THE BUSINESS TRIP
Mid-autumn. The weather was far from pleasantno sign of an Indian summer. It seemed nature had other plans. Leaves curled and browned at the edges, a fine drizzle clung to the air all day, and the biting wind urged everyone indoors. Six degreesunseasonably cold for late September.
Yet here I was, sent on a business trip to a quiet market town. They lodged me in an old two-storey house, converted from what had once been flats for young professionals and their families. Now, with professionals scarce, the place had become a makeshift hotel.
Still, I liked it. Outside my window stood a tall, ancient oak, and whenever I cracked the pane to smoke, I found myself admiring its sturdy branches.
Work kept me busy most days, but in the evenings, I savoured the silencea rare luxury compared to my usual life in the clamour of London.
Then, one night, I felt ita gaze boring into me through the glass. Someoneor somethingwas watching. My skin prickled. I peered into the dark but saw nothing. Yet the sensation lingered. Who was so interested in me? Man or beast? I had no answer.
One evening, tired and hungry, I returned to my room and again felt those unseen eyes. I cobbled together a simple suppersliced ham, tinned sardines, breadthen, on impulse, pushed the window open.
Suddenly, a great grey tomcat with amber eyes leaped onto the sill. A handsome creature. He must have been the one observing me from the oaks branches, hidden among the leaves.
“Come in then,” I said. “Youre welcome. Are you hungry? Help yourself.”
The cat, having studied me for days, seemed to have made up his mind. With cautious dignity, he approached the table. I laid out ham, fish, and a scrap of breadthough I wasnt sure about the bread. Cats definitely ate the rest.
He ate slowly, regally. For some reason, it gladdened me. Loneliness, perhaps.
We dined together. Afterward, a bit of ham remained. The cat fixed me with such an imploring look that I laughed. “Take it if you like.”
His tail flicked. He snatched the ham, sprang onto the sill, and vanished into the night.
I was startledand oddly bereft. Id wanted more time with him.
The next evening, I returned with extra ham and a portion of roasted chicken from the canteen, hoping hed visit again. He didnt keep me waiting. This time, he didnt linger outsidehe tapped the glass with his paw.
We shared supper, and tonight, he seemed in no hurry to leave. We began to converse. Not in words, of course. But his intelligent eyes held mine as if understanding every syllable. I spoke of my life, my work. He listened intently, as if peering into my soul.
An hour later, he askedpolitely, with a soft meowfor a piece of chicken, then slipped away.
Now I wondered: Who did he belong to? Where did he live?
And yes, Id grown attached. I began imagining taking him home. A companion. Someone to talk to, secrets kept between us. Another living soul under my roof.
Days passed. He visited every evening. We dined. We talked. His eyes respondedsympathising when my tales grew heavy.
My last night approached. How could I explain I was leaving? That I wanted him to come? He always disappearedwhere would I find him?
I left work early, wandering the town, reluctant to return. I browsed shop windows, bought a larger bagjust in case.
Then, near a row of derelict lock-ups, a piercing yowl split the air. A scufflehissing, snarling. Dogs.
I ran. Behind a crumbling garage, a scene Id never forget: a small tabby shielding two kittens while three mongrels circled. Barking. Snapping.
My tomcat*my* catwas there, claws sunk into one dogs muzzle, blood flecking his fur. The tabby shrieked; the tom hurled himself at the pack, a whirlwind of teeth and fury.
The dogs faltered.
I had only my bagsone full of groceries, the other meant for him. I swung them, but hed already done the work. The dogs fled, tails tucked.
I scooped up the kittens, placed them gently in the larger bag. “Come on, then. Lets go home.”
The tom limped after us.
Back in the room, I checked the tabby and kittensunharmed. But the toms foreleg was wounded, blood matted near his ear. Tomorrow, straight to the vet.
They say dreams come true. Id wanted one catnow I had three.
Yet I was happy. A familyfeline, but a family all the same. And perhaps, someday, my own.
I returned to London, heart light, my most precious cargo beside me.
Happiness shared is happiness doubledor so I believe.
What do you think?
