Hey love, let me tell you about my old mate Simon Mitchell. Weve known each other for what feels like a century, and now hes standing there asking for a favour.
Peter, he says, I get it, but think about your age. What can I possibly do for you? You were a manager once, and now youd have me as a porter? I chuckle, looking at the silverhaired chap.
Simon nods, his eyes a bit weary.
Hang in there, Pete Ill ring you if anything decent turns up. Dont get down, buddy! Well pull through, he shouts as he heads off.
It wasnt the first rejection in two weeks. Simons gotten used to the routine, learned to keep his cool, though at first it knocked the wind out of him. As they say, a friend is known in hard times. Simon spent his whole career in senior roles, had loads of connections, but when trouble hit, nobody was around.
Typical of a new boss, he brought his own crew and politely, yet firmly, asked Simon to submit a voluntary resignation. He was only a few months from retirement, but no one seemed to mind. Suddenly he found himself without a prestigious job or a steady income.
He didnt let it get him down, though. In the town of Norwich hed helped plenty of folks get jobs, finish their studies, sort out other hassles.
Kirill wont say no to me. I helped him out big time once, Simon told his wife Helen as he walked to another interview.
He came back looking glum and quiet.
Another one, mate, he sighs.
Helen read his eyes like an open book.
Come on, Simon, have a bite. Whatever happens, itll work out for the best, she says, laying a plate down.
Simon nods, then spends the evening scrolling through his phone, tapping the contacts of his best mates.
Help arrives out of the blue when Simons about to throw in the towel. An old driver, now the director of a small meatprocessing plant, offers him a spot as a supply clerk.
Can take you on as a warehouse assistant. Its a busy job, but I think youll manage, the former driver says politely.
Simons grateful for any work, so the next day hes on the shop floor.
The little factory sits on the outskirts of town, behind a steel fence where two burly workers unload a truck full of meat. Not far away, a scrappy gaggle of local cats watches the whole spectacle like its a ritual.
Simon flashes a grin at the striped whiskered critters as they trot past, whiskers twitching, escorting the latest batch of treats. Later we learn the whole site is ruled by a proper cat gang that doesnt take kindly to strangers. Theyre a bit wild and keep their distance. Every time Simon tries to pat one, the cat darts off or hisses.
Those little brutes, eh? he laughs, watching cook Zinnia haul leftovers to her students.
Theyre not the friendliest lot, Zinnia replies, nodding toward a pair of kittensized tabbies tussling with the older cats.
Simon settles in, learns every cats name, and the felines start to trust the silverhaired bloke. Hes never kept pets at home, but he loves animals and always looks after them when he can. Whenever he steps outside for a cigarette, the cats circle him, eyes bright, hoping hes got something to share.
Six months slip by unnoticed. Summer fades, autumn rolls in with damp winds and grey rain. The cats hide more, still sniffing out any scraps.
One day a lone kitten shows up on the factory grounds, skinny, black, with a patch of missing fur on its back. The gang doesnt accept it, but they dont attack either. Simon, out on his usual smoke break, spots the tiny thing waddling over.
A little black fluff on skinny legs hops straight to him.
Meow, it croaks, sneezing.
Whats this little miracle? Simon asks the cats. They give him a bored look theyre all browntabby with yellowgreen eyes, not this tiny black fellow.
The kitten rubs against Simons boot and purrs.
Youre a softie, Simon chuckles.
The others keep to themselves, dont they? Funny they didnt shoo the little guy, the cook mutters.
Simon watches the gang warily; they could’ve easily bullied the newcomer. He slips inside, scoops a piece of sausage for the kitten, and places a small treat a short distance away for the rest. The other cats dive in, but the kitten lingers, nudging Simons hand before finally eating.
Look at you, so gentle, Simon sings softly, meeting the kittens sleepy eyes.
He names the little furball Pasty and from then on, hes the first to feed it every day.
Whos that youre feeding? Helen asks, halfamused.
Its a tiny, funny little kitten, Simon replies, a hint of embarrassment in his tone.
Maybe you could take it home? Helen suggests, though she knows Simons never been keen on indoor pets.
Not a chance! We dont need a cat in the flat, he jokes.
Your call, she shrugs.
One chilly morning, as Simon trudges to work, a familiar voice calls out, Oi! Simon, hows it going?
Peter Collins, an old friend, rushes over.
Got a job yet? Peter asks, offering a hand.
Simon gives a cool, silent nod, keeping his hand in his pocket. Hes long since learned the price of their friendship.
Wild as ever, Peter mutters, hopping into his car to escape the cold.
The kitten, now a plump little thing, perches on a low board near the warehouse entrance, its black coat resembling tiny needles in the frost.
Dont they let you in? Simon growls toward the insulated shed where the cat gang huddles, their yellow eyes flickering, trying to decide if hell bring food.
The radio crackles a forecast: heavy snow heading for the city tonight.
The monthly quotas coming in, Simon. Howll you get to work tomorrow? the driver jokes.
At the end of the shift, the driver offers Simon a lift home. Snowflakes are already dusting the pavement.
Hey, Dave, could you drop me off at the factory instead? Simon asks suddenly.
Dave shrugs and drives on.
Missing work, mate? he teases as he drops Simon by the gate, but Simons already turned his back.
He darts into the yard, snow now a soft blanket. He calls out, Pasty! Pasty! Where are you? but the kitten doesnt answer. The resident cats watch him, wary, as he runs around shouting.
Soon a flock of crows lands on the fence, watching the scene, while the snow keeps falling.
Pasty! Where have you gone? Simon cries, glancing around.
The gang of cats retreats into their little shelter, realizing the weather means no handouts. They huddle together for warmth.
By morning, the forecast is right the whole town is under a thick carpet of snow. People chat as they shuffle through drifts.
Simon, late as usual, finds the streets cleared by the groundskeeper. The cats peek from their nest, eyes hopeful.
He tosses them some leftovers, smiling at the ragtag bunch.
It feels like when I was a kid, sliding down the hill with Mum and Dad, he muses, the snow bringing a nostalgic grin.
Just then, the tiny black kitten finally emerges from its hideout, scrambling to Simons side. Simon scoops it up, holding it close.
Good lad, Pasty! Finally found you! he exclaims, the kitten sniffling and sneezing all the way home, clinging to his coat as if scared to lose him.
Helen doesnt even blink at the sight of Simon at the doorstep with the new family member.
So you finally decided to keep him? she teases.
Yeah, I thought hed freeze out there alone, Simon admits, setting the little furball on the windowsill where it watches the snowfilled world outside.
The kitten peers out, eyes following the white drifts, while Simons gaze meets its own, full of gentle affection. Helen wraps her arms around her tough husband, knowing better than anyone how bighearted he truly is.
And thats the story a gruff old lad and his tiny black cat, a friendship a little different from the usual, but one with no room for betrayal or deceit. Its a bond worth waiting for, believing in, and cherishing. Talk later!
