Meow

I struggle the plastic sack from the bin. It's stuck to the inside and does not want to come loose. After much shaking, and kicking the bin several times, it comes free, tearing slightly but fortunately not enough to split it open and dump its contents over the lino.

I tie off the top, ignoring the potent stench of rotting food wafting from within, and take it out the back door to the patio where the wheelie bin waits hungrily.

And I stop.

There is a cat, sat on the lid of my bin, staring at me with yellow distrust. A black cat. Entirely black save for a single white smudge, like a tear, beneath its left eye. I have never seen this cat before - as far as I'm aware, it doesn't belong to any of my neighbours.

"Shoo," I tell it.

It squints at me, pupils narrow to slits.

"Shoo!" I say again and follow it up with a backhand swipe.

The cat doesn't react. If anything it settles even more. Definitely not one of the neighbours' cats - every single one of them is terrified of me and runs off before I can get even close.

"Fine," I huff and reach a hand out to lift the lid.

The cat lashes one clawed paw at me and I draw back quickly. A deep rumbling growl comes from its throat.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I ask the cat rhetorically.

It replies with a lazy flick of its tail.

"Mardy little shitbag," I mutter and carry the bag back into the house. I drop the rubbish on the floor next to the empty bin and fetch a new bag from the drawer. A glance out of the window and the cat has vanished from its perch.

I grab the bag again, open the door and jog out to the bin. I throw the lid open, chuck the rubbish in and slam it closed with far more force than was strictly necessary. Then I head back inside and make a cup of tea, putting the fresh bin bag in the bin while the kettle boils.

I wander into the living room with my cuppa and there on the couch, in my usual place, is the cat.

"Oi!" I exclaim.

The cat just looks at me with sleepy, half-closed eyes then drops its head back down on its paws.

I put my mug on the coffee table and reach down with both hands to pick up this feline intruder.

Fast like lightning this time, its claws scratch my index finger and I flinch away, jam my wounded digit in my mouth. I taste the sharp coppery tang of blood on my tongue.

"Fine, fuck you," I go and sit in the armchair on the other side of the room and sulk, still sucking on my wound.

We eye each other suspiciously.

This could be the start of a beautiful friendship…