Father, have you taken in a cat? my daughter Lucy asked, surprised when she arrived for the weekend. Peter Whitaker stared out of the kitchen window with a frustrated sigh. There, again, perched on his vegetable rows, was the same ginger tom, now in his third consecutive day of intrusion.
At first it had nibbled the tomatoes, then it slept among the cucumbers, and today it had simply settled on the young cabbage heads.
Why dont you go back to your owners? the old man muttered, tapping the glass.
The cat lifted its head, met his gaze with yellow eyes and remained where it was, utterly brazen.
Peter slipped on his rubber boots and walked out to the plot. The cat did not bolt; it shuffled a few steps away and perched by the fence, thin and ragged, an ear torn, tail in rags.
Now, you poor thing, Peter said, bending over the cabbage and surveying the damage. Youre probably not wanted back home, are you?
The cat let out a pitiful, quiet meow, and the old man suddenly understood: the animal was starving. Its gaunt eyes burned with hunger.
Where are your owners? he asked, sitting on his haunches.
The cat crept closer, rubbing against his boot. It purred softly, as if thanking him for not shooing it away.
Granddad, why does a cat live in our yard? asked his grandson Sam, who had come to visit the summer cottage.
It belongs to the neighbours. I dont know whether it got lost or was cast out, Peter replied.
Whose was it?
Peter sighed. He knew the answer. It had belonged to Mrs. Hannah Semen, from the house next door. She had passed away a month earlier, and only relatives had come for the funeral. The house was locked up, its contents cleared, and the cat had been forgotten.
It was Annes cat. Shes gone now.
So the cat was left alone?
Yes, it stayed.
Sam looked at the ginger wanderer with pity.
Granddad, could we take it in?
Never! Peter snapped. I didnt need a cat anyway. I have nothing to eat myself, and now
That evening, after Sam had returned to the city, Peter placed a bowl of leftover soup by the veranda and walked away. The cat approached cautiously, began to eat greedily, and finished in a rush.
Fine, Peter mumbled, once wont hurt.
That once turned into a daily habit. Each morning the cat waited at the gate, sitting patiently, neither meowing nor begging, simply waiting.
At first Peter fed the cat scraps. Soon he began to boil porridge especially for it and bought cheap tins of fish. He told himself it was only temporary, until the cat found new owners.
Rufus, come here, he called. Ill keep calling you. What did Mrs. Hannah call you, anyway?
The cat answered to any name; all that mattered was being called.
Gradually Rufus settled in. By day he basked in the garden sun; by evening he returned to the veranda, sleeping in the old dogs doghouse that still stood by the fence.
Just temporary, Peter kept repeating. Absolutely temporary.
Weeks passed, and the cat never left. Peter realized he had grown fond of the orange muzzle at the gate, its soft evening purrs, the warm lap it sometimes claimed when he sat on the veranda.
Father, have you really taken in a cat? Lucy asked again, bewildered.
No, he came on his own. He was a neighbours, the lady who owned him is dead
So why feed him? Find him a home.
And who needs an old cat? Peter scratched Rufus behind the ear. Let him live.
Father, thats an unnecessary expense. Food, vet bills your pension is already small.
Well manage, Peter replied shortly.
Lucy shook her head. In recent years her father had become a strange mantalking to his plants, now rescuing a cat.
Maybe you should move to the city, to us, she suggested again. Why stay alone out here?
Not alone, he said. Rufus is here.
Father, seriously?
Im serious. This is fine for us. We have the garden and the cat.
Lucy sighed. It had become hard to talk with him; the loss of his wife had turned him inward and obstinate.
In autumn Rufus fell ill. He stopped eating, lay weak in the doghouse, breathing shallowly. Peter sat beside him, worried as if for a dear friend.
Whats wrong, old chap? he whispered. Are you sick?
The cat opened his eyes, let out a faint mew. Peter mustered the courage to take him to the village veterinary practice, spending almost his entire pension on treatment, but he did not regret it.
You have a good cat, the young vet said. Hes smart and gentle. Just old, his immune system is weak.
Will he live?
If you care for him, hell have more time. Just keep him warm and give his medicines.
At home Peter made a little hospice on the veranda, spreading old blankets, placing bowls of food and water, giving pills daily, checking his temperature.
Get better, he urged. Id be bored without you.
And it was true. Over those months Rufus became more than a pet; he was a companion, the only living being that welcomed Peters return each day, whose presence filled the silence.
