A Cat for the Keeper - A Short Story
Welcome to the Scottish Isles at the turn of the century. A Cat for the Keeper was my first foray into fiction and is now available for free. I hope you enjoy!
‘The cat’s dead.’
My heart leapt in my throat, as the soft but urgent voice of a man crackled over the post-office radio. Something deep in my soul stirred back to life. It couldn’t be him, but it was . . . wasn’t it?
As I stepped closer to eavesdrop, the boisterous Mrs Simpson grabbed my arm and spun me around. She has a tongue like a fishwife and when she sets her sights on a target for the latest gossip, nobody stands a chance. Her shrill voice drowned out the radio, blethering on about the unfortunately large nose on her sister’s baby, the rats in the storeroom, who missed church on Sunday. I didn’t even try to get a word in, just nodded and raised the occasional eyebrow. As she drew in a breath for the next barrage, her husband came around the corner. ‘Ms MacLeod.’ He tipped his cap to me apologetically and ushered his wife out of the shop. I turned back towards the radio.
‘Well, I guess I’d better find my brother a kitten,’ a tall man in the corner said, his voice matter of fact.
‘He’ll be beside himself out there,’ the postman weighed in.
‘I know,’ came the quiet reply.
Neither of them noticed I was listening from the far side of the shop, but I pretended to examine the bin of oats just in case. I willed the voice on the radio to speak again, to stifle that fraction of uncertainty that lingered. I would have heard more had it not been for the loudest woman in Scotland.
The two men went back and forth about the issue at hand. Despite my intense need to hear the voice again, I was struck by how comically endearing it was to hear two rough and weathered men discussing where to acquire a kitten.
‘I have a kitten.’
Lord have mercy. I said it out loud. Did I? Both men turned to look at me. I HAD said it out loud.
‘Pardon me?’ The tall man asked.
‘I happened to overhear that you were looking for a kitten. I have a spare . . . an extra . . . I mean my cat just had another litter and I’ve given away all but one. You can have her.’
I cringed at my clumsy delivery. A spare kitten? How eloquent.
‘Well, that’s perfect, Miss . . .?’
‘Catherine. Catherine MacLeod.’
‘Angus. Much obliged. I can come by and pick her up this evening. I’ll need to leave at first light.’
‘No need to collect her this evening. I’ll be ready in the morning.’
Why did I say that? I’ll be ready? I’m going with him? He looked as confused as I felt.
‘I don’t take visitors to the island. The seas can be rough at a moment’s notice, and it can be a tiring trip for those not used to the ocean.’
He was respectful but quite firm. It was a tone I recognized from my own past; one that men take with women or children who don’t have the sense to know what they’re saying. I’ve had enough of that tone in my life and don’t stand for it anymore. I squared my shoulders for a pleasant reply.
‘I’ll deliver the kitten myself. I won’t be any trouble, and it’s sure to be a fine day. Imagine rough seas – there’s not been a cloud in sight!’
He had clearly noted the change in my demeanor. He shook his head, then opened his mouth, attempting to reply. But the look on his face gave him away. It was the same look my father gave my mother whenever he was choosing his battles. It can take a lifetime to master the skill of intimidating a man without him realizing it.
‘Well . . .’ He hesitated.
I waited. It was coming, the moment of defeat.
‘Right, I’ll see you first thing.’
Angus extended a hand to help me into the boat. Silky ribbons of pink-hued water snaked away from the bow. I sat in the back, my kitten in a basket at my feet.
‘Will the wee thing get seasick?’
He had tried to act indifferently about the kitten but wasn’t fooling me. It’s funny how men do that sometimes – guard their emotions about delicate little things. It’s quite sweet.
‘She might. I’d better take her out. If she’s to be an island cat, she had better get used to the sea!’
I opened the basket. Bright green eyes greeted me from the woolly shadows the kitten was nestled in. She let out a tiny mew and attempted to climb up my skirt before I got a hand around her.
‘Hold on, wee sook,’ I giggled. ‘I’ve got you!’
It was a lovely day to be on the ocean, and Angus was a fascinating companion. He told me he spends most of his time on the water, and he had the knowledge to show for it. He pointed out coves and cliffs and spoke of the living things in the landscape. I suppose everyone loves their home, but I’m so besmitten with these Scottish islands.
