**The Business Trip**
Mid-autumn had settled in, bringing with it dreary weather. There was no sign of an Indian summernature had other plans. The leaves turned yellow and curled at the edges, while a persistent drizzle clung to the air. A biting wind cut through my coat, making the +6°C feel bitterly cold for late September.
By fates design, I found myself on a business trip to a small town. The hotel was an old two-story house, once home to young professionals and their families. Now, with specialists scarce, it had been converted into lodgings. Still, I liked my room. Outside my window stood a tall, sturdy maple tree, its branches swaying in the wind. Whenever I cracked the window to smoke, I admired its quiet strength.
Work kept me busy most days, but evenings were for solitude and a good booka luxury I rarely enjoyed back in my bustling city.
One night, as I sat reading, I felt eyes on me. Someoneor somethingwas watching. I peered into the darkness but saw nothing. The sensation lingered. Was it a person? An animal? I had no answer.
Then, one evening, exhausted and hungry, I cobbled together a simple supper of sausage, tinned fish, and bread. Almost instinctively, I opened the window.
In an instant, a large grey tomcat with amber eyes leapt onto the windowsill. A magnificent creature. Clearly, he had been my silent observer, perched high in the maples branches.
“Come in, then,” I said. “Youre welcome here. Are you hungry? Help yourself.”
The cat, having studied me for days, approached with cautious dignity. I set out sausage and fish, adding a small piece of breadthough I wasnt sure if cats ate bread. He ate slowly, regally, and for some reason, my heart lifted. Loneliness, perhaps.
We dined together that night. When only a scrap of sausage remained, he fixed me with such an imploring look that I laughed. “Take it, if you like.”
With a flick of his tail, he snatched it and vanished into the night.
I was disappointed. Id hoped to know him better.
The next evening, I returned with extra foodsausage and roast chicken from the canteenjust in case.
He didnt wait for an invitation. This time, he tapped the glass with his paw.
We shared supper again, and this time, he lingered. I spoke to himabout work, my life, small frustrations. He listened intently, his golden eyes seeming to understand every word.
An hour later, he took a piece of chicken, gave a soft meow, and disappeared.
I wondered who he belonged to. Where he lived. And yesI had grown attached. I began imagining taking him home. A loyal companion, a confidant. Another soul beneath my roof.
He visited every night after that. His expressive eyes answered my questions, mirrored my moods.
As my last day approached, I worriedhow would I explain that I was leaving? That I wanted him with me?
I finished work early, wandering the town. I bought a large bag, just in case.
Near an old garage, a piercing yowl shattered the quiet. Then snarling, barkinga fight.
I ran toward the noise and froze.
A small grey-and-white cat shielded two kittens, cornered by four snarling dogs.
And there was *my* catmy nightly guestclawing at the lead dogs muzzle, blood flying. He was a whirlwind of fury, lunging at each mutt, driving them back.
The dogs faltered.
I swung my bag, but he hardly needed help. The pack fled, tails between their legs.
Gently, I lifted the kittens into the bag. “Come on, then. Lets go home.”
The grey tom limped behind us.
At the hotel, I checked the little family. The mother and kittens were unharmed, but my brave tom had a wounded paw and a cut near his ear.
Tomorrow, Id take them all home. Id wanted one catnow I had three.
And I was happy.
They say happiness multiplies when shared. That night, as I travelled back with my unexpected family, I understood.
Sometimes, life gives us more than we ask forand exactly what we need.
