They had been friends for what felt like centuries, and now he stood before him, pleading for help.
Thomas, I get it, but think about it youre not getting any younger. Where would I take you? You used to be a manager, and Im offering you a job as a loader? Peter Pritchard chuckled, eyeing the silverhaired man.
Thomas Whitaker nodded slowly.
Hang in there, Tom Ill ring you if something decent comes up. Dont get sour, mate! Well push through! Peter called out as he left.
It wasnt the first rejection in the past fortnight. Thomas had grown accustomed to the setbacks, learning to keep his composure, though at first it broke his heart.
As the old saying goes, a friend is known in trouble. Thomas Whitaker Stead had spent his life in senior posts, surrounded by many acquaintances. Yet when hardship arrived, none stepped forward.
As often happens, a new boss arrived with his own crew, and Thomas was politely yet firmly asked to hand in a resignation of his own accord. Retirement was only a few months away, but that mattered to no one.
So suddenly he found himself without the prestigious job and the steady pay.
But he refused to sink into despair. In the town of Ashford he knew countless people he had once helped find work, study, or solve other woes.
Kirby wont turn his back on me, I helped him out big time once, Thomas told his wife, Lydia, as he headed to yet another interview.
He returned from that meeting glum and silent.
Even the friends name sounds like a curse, he sighed.
Lydia read his eyes like an open book.
Come, Tom, have a bite. Whatever happens, its for the best, she said, setting a plate before him.
Thomas nodded and spent the evening flipping through his phones contacts list of the best mates.
Help arrived in an unexpected form just as Thomas was about to throw in the towel. An old driver, now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant, invited him in.
I could use a supply manager. Its a hectic job, but youll manage, the director said politely to his former boss.
Thomas welcomed any work and started the next morning.
The little factory sat on the towns outskirts, behind an iron fence where two burly workers were unloading a truck bristling with carcasses.
Not far away a clump of local cats watched the ritual like a sacred ceremony.
Thomas smiled at the striped felines, their whiskered faces bobbing in unison as they chased another portion of food.
Later it turned out that the plants grounds were ruled by an entire gang of cats that kept strangers at bay. They were a tad wild, with a prickly temperament. Each time Thomas passed, he tried to pat a whiskered, striped cat, only to be shooed away or met with a hiss.
Youve got some fierce youngsters here, Thomas laughed, watching cook Zinnia cart away the kitchen leftovers.
Theyre not exactly easy on the hands, even the kittens are aloof, Zinnia replied, pointing to a pair of striped youngsters darting between their elders.
Soon Thomas settled into the new role and learned each cats name. The gang grew to trust the silverhaired man, for he often slipped them scraps. Though he kept no pets at home, he loved animals and always tried to aid them.
Whenever he stepped out for a cigarette, the cats would encircle him cautiously, staring into his eyes as if to gauge whether he carried anything they might like.
Six months drifted by unnoticed.
Autumn arrived with its damp winds and drizzly rain. The cats hid more often, yet never missed a meal.
One day a lone kitten appeared on the factory grounds, keeping to itself. The resident gang seemed to reject the youngster but did not attack. Small, scrawny, black with a bald patch on its back, the kitten stole Thomass heart at once.
Thomas was outside after lunch, smoking, when the cat troupe lounged on sunwarmed planks. Suddenly, from behind a corner, a tiny black ball on spindly legs strutted straight toward him.
Meow, it croaked and sneezed.
What little wonder is this? Thomas asked the cats.
They glanced indifferently. The newcomer was clearly not of their breed; the rest were brownstriped with yellowgreen eyes.
The kitten brushed against Thomass leg and purred.
Look at that, how affectionate, Thomas beamed.
Probably a stray someone tossed our way. Our own lot keep their distance, they wont touch it, the cook remarked, eyeing the kitten.