When we first set out, the horizon was barely distinguishable as calm water met sky in a suspended line of pale blues and pinks. As the sun embarked on its daily journey, the sky became a deeper blue. As we got further away from the harbour, small white-capped waves stretched out in all directions. I vividly remember being on my grandfather’s boat, listening to tales of the sea. His descriptions of these ‘white horses’ that cap the waves captured my imagination.
Angus was full of stories, too; it must run in the blood of those who spend their life at sea. Just like my grandfather, it was hard to tell if he was telling the truth, or spinning yarns.
‘I’ve seen a selkie, just around there.’ Angus gestured towards a small rocky mound jutting out of the sea.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ I said, narrowing my eyes at him. ‘Seems every fisherman has seen one!’
He laughed, that twinkle in his eye. ‘I did. She was still in her seal form.’
I rolled my eyes at him but joined in as he laughed at his own joke. He shared his brother’s charm, and my nerves calmed as tie time passed. Now it was me who was blethering on, carried away by my fascination and fondness for the sea.
I could have asked Angus questions for hours, but he was intently watching the kitten from the corner of his eye, though feigning disinterest.
She was a lively wee soul and had been an endless source of amusement and sweetness since her litter was born. On a croft, cats are vital for catching pesky wee beasties. A lot of cats means a lot of kittens, and it can be a challenge to get them all off your hands. But I was quite fond of this one and had actually planned to keep her. Her green eyes reminded me of the deep sea, and she had a stubborn, playful personality. But I would have given anything I had to the man I suspected was on that island.
‘You really didn’t need to trouble yourself, Miss MacLeod. I could have managed a kitten, and it’s no small thing to miss out on fair weather like this for croft work.’
I nodded. ‘My family will manage a day without me, and I miss being on the water. I used to go out often with my grandfather when I was a young lass, before I was old enough to help with the women’s work.’
I sighed and stared off to the horizon. Why must there be dedicated women’s work? Why couldn’t I go out to sea? Being stuck in a croft, thick with peat smoke, for the rest of my life had about as much appeal as marrying a sheep. Salty air in my lungs? That’s a dream.
I looked down at the kitten, who clearly felt the same. She sat in my lap, making little bobbing motions with her head as she sniffed the salty air. She summoned the courage to stumble her way back down my skirt and was shimmying ungracefully across the resupply boxes towards Angus.
The sunlight caught the wispy long hairs that stood out from her orange striped coat. He was clearly pleased with her, watching her wobble towards him.
‘Feisty wee thing!’ He laughed, relaxing, forgetting his pretenses, and gave one of the ropes a good shake in front of her face. She batted at it, then tumbled face-forward into a puddle of water in the bottom of the boat. With lightning reflexes, she jumped backward against his boot, with a series of tiny sneezes. She disappeared in his huge hand as he scooped her up, looking at her approvingly from eye level.
‘The last cat I took to the island howled the whole way across. Shame it’s dead. Calum gets so attached to his cats.’ His voice trailed off, a sadness dimming the sparkle in his eye.
‘I remember Mr Douglas keeping the light for many years. Tell me about your brother – has he been keeper long?’
I didn’t want to seem overly interested, but I was so desperate to know what had happened to him these past years.
‘Calum – not a finer man to be found,’ he said warmly. ‘We were close as boys and fished together as young men from our village. I miss those days. But the island is the right place for him. Safe from wagging tongues and cold whispers. Wears his heart on his sleeve, that one, and sees only the good in folk. Folk who smile at him and then speak out the side of their mouths when his back is turned. They called him odd because he was quiet and kept to himself. Never married. Oh, and the cats – that made it worse. After he moved to the island, they joked that if he wasn’t mad already the quicksilver from the Fresnel lens would finish the job.’
I love the thought of Calum as a lighthouse keeper. You would be hard pressed to find a truer symbol for the man who guided me so calmly forward in love and happiness.
‘Why is he so concerned about cats?’ I asked.
Angus paused, seemingly lost for words. ‘I don’t know where it came from exactly. I thought perhaps it was just a matter of companionship. We always had cats growing up. He was fond of them, but not to excess. He went away for several years, to fish off the far isles. When he came back, he was more withdrawn. Still kind, still warm, but something was missing. Shortly after he returned, the head keeper position came open when Mr Douglas moved to the mainland, and Calum took it straight away. He took a kitten with him, looked at that cat like it was the sun itself. It didn’t make it to the island; it was so scared by the trip it died on the boat. Cats are strange like that, sensitive. A storm came up on that trip over – Calum swears it was because of the cat.
