If the cats spirit lingers, get out of the flat! bellowed the landlady.
The room Emily had rented was tiny but bright. The furniture was old, but solid. The landlady, Mrs. Margaret Clarke, warned her straight away:
Im a strict sort. I like order, cleanliness, quiet. If somethings wrong, tell me at once, dont keep it to yourself.
Emily nodded. All she wanted was a peaceful night, free from neighbour brawls and drunken shouting. After a string of cramped rooms on the citys edge where the neighbours never shut up, this place seemed a sanctuary.
She moved in, tried to settle. Margaret turned out not to be cruel, just reserveda silent woman with a perpetual look of hurt lodged deep in her eyes, as if the world had wronged her.
Emily did her best not to intrude. She cooked early, while Margaret slept. She moved silently, barely turned the TV on, lived like a mouse.
Then Misty appeared.
A stray cat, gaunt and grey, with sharp green eyes, lingered at the foot of the stairs, mewing plaintively as if begging, Please, take me in.
Emilys heart melted. She scooped the cat up, fed her, gave her water, and draped a threadbare towel over a cardboard box. Misty curled into a tight ball, purred, and something inside Emily thawed for the first time in months.
Little one, my dear, she whispered.
Hiding the cat seemed easy. Margaret rarely entered Emilys room. And Misty was quietno scratching, no sprinting, just purring on the windowsill.
One evening, however, a voice cut through the hallway:
Emily!
Margarets tone was icecold. Emily stepped out. The landlady stood in the doorway, her face twisted, a clump of grey fur clutched in her hand.
Whats this? Whos that?
Mrs. Clarke, I
A cat?!
She shouted as if a snake had slithered into the house. Her cheeks flushed, hands shook.
I cant stand them! Filth! Fur everywhere! The smell!
But shes clean.
If the cats spirit lingers, get out of the flat!
Margaret turned and slammed the door.
Emily sank onto the sofa, trembling. Misty padded over, rubbed against her legs, and mewed pitifully.
What are we to do, my dear? Emily whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. Where will we go?
The thought of starting over, packing up, searching for a new place haunted her, yet she lacked the strength to leave.
So she decided: as long as Margaret didnt force her out, she would stayand hide the cat better than before.
The following days turned into a covert operation, absurd and exhausting. Emily stashed Misty in the wardrobe whenever Margarets footsteps echoed down the corridor. She fed the cat only at dawn or late evening, when Margaret was at the local shop. The litter box was concealed in the farcorner behind an old suitcase.
Misty seemed to understand. She never mewed, just perched silently on the windowsill, watching the street with mournful green eyes, as if breathing more carefully to avoid detection.
Youre my clever little girl, Emily cooed, stroking the soft grey back. Just hold on a little longer. Everything will work out.
But nothing improved. Margaret prowled the flat with a look of betrayal, sniffing corners, pausing at Emilys door, listening for any sound.
Emily froze, clutching Misty to her chest, her heart hammering as if it would burst.
Lord, please dont let her hear us, she prayed silently.
Margaret lingered a moment longer, then drifted away, the apartments atmosphere thickening like a storm about to break.
At dinner, Margaret ate her soup in silence, eyes fixed on the bowl. Suddenly she snapped:
Do you think Im a fool?
Emily choked on her tea.
I understand perfectly. You didnt kick the cat out. You hid her. You think I dont feel it?
Margaret!
Enough! the landlady slammed up from the table. Dont lie to me. I warned you. But if youre so clever, fineno fur, no sound! And when my grandson arrivesno spirit!
She stormed off, leaving Emily bewildered.
Grandson?
The next day Margaret spoke of her grandson in a dry tone, but Emily caught a tremor of something newanxiety, perhaps.
Olivers coming for the holidays. Hes twelve. His parents are always busy, so they send him to stay with me. Hell be here Friday.
Thats nice! Emily tried to sound upbeat. Youve missed him, havent you?
Margaret grimaced.
