Walking home from school was odd now, Tiff decided.

Her mum had come to pick her up like normal, but something was missing. The two of them left the school grounds, talking about her day: maths, English, history and art, and the game of bulldog she’d played on the school field during lunch. The lollipop man let them cross the road, flashing a smile at them both as they did.

She looked at her feet as they walked. The scuffed black leather shoes and grey socks stepped on the blue-grey concrete, kicking odd stones along the path. Her hands were gripping onto the straps of her pink rucksack, which somehow complemented the blue school uniform perfectly in colour, while she told her mum how Jules had got her pen licence and that Tiff had much neater writing than Jules.

Her head looked up at the usual house on the corner. “Did Pepsi not follow you today?” She asked, forgetting about Jules’ handwriting and instead thinking of the tortoise shell cat who liked to accompany the two on her walk home from school. Pepsi was funny, an old cat of thirteen who stole any and every bit of food she could and chased foxes in the middle of the night.

“Tiff–”

And then she remembered.

Pepsi wouldn’t be waiting by the house on the corner for her anymore. Nor would she try to steal dinner while her mum was cooking it. She wouldn’t even be in the kitchen; she was gone. They’d taken her to the vet last night, and she hadn’t come back with them.

“Oh.”

Her mum took her hand, squeezing it as they walked past Pepsi’s usual waiting spot. Tiff couldn’t help but look back at it a few times, just in case. Maybe ghosts could be real, and there would be a faint image of the cat trotting over to them, the bell of her collar jingling with each step. But there never was. It was just a spot of grass next to the house on the corner now, no Pepsi eagerly awaiting their return.

They walked past the bus stop Pepsi once followed Tiff and her granny to. Past the garage, where she would sometimes hop in the car and go for a joyride around the block. Past where Pepsi used to live, in the house four doors away that she left to join a new family that treated her better. Then, to the home that felt just that bit emptier.

Her bowls were still on her special mat in the kitchen, the food bowl licked clean, and the water half-empty. Little balls and catnip mice still occupied the floor wherever Pepsi had left them. There was a box in the living room with her other toys, packed away until an unforeseeable future. Such a little body of fur, yet she took up so much space in the home.

Tiff’s heart sank slightly at the remnants of Pepsi. The reminder that she wasn’t there, and never would be again.

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Ajay Oatley is a writer from England. She has recently graduated from university with a degree in Creative and Professional Writing and hopes to finally start writing for her career. She generally prefers young adult fiction, but will try her hand at anything if she gets the idea for it, and has recently tried her hand at personal essays over on Substack.