A few nights ago I was on a moonlight bike ride, when I met a lovely local character. I love going out in the evening, taking my three dogs out one after the other, to watch the sun set and the dark soak in.
In Anfield, since the last round of demolition, it has become like my childhood country walks with my dad; the only sound (apart from the occasional car) is children playing and birds singing. The sun sets, painting the clouds in the huge sky over the great flat brownfield site, like a farmer’s fallow field. Then the bats come out, and flit about as the sky darkens and the stars come out. It is, genuinely, a peaceful, nature-gentle place.
For years, when I walked that way, even when the houses were still there, I’d see little plastic bowls of water, and cat-food dotted along the fences. I assumed they were poisoned, to kill rats, and always shoo-ed my dogs away. Back then I was very cynical about Anfield people – I thought it was a place of hostility and aggression.
But then I met the lady responsible. She puts food and water out for the animals left behind in the regeneration. She has names for all the cats. Every other night she comes into the demolition zone with her huge American bulldog, who she bought off some lads for two quid cos they wanted rid of him.
The cats love her to bits, and gather around her in a gang. She asked the RSPCA to help them; they took them all in, neutered them, and dumped them back in the tinned-up streets. So she feeds them and loves them, and gives them the care they need.
She thinks they are the cats who lived in the houses, and when the families left, the confused cats came home. They love her too much to be feral strays – they seek her out, needing human cuddles – and she had to fight for their lives during the demolition. They’d be in a house as bulldozers approached, and she’d beg the workmen to let them out, but their response was “they’re only cats.”
She watched as the work killed hedgehogs and bats, pulled down trees, the cats without shelter. I had never thought about living things in the dead streets, apart from the odd pigeon, I had never seen anything.
It was so inspiring to see this woman standing up for what she believes is right, even though she stands alone in a sea of desolation. She has no help from the RSPCA, or the council, or the workmen. To them, the animals don’t warrant care. To her, what counts is that they need help, and she can give it.