Thomas glanced warily at the gang; they could have easily harmed the little one. He went inside, fetched a slice of sausage, and set it near the kitten, leaving a small morsel for the other cats a short way off. The others lunged greedily, while the kitten lingered, rubbing against Thomass hands before finally nibbling.
Well, arent you a gentle soul, he sang softly, meeting the kittens sleepy eyes.
From then on he called the kitten Pâté and fed it first, before hurrying off to his duties.
Who are you bringing lunch for? Lydia wondered.
Its just a tiny, funny kitten, Thomas replied, a bit embarrassed.
Maybe you could take it home? Lydia suggested, though she knew he usually opposed indoor pets.
No, we dont need a cat, she replied.
If you say so Thomas shrugged.
One bleak, overcast morning, Thomas heard a familiar voice.
Ah, Tom! Good to see you!
He turned to see his old friend Peter rushing toward him.
Found any work yet? Peter asked kindly, offering a handshake.
Thomas gave a cool stare, nodded silently, and slipped his hand back into his coat pocket, marching on. Hed long learned the true price of their friendship.
Youre a wild one, Peter muttered, hopping into his car to escape the cold.
The kitten perched, puffed up, on a low board at the warehouse entrance. Its black fur glittered like tiny needles in the frost.
They wont let you in, eh? Little beast, Thomas growled toward the insulated cat house where the gang huddled.
Yellow eyes glimmered from the shadows, watching to see if a human would feed them or abandon their warm nook.
That evening the radio warned of a snowstorm heading for the town.
Heard the forecast, Tom? How will you get to work tomorrow? the driver moaned.
The shift ended, and the driver offered Thomas a lift home. Dark clouds gathered, and the first flakes began to fall.
Actually, could you drop me at the factory instead? Thomas blurted.
The driver shrugged and turned the wheel.
Missing the office, eh? he laughed, pulling Thomas out at the gate.
But Thomas didnt hear him.
He sprinted into the courtyard, where the snow lay like a thin white blanket. He ran to the planks where Pâté usually lounged and shouted,
Pâté! Pâté! Where are you?
The kitten did not appear. The resident cats watched nervously as Thomas paced the perimeter, calling out desperately. Soon a shaggy horde of cats surrounded him, and two crows perched on the fence, curious about the scene. Snow fell faster.
Pâté! Where have you gone? he cried, eyes darting.
Sensing the storm, the gang retreated to their shelter, curling together for warmth, knowing Thomas could not bring food today. Thomas turned and left the yard.
By morning, as the forecast promised, the whole town was blanketed in snow.
Well, thats a proper snowstorm, locals muttered, trudging through deep drifts.
Thomas, arriving late to work, found the grounds cleared by the keeper, while the cats peeked out of their hideaway, hopeful for a bite. He placed a tray of treats before them.
Here you go! Pâté sends his regards, he said fondly, watching the wild troupe keep their distance.
A childlike joy swelled in his chest, reminiscent of a boy sliding down a hill with his parents. Perhaps the snow, perhaps the tiny kitten that had finally emerged from its hiding spot at the last moment, had sparked it.
He scooped the trembling kitten into his arms, pressing it close.
Good lad, Pâté! At last youve shown up! he exclaimed.
The kitten yawned, sneezed, and clung to his fingers with tiny claws, as if fearing to be lost.
Decided to keep it after all? Lydia teased, eyeing the new family member.
Yes. I cant imagine him out there in this snow alone, Thomas whispered, setting the kitten gently on the kitchen sill.
The little cat sniffed the air, whiskers twitching as it explored its new world. Thomas watched, his eyes shining. Lydia embraced her gruff husband, knowing his heart was softer than his exterior let on.
The kitten perched on the windowsill, gazing out at the endless white. Across the snowcovered lanes, the cat hed chosen as his friend returned, tail flicking in the cold.
Their bond, though between man and feline, was different from any human friendship, yet it held no room for betrayal, deceit, or flattery. It was a promise worth waiting for and believing in.
