wary as to
whether or not the cat will like it. However, when I put the big plate on the
floor he dives straight in and devours it as if it were any normal sort of cat
food. He even polishes off the rice, which is unusual, since whenever I’d given
Harriet’s cat, Sandy, people-food she would just sift out the meaty bits and
leave the rest in the bowl.
    After he’s eaten, the big ginger thing sits by the wooden door that leads
out to the back garden and licks clean his paws and his thick scruffy coat. He
seems content now that he’s been fed. He stops licking for a moment, looks at
me and lets out a loud, deep meow, then continues with his grooming.
    He’s probably getting himself ready for a night out on the town, I muse.
He strikes me as one of those Lothario tom cats. Every night a new lady. When
he’s finished licking himself he begins scratching at the door.
    To me he looks like a Jeffrey, so that is what I decide I’ll call him. I
can tell I’ll be fond of him if he becomes a regular visitor. I get up and
unlock the door to let him out and off he saunters. He will probably be having
more fun tonight than me. I’ve got a big batch of homework to correct, which is
not exactly the most fun a person can have. It takes me longer than it should
to get finished. I cannot concentrate properly because my mind is full of
Phoenix and his dark brown eyes. Sometimes they look black, sometimes grey...
     
    The week goes by
quietly. With practice, the teaching is becoming less and less stressful. This
weekend I am going to try my hand at gardening, because my garden has lots of
flowers, however they are overgrown with weeds and in desperate need of some
TLC.
    I have only seen Phoenix a handful of times since he came to my cottage
that evening. Once was when he was practicing his martial arts in his garden
early one morning on my way to work. Another was when he called over to ask if
I could lend him some milk. I asked if he wanted to come inside. He looked like
he wanted to say yes, but instead he declined. I decided not to push the
matter.
    The last time I saw him was when I happened by his shop, Smith Carpentry
& Furnishings. I spent a little bit of time admiring the handcrafted furniture
through the window. Then I glanced up to find him standing by the cash register
watching me. I gave him an embarrassed smile, waved and continued on my way.
    I cannot stop thinking about how he touched me on my sofa that cold,
rainy evening.
    When my last class is finished on Friday, I go to the staff bathroom to
freshen up before leaving. Sitting in a classroom all day can make me feel
quite grubby, so it’s always nice to splash a bit of water over my face and
arms.
    I walk from the school to the local hardware store to buy supplies for my
gardening. When I get there I notice the name James Matthews above the door and
remember that Margaret’s son owns the place.
    My heart beats fast with nerves at the prospect of having to make small
talk, as