Ive missed him, but hes become a stranger. Hes glued to his phone, barely talks to me. He comes, sits for a week, and leaves. Every year.
Pain edged her voice, deep and real.
But youre his grandmother! He loves you!
He might love me, but he doesnt care. As long as the internet works, thats all.
She fell silent, then whispered:
And make sure your cats not here. Got it?
Emily nodded, wondering where to hide Misty for an entire week.
Friday arrived too quickly.
Oliver turned up in the evening, tall, angular, earbuds in, a brooding expression. He offered a curt greeting, slipped into his room, and shut the door.
Margaret hustled about, setting the table, urging him to eat.
Oliver, at least have a bite, dear, she pleaded.
I dont want any.
I made your favourite meatballs.
I said I dont want them!
Emily listened through the thin wall, her heart tightening for both women.
Misty perched on the windowsill, staring out at the dark street, eyes full of sorrow.
Hold on, girl. Just a little longer.
The next morning, disaster struck. Emily stepped into the bathroom for a minute, left the door ajarthere was no lock. Curious, Misty slipped through the gap and vanished down the hallway.
When Emily returned, the cat was gone. Panic surged, a cold sweat ran down her spine.
Misty! she shouted, tearing into the corridor.
There, in the living room, sat Oliver, cradling the grey cat, which purred so loudly it seemed a tractor was revving.
Oh, Emily exhaled, stunned.
Oliver looked up, a surprised smile breaking across his face for the first time since his arrival.
Whose cat is this?
Mine, Emily stammered, stepping back. Im sorry, Oliver, she she got out.
Can I pet her a bit more? his voice was soft, almost childlike. Shes so sweet!
Of course.
Emilys mind raced. Margaret would storm back any moment, and a fullblown scandal could explode. Yet Olivers eyes shone with genuine delight.
Just then, Margaret emerged from the kitchen, halted, and stared at the scene. Emily braced for an eruption.
Oliver, Margaret said quietly, are you playing with the cat?
Yes, Grandma! Look how she purrs! Can I feed her?
The landlady lingered, then, after a breath, nodded.
Fine.
From that instant everything shifted. Oliver never left Mistys side. He fed her, played with her, even sketched her portrait with a pencil. His phone lay forgotten on the sofa as he laughed, telling Margaret stories about school, friends, and how he dreamed of having a cat of his own.
Margaret sat at the kitchen table, watching her grandson for the first time with a hint of warmth in her eyes.
One evening she approached Emily.
Let her stay, she said softly. Your Misty. Shes brought a little joy into this house.
A tear slipped down Margarets cheek.
Three months passed. Oliver called every evening, not his parents, but his grandmother, asking to see Misty on video call. Margaret fumbled with the handset, cursing the gadget that refused to capture the cat.
Stupid thing! Oliver, do you see her?
I see you, Gran! Hello, Misty!
Hearing his familiar voice, Misty padded closer to the speaker, meowing as if she recognised him.
Ill definitely be back for the spring break, right?
Absolutely, love. Misty and I will be waiting.
And indeed, they waited. Margaret had even bought a feathertipped cat wand from the corner shop, hoping Oliver would enjoy it.
Emily no longer hid in shadows. She cooked in the kitchen, sipped tea with Margaret, and shared stories of her own lifeher late husband, how lonely she felt after his death.
You know, Margaret, if it werent for Misty, I dont think Id have made it through, Emily confessed.
Margaret nodded understandingly.
Animals sense us. When were down, they come without a word, just presence.
They grew close, two solitary women bound by fate and a modest grey cat.
When spring arrived, Oliver returned, backpack full of gifts: premium cat food, a new collar with a tiny bell, a plush bed.
Gran, I bought all this myself! he declared proudly.
Well done, love.
Oliver spent the week with Misty, playing in the garden, drawing, and before leaving, he asked:
Gran, could I stay here for the summer?
Of course, dear!
Margaret embraced him, realizing happiness wasnt found in silence or immaculate order, but in the laughter of a child and the soft purr of a cat.
All because of an unassuming grey tabby.