Granddad, is Rufus better? Sam asked during his winter break.
Much better. Look, hes sleeping on his cushion.
Rufus indeed lay curled on a warm pillow, his coat shining, eyes bright. He seemed healthy again.
Will he stay here forever?
Where would he go? Peter stroked the cat. Were a pair. He gives me company; I give him a home.
Granddad, werent you lonely before Rufus?
Peter thought. Since his wifes death the house felt empty, the kettle boiled for one, the television played to nobody, bedtime was in a vacant room.
Yes, I was very lonely, my dear. he admitted. Now Im not. He greets me from the garden, purrs while I cook, rests on my lap while I watch TV. Its better.
Sam nodded. He, too, understood how an animal could brighten solitude.
What does mum think? Peter asked.
My mother disapproves, Sam replied. She says its an unnecessary expense, a needless bother.
And you?
I think its not needless. Rufus brings me joy, and joy isnt needless.
In spring an unexpected visitor arrived: Sophie, the niece of the late Hannah Semen, a young woman with a small child.
Grandfather, sorry to bother you, she said. Im Sophie, Hannahs niece. I heard your cat is still alive.
Peters heart thumped. Would they take Rufus away?
Hes still here, he answered cautiously. What of it?
We just wanted to ask after the funeral we left in a hurry and forgot about the cat. It feels shameful now; wed like to take him back.
Peter felt a tightening in his chest.
Youre probably fed up with him, all the trouble
No, Im not fed up. Hes a fine cat.
Sophie looked out at Rufus lying in the sun beside the rows.
Hes changed so much! He was gaunt and sick, now hes a handsome fellow.
I treated him, fed him well.
Thank you so much! Well take him, of course, and cover any costs.
Peter fell silent. Legally the cat belonged to Hannahs family, but in his mind Rufus had become part of his own life.
May we see him? Sophie asked.
They approached the cat. Rufus lifted his head, stared cautiously at the strangers, then padded over to Peter and rubbed his legs.
Its strange, Sophie remarked. He doesnt recognize me. I used to visit Aunt Anne often.
Time has passed, Peter said. Hes probably forgotten.
But it wasnt mere forgetfulness. The cat had chosen a new masterhim, who fed, healed, and loved him.
Perhaps he could stay with you? Sophie suddenly suggested. Hes grown used to you, and youve grown attached.
What do you mean? Peter asked, bewildered.
Its simple. We live in a flat with a small child. The cat is old, used to freedom. Moving would distress him.
But hes ours
He was your aunts, now hes yours as well. You rescued him twiceonce from hunger, once from illness. He belongs to you.
Peter could hardly believe his luck.
Really? We could leave him here?
Yes, just let us know if you need food or medicine; well help.
After Sophie left, Peter sat on the veranda, petting Rufus.
You hear that, old friend? Youre staying with me. Forever.
The cat purred, eyes halfclosed in contentment.
That night Lucy called.
Father, hows the cat? Is he still alive?
Hes alive. In fact hes officially mine now. The owners came, and they let me keep him.
Good. If hes already settled
Lucy, you know what Ive realised?
Whats that?
A lonely man and a lonely cat save each other. I saved him from starvation; he saved me from solitude.
Father, stop philosophising
Im not philosophising, Im speaking truth. Now I have purposerise in the morning, prepare his food, give his meds. And theres joy, a purr by the gate.
Lucy fell silent, perhaps for the first time truly understanding why the cat mattered to him.
Father, will you ever move to us?
No, I wont. I have everything I need heremy house, my garden, Rufus. I dont need city hustle.
Alright, then youll stay.
Ill stay. Well stay.
Another year passed. Peter Whitaker and Rufus lived a measured life. Mornings began with tea and a stroll among the beds; days were spent tending the garden while the cat napped in the shade; evenings brought dinner, the television, and Rufus curled on his lap.
Neighbours, accustomed to the pair, would say,
Peter Whitakers cat is downright tame now!
Its not his cat, Peter would smile. Were one another.
And that was the truth. They had rescued each othera solitary old man and an unwanted old catfinding in one another the understanding, warmth, and purpose they had both been seeking.
What more does one need for happiness?
Rufus now purrs on his masters knees, and Peter thinks how fortunate he was not to shoo that hungry wanderer away. He knows that sometimes the most important decisions are made not by the mind, but by the heart, and they turn out to be the right ones.
