THE SAUSAGE BANDIT
He simply couldnt ignore this cat. Not because he was any old cat, but because he kept pilfering from his little grocery shop. And the way he did itwell, it was impossible to be cross with him. Quite the opposite, really.
In fact, the owner actually looked forward to these performances, phone ready to capture every delightful moment. In the evenings, hed replay the footage for his wife, and together, theyd have a proper laugh. Well, there you are.
The cat would always sit extravagantly outside the open shop door, acting very much like hed just paused for a restheaven forbid anyone suspect he was up to something dodgy. Hed glance about to make sure no one was looking. The owner, meanwhile, would hide behind the massive fridge, perfectly positioned for his secret filming.
Gingerly, the cat would saunter in, head held high, and make a beeline for the sausage counter. There, hed quicken his pace and, with one swift movement, nab a Cumberland or a chunky pork banger before dashing out the door. But, being utterly famished, hed seldom make it more than a few feet from the shop before dropping to the pavement to devour his prize.
The owner would step outside and, keeping his distance, call out,
Tasty, is it?
The cat would look up and meow approvingly.
Well, thank goodness for that, then, said the owner.
Pop by again if you fancy!
Now, you may be wondering, why leave all those sausages on the counter, not in the chiller, sitting right in reach? And why are the bangers and mini-porkers lying there loose and ready for the taking? The answers simple enough.
The shopkeeper had a heart of gold, really. He decided to help the cat outhe arrived at the shop all skin and bones, poor thing, but no matter what, he simply wouldnt come near or accept food straight from the owners hand. So, our grocer devised a clever plan.
He started by placing the sausages right by the door, so Bandityes, the rogue had earned a namecould pinch his own dinner, feel hed earned it. Honest work, in a manner of speaking.
It worked wonders. Gradually, the owner moved the sausages further and further inside, until eventually, the stash lived on the bottom shelf beside the other groceriesa proper little sausage depot down at floor level.
Bandit could have just strolled in and helped himself anytime, but heres the thing, ladies and gentlemen: Its all about the thrill. Theres nothing quite like a stolen snack.
Soon enough, the owner set up a water dish, a splendid bowl of premium cat biscuits, and even a plastic tray of sandall outside the shop. Also nearby stood a small dog kennel, fitted out with a snuggly tartan blanket.
Bandit was still pretty cagey, mind you, and wouldnt let himself be picked up or petted. But he was chatty, to say the least.
After each sausage heist, the owner would follow him out and strike up a friendly conversation. Bandit would sometimes pause mid-bite to glance up, give a little reply, then get back to business.
But lately, the shopkeeper had a burning question on his mind. Bandit now looked plump and polished and most definitely didnt need to steal sausages anymore. Yet, two or three times a day hed still nip in, nick a sausage or two, and scarper round the corner.
Several times, the owner tried to tail him, but Bandit was always too quick. So, he installed a tiny security camera with a decent angle, streaming the action straight to the back office computer. And one fine day, he finally unlocked Bandits secret.
Out of the basement window round the corner popped a scrappy little ginger kitten, who pounced eagerly on the goodies Bandit delivered.
Tomorrow! Do you hear me? TOMORROW youre bringing them both home! cried the grocers wife that evening, dabbing at her eyes.
But that was easier said than done. Catching Bandit was now childs playhed even started snoozing smack in the middle of the shop. But the kitten? That was a different story entirely.
Day after day, the shopkeeper watched the camera feed: the little ginger, drinking from Bandits water bowl or napping in the kennel, but at the slightest approach, hed bolt like an orange lightning bolt, tail stuck straight in the air.
Everything changed one afternoon. The grocer heard a racket coming from the shop entrance. No customers about.
He left the counter and followed the noise. There, perched on the doormat, sat the ginger kitten, yowling his head off.
Whats wrong, little one? the man asked.
The kitten darted up, stared him straight in the eyes, then dashed off. The owner, without thinking twice, followed. Round the corner, Bandit was lying on the ground, whimpering. A dog had bitten his back right leghed managed to escape, but the wound was nasty.
The ginger kitten pressed his head into Bandits side and wailed again.
Oh, for heavens sake, murmured the shopkeeper.
He shrugged off his coat, bundled up the moaning Bandit, scooped up the ginger kitten, and stuck him in his jacket pocket.
He locked up the shop and headed straight for the car.
They spent five hours at the vet while Bandits leg was stitched up and cleaned. Plenty of time for man and kittenwhom he promptly named Sparksto become the firmest of friends. Turns out, Sparks was a cheeky, sociable little chap.
That evening, with Bandit still groggy from the anaesthetic, the grocer brought both cats home. His wife was utterly over the moon. And what does a happy wife do? Rightrings every friend shes ever known. Thats a long, serious process, involving many explanations and much advice.
By the time shed finished, the man, Bandit, and Sparks were all fast asleep, sprawled across the bed.
Well, really, she said.
And where exactly am I supposed to sleep?
But Sparks happily shuffled over, curled up beside her, and kneaded her with his tiny paws.
And so, at last, they all found their home.
Now, two hefty, contented cats loaf about the place, with not a trace of their scruffy street days. Sometimes Bandit, out of habit, still grooms Sparks, who seems perfectly content to let him.
And across the road by the shoe shop, a tiny grey cat has set up camp. The sales assistant pops over regularly to grab a bite for her from the grocers shop.
Maybe shell take her home. Maybe, one day, theyll all get adopted. And cats will become so rare, youll need to join a waiting list and take special training courses just to get one.
What do you think? Could it ever come to that?
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