Dad, have you taken in a cat? my daughter Mabel asked, surprised when she arrived for the weekend.
I, Peter Waters, glowered out of the kitchen window. There it was again that ginger tom perched on the rows of my lettuce, for the third day running.
First it chewed my tomatoes, yesterday it curled up inside the cucumber beds, and today it simply made itself at home among the young cabbage.
Why dont you go back to your owners? I muttered, tapping the glass with the back of my knuckles.
The cat lifted its yellow eyes, stared at me, and stayed put cheeky as ever.
I slipped on my rubber boots and trudged out to the garden. The cat didnt bolt; it shuffled a few steps away and settled beside the fence, a lean, ragmarked creature with a torn ear and a tail riddled with sores.
Well, you miserable thing, I said, crouching by the cabbage and inspecting the damage. Youve had a rough time think they wont take you home now?
The animal let out a soft, pitiful meow. In that instant I realised the beast was starving. Its gaunt frame and bright eyes told the tale.
Where are your owners? I asked, sitting on my haunches.
The cat padded closer, rubbing against my boot. It purred low, as if thanking me for not chasing it away.
My grandson Tommy is coming down to the cottage, I heard my grandson say as he arrived. Granddad, why does a cat live in our yard?
It belongs to the neighbours, I replied. Probably got lost or was dumped Im not sure.
Whose was it?
I sighed. I knew exactly whose. It had belonged to Mrs. Anne Smith from the house next door. Shed passed away a month earlier, and only her relatives turned up for the funeral. The house was locked up, the furniture carted out, and the cat was simply forgotten.
She was my aunt, Anne, I said. Shes gone now.
So the cat is all alone?
Yes, it stayed behind.
Tommy looked at the ginger wanderer with a hint of pity.
Granddad, why dont we take him in?
Dont be ridiculous, I snapped. I was barely getting enough to eat myself, and now you want me to look after a cat?
Later that evening, after Tommy had driven back to the city, I fetched a bowl of leftover soup and placed it on the steps. The cat crept forward, ate greedily, and I muttered, All right, one time is fine.
That one time turned into a daily habit. Every morning the cat waited by the gate, patient, never meowing, just watching. At first I fed him scraps; then I started boiling a proper porridge and buying cheap tins of fish, telling myself it was only temporary until he found a new home.
Ginger, come here, I called. Ill keep calling you Ginger or whatever Mrs. Helen used to call you.
The cat responded to any name, as long as it was spoken.
Gradually Ginger settled in. He basked in the sun by the rows, returned to the porch at dusk, and slept in the old dogs kennel that remained in the garden.
Temporary, absolutely temporary, I kept telling myself.
Weeks went by and the cat never left. I realised Id grown accustomed to that orange face at the gate, the gentle purring at night, the warm curl on my lap when I sat on the porch.
Dad, have you taken in a cat? Mabel repeated, eyes wide.
No, it wandered in itself. It belonged to the neighbours; the lady who owned it is dead
Then why feed it? Find it somewhere else.
Who needs an old cat? I scratched behind his ear. Let him stay.
Its an extra expense, dad food, vet bills your pension isnt much.
Well manage, I replied shortly.
Mabel shook her head. Shed noticed Id become a bit odd lately chatting to my plants, now suddenly rescuing a cat
Maybe you should move to the city, live with us, she suggested again. Why are you out here alone?
Im not alone. Ive got Ginger.
Dad, seriously?
Im serious. Were fine here. We have the garden and the cat.
Mabel sighed. It had become hard to talk to me lately; Id shut myself off after Mums death and become stubborn.
In autumn Ginger grew weak. He stopped eating, lay in the kennel, breathing shallowly. I sat beside him, worried as if he were my own child.
Whats wrong, old chap? I asked. You ill?
He gave a feeble mew. I took him to the vet in the nearby town, spending almost my whole pension on treatment. The young doctor said, Hes a good cat smart, gentle. Hes just old and his immune system is weak.
Will he make it?
If you look after him well, he can have a few more months. Just keep him comfortable and give his meds.
Back home I set up a little infirmary on the veranda: old blankets, bowls of food and water, daily pills, and a thermometer. Get better, I whispered. Life would be dull without you.
In those months Ginger became more than a pet; he was a companion, the only living thing that seemed to rejoice at seeing me.