‘“I need a cat.” I remember he kept saying that. So desperate, so sad, like a lost bairn. It was a side of him I had never seen. I promised I would bring him one, and my heart ached pushing off from that rock, leaving him in that state. It took me two weeks to find a cat, and he radioed every day.
‘“When are you coming, Angus?” Calum’s voice was more fearful on cloudy days. “It’s bad luck out here without a cat, you know. Please bring me a cat.”
‘I told him I was looking for a strong cat, one that wasn’t frightened easily. I found a weathered old male out on the south end of the island at my uncle’s croft. Nothing to look at, and not the most affectionate, but it was tough as nails and mellow as can be. He managed the trip just fine, and Calum was so relieved to have a cat he didn’t care the state of it. It was old, only lived a year, and when it died I got the call over the radio.
‘“The cat’s dead,” he said. “I’d like a female this time, if it’s not too much trouble.”
‘So I brought him a female. Cute as a button, she was. They got on splendidly, and she really took to life on the island. Every time I went out for a resupply, there she was, bounding along behind him. His wee shadow. An eagle caught her one day. Devastated him.’
Angus looked away. His love for his brother was evident. My heart hurt for him and the sadness he felt from retelling the story. After a long pause, he spoke again.
‘I got the radio call again. “The cat’s dead.” I knew he loved that cat, but he didn’t go on about it. He never did. He’d always listen, but he never complained about his own problems. You know, I think that’s the hardest thing about it all. Knowing he’s bottled up inside, with only these daft cats to bring him happiness. So I found him another one, made sure it didn’t look like the last.
‘Sentimental old fool, I am. I didn’t want him to have any reminder of the other cat. That next one was easy to find, actually. It was all black, yellow eyes. Bonnie, it was, but the villagers didn’t take to black cats, being superstitious folk. Calum didn’t care; he welcomed her. She’s lasted the longest, but seems she got into some poison. He found her a few days ago.’
I couldn’t bear to tell Angus the truth, for fear he wouldn’t take me to the island. It had become clear as the boat crossed over the sea that he was devoted to his brother and fiercely protective. We were both quiet. Poor Calum. So much loss. More loss than Angus knew. Before all those cats, Calum had lost me.
I was twenty-two when fishing trips brought Calum to our island. I was a plain lass with no special skill, no outstanding beauty, no family wealth. None of the things that earned other lassies a young marriage. My two sisters wed young. One was beautiful, with a tiny waist and silky hair. The other had inherited my grandmother’s skill for knitting delicate lace, which earned her renown and a steady income. Meanwhile, I was a clumsy dreamer, diligent with chores but always with my head in the clouds. I dreamed of going out to sea and would literally drop everything when ships passed by. Once I dropped a newborn lamb. He was fine, but I received a branch sharply across my backside for my absentmindedness. I didn’t like my sisters, and my parents weren’t affectionate. But I had a brother, Iain, whom I adored. He rolled his eyes at me when I’d get in trouble for dreaming. He called me Captain Catherine – his good-natured way of poking fun at me.
It was customary for fishermen from other islands to gather on ours to embark on trips to fishing spots further north and west. They were generally groups of smelly old men and I didn’t pay them any mind. My father would send me to the docks to sell them wool jumpers and other goods they might need at sea. My mother would mend torn clothing. One cool summer day, a quiet fisherman, younger than the rest, approached my mother with a torn jumper.
‘This is beyond mending,’ she scolded him, with a sharp click of her tongue against her teeth. ‘See my daughter about a new one.’
He followed her gesturing hand and walked towards me. I had heard my mother and brought out a basket of jumpers to show him. As he looked through them, I was struck by his unassuming air. Something about him filled me with comfort, put me at ease. He spoke and his voice was gentle. His eyes were kind. I don’t remember much of our conversation, as I was lost in his calm voice. I do know I didn’t make a giggly fool of myself, which I was prone to do around handsome men. He was only a little taller than me, not large in stature. He had bushy eyebrows, which is a funny thing to notice about a person, but I quite liked them. Hints of brown wavy hair peeked out from under his cap, framing his sun-kissed face.
