**The Business Trip**
Mid-autumn. The weather was far from pleasantno trace of an Indian summer, as though nature had other plans. The leaves curled into brittle tubes, and a fine, unrelenting drizzle hung in the air. A biting wind drove me indoors, where the warmth waited. Six degreesfar too cold for late September.
By fates design, I found myself on a business trip to a sleepy market town. They lodged me in an old, two-storey house, once home to young specialists and their families. Now, with specialists in short supply, the building had been repurposed into a guesthouse.
Still, I liked it. Outside my window stood a tall, ancient maple, and whenever I cracked the pane to smoke, I found myself admiring its strength, its quiet dignity.
Most days, I was busy with work. Evenings, though, belonged to silence and the pages of a well-loved booka rare luxury in the clamour of my usual city life.
Then, one night, I felt ita gaze, heavy and deliberate, pinning me through the glass. Someoneor somethingwas watching. My skin prickled. I searched the darkness but saw nothing. Yet the sensation lingered. Who was so interested in me? Beast or man? I had no answer.
Another evening, weary and ravenous, I cobbled together a simple suppersliced ham, tinned sardines, bread. Almost without thinking, I opened the window.
In an instant, a great grey tomcat landed on the sill, his amber eyes gleaming. A handsome devil. So this was my watcher, hidden all along in the maples branches.
Come in, then, I said. You hungry? Help yourself.
The cat studied me a moment, then stepped inside with regal grace. I laid out ham and fish, even a scrap of breaddid cats eat bread? No matter. He ate with quiet dignity, and to my surprise, warmth swelled in my chest. Loneliness, perhaps, easing its grip.
We dined together. When only a morsel of ham remained, he fixed me with such a pleading look that I laughed. Go on, take it.
His tail flicked. He snatched the meat and vanished into the night like a shadow.
I was sorry to see him go.
The next evening, I returned with extra ham and a bit of roast chicken from the canteenenough for two. This time, he didnt wait. A sharp *tap-tap* at the glass announced his arrival.
We ate, and for once, he lingered. I spoke to himabout my life, my workand though he said nothing, his eyes listened, deep and knowing. An hour passed before he took his leave, chicken clasped in his jaws.
Now I wondered: Who did he belong to? Where did he go? Anddare I think itcould I take him home? The idea took root. A companion, a confidant. A living soul to share my empty flat.
Days slipped by. Each night, he came. Each night, we shared supper and silent conversation.
Then, with only one day left, unease settled over me. How could I ask him to come? He always leftwhere, I didnt know.
That afternoon, I wandered the town, killing time. In a dusty lane near the old lock-ups, a yowl split the airthen snarling, the frantic yelp of dogs.
I ran.
Behind a crumbling garage, a small tabby queen shielded two kittens, pinned by a snarling mastiff. Three more circled.
And theremy cat. My friend. A grey whirlwind of claws and fury, slashing at the dogs muzzles. Blood sprayed. The queen shrieked.
I swung the shopping bag Id broughtmeant for him, for the journey homebut he needed no help. The dogs fled, tails tucked.
Gently, I lifted the kittens into the bag. Come on, then. Lets get you safe.
The tom followed, limping. Back at the guesthouse, I checked them over. The queen and kittens were unharmed. But my brave grey warrior bore a gash by his ear, and his front paw was tender.
Tomorrow, wed see a vet.
Funny how things turn out. Id hoped for one cat. Now I had three.
Yet as we boarded the train home, my heart was light. A familysmall, whiskered, but mine. And who knew? Perhaps one day, a larger one would follow.
Happiness, after all, begets happiness.
What do you think?
