We’d been mates for what felt like a century, and now he was standing before me, asking for a hand.
Tom, I get it, but think about ityoure not getting any younger. Where would I put you? I was a manager once, and you want me to be a warehouse lad? I chuckled, eyeing the silverhaired bloke across from me.
Stephen M. gave a weary nod.
Hang in there, Tom Ill ring you if something worthwhile turns up. Dont get down, chum! Well pull through! I called out as I left.
It wasnt the first rejection in the past fortnight. Stephen had grown accustomed to the blow, learning to keep his composure, though at first it had crushed him. As the saying goes, a friend is known in hardship. Stephen M. Stead had spent his whole career in senior posts, surrounded by plenty of acquaintances, but when the hard times hit there was no one left by his side.
As is often the case, the new boss brought his own crew, and Stephen was politely yet firmly asked to tender his resignation. Retirement was only a stones throw away, but that mattered to no one. In an instant he found himself without a prestigious job or a steady income.
Still, the man refused to wallow. In the town of York he had plenty of contacts hed helped over the years with jobs, studies and all manner of troubles.
Kirby wont turn me down, Ive helped him plenty before, Stephen told his wife Ethel as he set off for yet another interview.
He returned that evening, brow furrowed and silent.
What a mate, that one, he sighed.
Ethel read his thoughts in his eyes.
Come on, Tom, have a bite. Whatevers happening, itll work out for the best, she said, laying the plates on the table.
Stephen nodded, then spent the night leafing through his phones address book, pencilling in the numbers of his best friends.
Help arrived out of the blue when Stephen was about to throw in the towel. An old driver, now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant, took him under his wing.
I can take you on as a supply clerk. Its a hectic job, but youll manage, he said politely to his former boss.
Stephen was grateful for any work and started the next day without hesitation.
The plant sat on the edge of town, behind a chainlink fence where two burly lads unloaded a lorry of pork. A small troupe of local cats lingered nearby, watching the ritual with keen interest.
Stephen glanced at the striped felines, their whiskered faces twitching as they escorted yet another batch of treats. Later we learned the whole site was ruled by a ragtag gang of cats that shunned strangers. They were a little wildhearted and werent keen on being petted; each time Stephen tried to stroke a striped one, it would either dart away or hiss.
Youve got a tough lot here, I laughed, watching the cook Georgina hand out the leftovers to her furry charges.
Theyre not the friendliest lot, she agreed, pointing at a pair of kittensize tabbies tussling with their elders.
Soon Stephen settled into his new routine and learned the names of every cat. They, in turn, grew to trust the silverhaired man, for he often slipped them bits of food. He didnt keep pets at home, but he loved animals and always tried to look after them.
Whenever Stephen stepped out for a smoke, the cats would encircle him, watching his eyes for any morsel they might share.
Months slipped by unnoticed. Autumn arrived with its damp winds and grey drizzle, and the cats kept to the shadows, yet they never missed a meal.
One day a lone black kitten with a thin patch on its back showed up on the site. The gang kept its distance, but it didnt attack. The tiny, scraggly thing stole Stephens heart at once.
Stephen was outside after lunch, a cigarette dangling from his lips, when a small, dark ball of fur trotted straight toward him.
Mew, it rasped, sneezing as it went.
What on earth is that? I asked the cats, eyeing the newcomer.
They stared indifferently; the gang were all brownstriped with yellowgreen eyes. The kitten, however, brushed against Stephens boot and began to purr.
Well, look at that, isnt he a softie, Stephen smiled.
Looks like someone dropped a stray, Georgina mused, noting how the rest of the gang kept their distance.
Stephen, wary of the gangs potential to bully the little creature, fetched a slice of sausage and placed it near the kitten, tossing a few bits a short distance away for the others. The gang lunged greedily, while the kitten lingered, rubbing against Stephens hand before finally nibbling.
What a gentle little thing, he sang, gazing into the kittens eyes as it closed them in content.
From then on Stephen called the kitten Pasty and made sure it was fed first, before rushing off to his duties.
Who are you feeding? Ethel asked, surprised.
Its just a tiny, funny kitten, he answered, a faint blush on his cheeks.
Maybe you could bring it home? she suggested, though she knew hed always opposed indoor pets.
No, not a chance. We dont need a cat in the house, she replied.
Right, as you say she shrugged.
One bitter, cloudy morning Stephen was strolling to work when a familiar voice called out:
Tom! Good to see you!
He turned to see his old mate Peter hurrying toward him.
Got a job yet? Peter asked warmly, extending his hand.
Stephen gave a cold glance, nodded silently, and kept his hand in his pocket, walking on. Hed long learned the price of that friendship.
Youre a bit wild, arent you? Peter muttered, hopping into his car to escape the chill.
The kitten was perched on a small board by the warehouse entrance, its black fur looking like tiny needles in the frost.
They wont let you in, will they? You lot are a proper menace, Stephen growled at the insulated shed where the cat gang huddled, their yellow eyes glinting, gauging whether a human might feed them.
The radio that morning warned of an incoming snowstorm.
Heard the forecast, Tom? Howll you get to work tomorrow? the driver lamented.
The shift ended and the driver offered Stephen a lift home. Snowflakes began to drift onto the pavement.
Actually, Dave, could you drop me off at the plant instead? Stephen blurted.
Dave shrugged and turned the wheel.
Missing the old job, eh, Tom? he laughed, pulling Stephen up at the fence.
But Stephen didnt hear him. He darted into the yard, where a thin white blanket of snow now covered the ground. He ran to the board where Pasty usually perched and called:
Pasty, Pasty, Pasty!
The kitten didnt appear. The yard cats watched warily as Stephen paced the perimeter, shouting.
Soon a circle of fluffy beasts surrounded him, while two crows perched on the fence, eyeing the scene. Snow kept falling.
Pasty! Where have you gone? Stephen cried, glancing anxiously around.
The cats, sensing the storm, retreated to their shelter, realizing no food would come from him today. They huddled together, warm against the cold.
By dawn, as the meteorologists had promised, the whole town was buried under snow. Residents trudged through drifts, commenting on the rare snowfall.
Stephen, like everyone else, arrived late to work. The groundskeeper had cleared the paths, and the cats peeked from their little haven, hopeful for a treat.
He set out a portion of sausage for them:
Here you go, Pasty sends his greetings, he said gently, watching the wild bunch keep their distance.
A childhood joy rose in him, the kind he felt as a lad sliding down a hill with his mum and dad. Perhaps it was the snow, perhaps it was the kittens sudden bravery. Earlier, the little feline had emerged from hiding at the very last moment, and Stephen had scooped it up, hugging it tight.
Well done, Pasty! At last youre here, my friend! he repeated, as the kitten sniffed and sneezed all the way home, clinging to his trousers with tiny claws.
Ethel barely raised an eyebrow when she saw Stephen at the doorway with the new family member.
Decided to keep him, did you? she asked, teasing.
I did. Hed have been out there in that snowstorm all alone, he answered, gently setting the kitten on the floor.
The kitten nosed around, exploring its new surroundings. Stephen watched, his eyes sparkling. Ethel wrapped her arms around her stern, gruff husband, fully aware of the soft heart beating beneath his tough exterior.
The kitten perched on the windowsill, staring out at the white heaps. The man who had chosen him as a friend trudged back through the drifts, his steps firm, his smile wide.
Their bond, though between a grown man and a tiny cat, was no less genuine than any between people. Stephen and Pasty both understood there was no room for betrayal, deceit or flattery in itjust a trust worth waiting for and believing in.