He told me later that he had torn his jumper on purpose, beyond repair. He had been on our island before, had seen me selling our wool goods, and resolved to speak to me the next time. That season I saw him three times. He would buy things from me and I would ask him questions about the sea. They were most certainly silly questions, but his patience had no limits. If he tired of talking about types of fish, or selkies, or how to tie the most impossible knot, or how big a whale is . . . he never let on. He would answer me in his calm voice and fiddle with his new jumper. I felt sad saying goodbye at the end of that first season, but he said he would write to me, and he did. In our letters, our conversations became more meaningful. His words were sweet, his thoughts deep, his wit quick. There was a part of himself he seemed only able to express in writing.
The second season I had butterflies the first time I saw him. I felt strangely shy. Having shared so much of ourselves in our letters, it felt as though I was meeting him in a new way. He had arranged to work in the harbour that season, instead of going out on the fishing trips. He had done this to spend more time with me. It was his idea. I felt a million times more enviable than my thin-waisted, lace-knitting sisters. I would happily live unmarried until I was eighty if it meant finding this kind of love.
Calum was a quiet man when it came to most people. He was very kind and helpful. But he didn’t say two words if one would do. But with me he was different. He would talk for hours as we lay in the bottom of a boat counting stars, or walked across the machair counting wild flowers.
As the season came to an end, we sat at the water’s edge. Amid the hustle and bustle of the harbour, he quietly said he wished to marry me. I loved him deeply and told him yes. It was Sunday, and they wouldn’t set out to fish until the next day. He made plans to approach my father that evening. They were acquainted, as most folk are who come and go on the island, but he knew nothing of our love. As we prepared to part ways that afternoon, I straightened his jumper, picking off invisible bits of fuzz. He gently pulled my hands down and kissed my forehead. ‘If you keep picking, I won’t have a jumper at all.’
Later that evening, I heard Calum knock on the door, saw my father step outside. I couldn’t hear Calum’s words, but his tone was vulnerable, sincere. I only heard my father speak a few words, and then the door closed. I could hear gravel crunching under Calum’s boots as he walked away. I straightened up, smoothing my apron, full of anticipation, as my father came inside. But he simply said ‘No’ as he met my expectant eyes.
I was bitterly angry with my father. I was worth more to him as an old maid working on the croft, and he had no interest in marrying me off to a quiet fisherman of average means. And that was that. I cried tears of intense frustration and despair. Did nobody else think it unfair that a person’s fate could be decided so swiftly by another? Why didn’t it matter that I was in love?
Was I not the one who would actually be living this life others were choosing for me? Later that night I crept through the shadows into the village, where I found Calum sitting on the stone wall tossing pebbles into the swelling tide. I wept into that jumper. The jumper I had made, whose stiff newness had given way to the shape of his chest and shoulders, smelling like him. I buried my face into his neck. He whispered my name, but for once I was not at ease, I was not calm. I said desperate things about running away together. But he couldn’t bear to think of my reputation being tarnished, of my family ties being severed. He made me promise to wait a year before we talked about going to such lengths again.
He left me with a flat piece of whale bone on which he had carved the image of a single ocean wave.
‘It’s only the ocean between us,’ he said, holding me close one last time.
His face as his boat disappeared into the fog-shrouded harbour has haunted me for nine years now. Ever calm, ever kind, ever soothing.
We had promised to write, but I didn’t hear from him again. Three years later, on his deathbed, my father told me he had burned Calum’s letters until they stopped coming. So he had been writing to me! My heart wrenched in two, and I felt physically ill. My dear, sweet Calum was left to think I had turned my back on him. My father didn’t ask forgiveness; he just stated it like a fact, as mundane as how many sheep were in the pasture, or what mother was cooking for dinner.
‘We needed you here,’ was the only answer he gave to my heartbroken ‘Why?’
I wrote to Calum after that, but my letters came back to me. I supposed that his heart was too broken to read my words. I resigned myself to a crofting life, finding some comfort in the sea and some soothing in the wildflowers. My sisters raised their families, my mother went on as she always had, my brother still found reasons to call me Captain Catherine. But I had lost the will to steer my ship.
I couldn’t see the lighthouse until we rounded the smaller isles. The approach to the island was from the far side, which gave me a chance to see many of its features as we sailed past. There were beautiful inlets, strangely shaped sea stacks, a hidden sandy beach and even a waterfall dropping off a steep cliff. As the lighthouse came into view, I was struck by how charming it was.