Granddad, is Ginger getting better? Tommy asked during his winter break.
Hes on the cushion now, sleeping soundly.
He truly dozed on a warm pad, curled up, his fur glossy, eyes bright.
Will he stay here forever?
What else could he do? I patted his side. Were a pair. He gives me company, I give him a home.
Did you ever feel lonely, Granddad?
I thought of the quiet house after my wife passed, the solitary soup I cooked, the silent television, the empty bedroom. Yes, dear. Very lonely.
And now?
Now Im not. He greets me when I return from the garden, purrs while Im cooking, naps on my lap while I watch TV. Its a good thing.
Tommy nodded. He liked animals and understood how they could ease solitude.
What does Mum think? he asked.
She would have said its an unnecessary hassle, I said.
And you?
I think it isnt. Ginger brings me joy, and joy isnt a waste.
In spring an unexpected visitor arrived the niece of the late Mrs. Anne, a young woman with a toddler.
Granddad, sorry to bother you, she said. Im Sophie, Annes niece. I heard you still have her cat?
My heart leapt. Would they take Ginger away?
Its still here, I answered cautiously. What of it?
Were embarrassed. After the funeral we left in a hurry and didnt think about the cat. Weve been meaning to collect him.
I understand, I replied, feeling a tightness in my chest.
Youre tired of him, I suppose? Too much trouble?
No, Im not tired. Hes a fine cat.
Sophie looked toward the garden where Ginger lay in the sun.
Hes changed so much! He was skinny and sick, now hes a handsome fellow.
Ive been looking after him, feeding him well.
Thank you ever so much! Well take him back, of course, and cover any costs
I fell silent. Legally the cat belonged to Annes family, but in the months hed become part of my life. How could I explain that?
May I see him? Sophie asked.
We approached the cat. Ginger lifted his head, stared cautiously at the strangers, then padded over to me, rubbing his head against my leg.
Its odd, Sophie whispered. He doesnt recognise me. I used to visit Aunt Anne often
Time passes, I said. He probably forgot.
But I knew it wasnt just forgetfulness. The cat had chosen a new keeper the one who fed, treated, and loved him.
Listen, Sophie said suddenly, maybe he can stay with you? I see hes grown used to you, and youre attached to him.
What? I asked, bewildered.
Its simple. We live in a flat with a small child. The cat is old, used to freedom. Moving would stress him.
But hes yours
He was Aunt Annes, now hes yours. You saved his life twice from hunger and from illness. That makes him yours as well.
I could hardly believe my luck.
Really? He can stay?
Absolutely. If you ever need food or medicine, just let us know. Well help.
After Sophie left, I sat on the porch, stroking Gingers fur.
Got it, old friend? Youre staying with me, forever, I said.
He purred, closing his eyes contentedly.
That night Mabel called.
Dad, hows the cat? Is he still alive?
Alive and officially mine. The relatives came, said I could keep him.
Good then. If hes used to you
Lad, you know what Ive realised?
Whats that?
A lonely person and a lonely cat rescue each other. I saved him from starving, he saved me from being alone.
Dad, stop getting philosophical
Im not being philosophical, Im just telling the truth. I now have a purpose to feed him, give his medicine, watch him purr. It gives me joy having someone at the gate when I come back from the garden.
Mabel was silent. Perhaps for the first time she understood why the cat mattered to me.
Dad, are you sure you wont move in with us?
No, I wont. I have my house, my garden, and Ginger. I dont need the city hustle.
Alright then. Youre staying.
Yes, Im staying. Were staying.
Another year slipped by. Peter Waters and Ginger live a measured life. Mornings start with tea and a stroll through the beds. Daytime brings chores while the cat naps in the shade. Evenings end with dinner, the television, and Ginger curled on my lap.
Neighbours now see us together and say, Peter, your cats become a proper pet!
Its not just my cat, I reply. Were one another.
Its true. We rescued each other an old solitary man and an unwanted old cat. We found in each other what wed been missing: understanding, warmth, a reason to get up each day.
What else does one need for happiness?
Ginger purrs on my lap, and I think how fortunate I was not to shoo that hungry wanderer away. Sometimes the most important choices arent made with the head, but with the heart, and they turn out to be the right ones.