It was a whitish-cream colour, with a light brown band around the top. The keeper’s cottage looked spacious, painted to match the tower. The light made its way around again and winked at me. What an idyllic place to live. Or perhaps not, if it was loneliness that drew you there. I wondered if Calum had found peace, if he was happy on his island.
As we drew closer, I was suddenly overcome with fear. Would Calum recognise me? Would he be happy to see me? Was this incredibly selfish? He had been through so much since we parted, left to believe that I had turned my back on him. I had been so driven by my desire to see him again, to right a wrong, that I hadn’t stopped to think how he might feel.
I snapped back to the present, as I heard barking. I could see a white dog bounding along the stone wall, its head popping up periodically as it kept pace with the boat.
‘That’s Archie. Sounds fierce, but the only thing he’d hurt is a midge – and even then he’d probably feel bad about it. Hey, Archie, good boy!’
‘Well, little one. I hope you like dogs!’ I said to the kitten. As unfazed as she was about everything else, I felt sure she would be just fine.
At the crest of the cliff I could see a man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, clearly an older man.
‘I didn’t realize there was anyone else on the island,’ I said.
‘There isn’t,’ Angus said, as he waved to the man. ‘Calum is minding the light by himself today.’
My heart plummeted to the soles of my feet. How could I have been wrong? I was sure I recognised the voice. And Angus had said the keeper’s name was Calum. I had connected the dots too hastily and got my hopes up. I felt empty, drained in an instant of the hope that had been clearing the cobwebs from my soul. ‘You’re a daft, naive fool,’ I muttered under my breath.
I wanted to stay in the boat. But it would have been rude (and odd) not to assist Angus and hand over the kitten I had insisted upon delivering myself.
We were drawing closer and the kitten was getting underfoot. As I tried to catch her, Angus was tying up the boat. I couldn’t see the man on the cliff anymore, but I had lost interest in him, busying myself gathering up the kitten and some other things I had brought to leave with her. We alighted and started up the winding path that snaked its way to the lighthouse. Trailing behind, I cursed my skirt for getting in the way and slowing me down as usual. Angus had disappeared around the cliff, and the sound of enthusiastic voices told me the brothers had been reunited. Archie was barking excitedly and I heard the voices trail off. I began to think they had left me and gone inside. But as I rounded the corner I froze, face to face with the white-haired man.
My heart stopped, and my breath caught in my throat. It was my Calum.
‘Cat!?’ My name fell off his tongue in apparent disbelief. His rough hand sought the cold rock wall.
‘Calum.’ I barely managed to whisper his name, but as I did, years’ worth of heartache lost their grip on my soul.
The white hair was the only feature of his that had aged. It was still thick and wavy. And there were those bushy eyebrows, drawing me into those unforgettable eyes. He was the same Calum I remembered; the same face frozen in my mind, disappearing into the fog. When I noticed his clothes, a lump formed in my throat. He was still wearing that jumper, all these years later. It bore the marks of innumerable mendings, but the pattern was unmistakable.
Angus stared at us both, not knowing what to make of it all. He turned towards me with a surprised and suspicious look, and I could see the questions forming in his head. But he clearly sensed the gravity of the moment and didn’t utter a word. He mumbled something about supplies and went back towards the boat.
‘Cat.’ Calum repeated my name, this time seeming more trusting of his own words.
‘Calum.’ I didn’t know where to start, so I chose what was right in front of me. ‘I made you a new jumper, and I brought you this.’
I held out the new jumper I had made for him, wrapped around the precious little ginger kitten.
Those kind eyes I remember so well creased in the corners, a smile forming on his lips, and then fading away as disbelief once more seemed to set in. Then he caught sight of his whalebone carving around my neck. I held it between my fingers, tears in my eyes.
‘It was only the ocean between us,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.’
Afterword
A Cat for the Keeper was inspired by a photograph of a 1920’s crofter from the M.E.M. Donaldson collection. The man sits with a peat cutter in his lap, kitten on his shoulder and a dog by his side. His identity isn’t known for sure, but he and his furry companions were the muses for this story, and a launching point for further photograph inspired short stories. If you liked this story, please do share, and stay tuned as I will be writing more in the future, exclusively on Substack!
Well done. This was such an enjoyable lovely read. Thank you for sharing it!
What a wonderful story. Just what I needed tonight!