**The Business Trip**
Mid-autumn. The weather is far from pleasantno trace of an Indian summer in sight. Nature clearly has other plans. The leaves turn yellow too quickly, curling into brittle tubes, while a persistent drizzle falls all day without pause. A biting wind drives everyone indoors, seeking warmth. And with the temperature barely hitting 6°C, its unseasonably cold for late September.
Yet here I am, sent by fate on a business trip to a small provincial town.
They put me up in an old two-storey house converted into a guesthouse. Once, these were flats for young professionals and their families, but now, with fewer specialists around, the building has been repurposed. Still, I liked my room. Just outside my window stood a tall, sturdy maple, and whenever I cracked it open for a smoke, I couldnt help but admire its strength and beauty.
Most of the day was spent working, but evenings brought quietsomething my London life sorely lackedand the chance to lose myself in a good book.
Then, one night, I felt itthe unmistakable weight of a gaze fixed on me through the glass. Someoneor somethingwas watching. Studying me. The sensation prickled across my skin. I squinted into the dark, but the window revealed nothing. Yet the feeling lingered. Whoor whatfound me so interesting? Human or beast? I had no answers.
Another evening, exhausted and hungry, I returned to my room and again sensed that unseen observer. Too tired to eat properly at lunch, I cobbled together a simple supper of sliced ham, tinned sardines, and bread. Almost without thinking, I pushed the window openand in an instant, a large grey tomcat with golden eyes leapt onto the sill. A striking creature. No doubt hed been the one perched high in the maple, hidden among the leaves.
Well then, come in, I invited. Youre welcome. Are you hungry? Hereeat.
After days of watching me, he mustve decided I was safe. With cautious, almost regal grace, he approached the table. I set out a plate with ham, fish, and a small crust of breadthough I wasnt sure cats ate bread. The tom ate slowly, with dignity. For some reason, it lifted my spirits. Loneliness, perhaps.
We shared that meal in companionable silence. Afterward, a single slice of ham remained. He fixed me with such an intense, longing stare that I laughed. Take it if you want.
His tail flicked in delight. Snatching the ham, he sprang onto the sill and vanished into the night.
I was oddly disappointed. Id wanted more time with him.
The next evening, I returned with extra ham and a portion of roast chicken from the canteenhalf-hoping hed return. He didnt keep me waiting. This time, he didnt linger; he tapped the glass impatiently with his paw.
We dined together again, and tonight, he seemed in no hurry to leave. I found myself talking to himabout my life, my work. He listened intently, those golden eyes peering straight into my soul. An hour later, he nudged my hand for another piece of chicken, gave a soft *meow*, and slipped away.
By then, I was desperate to knowwhose cat was he? Where did he live? And yes, Id grown attached. I even dreamed of taking him homea loyal companion to share my flat, our conversations staying just between us. Another living soul under my roof.
He came every night after that. We ate, we talked, his expressive eyes responding to every wordsympathetically when my stories turned emotional.
The day before my return, anxiety gnawed at me. How could I explain I was leavingand that I wanted him to come? He always disappeared at night. Where would I even find him?
I left work early, my tasks complete. Wandering the town, I avoided the guesthouse, knowing he wouldnt come till evening. Instead, I browsed shop windows, bought snacks for the journey, andjust in casea large carrier bag.
Somehow, I ended up near a row of derelict garages.
Thena shrill yowl pierced the air, followed by snarls and barking. A fight. I sprinted toward the noise and froze.
A small grey-furred queen crouched protectively over two tiny kittens, her body shielding them from four snarling mongrels. My tom*my* catwas a blur of claws and fury, tearing at the lead dogs muzzle. Blood sprayed. The queen screamed; the tom lunged again and again, a whirlwind of defiance.
The dogs wavered.
I swung the carrier bag like a weapon, but it was hardly needed. The tom had already driven them off, hissing in triumph.
Gently, I scooped up the kittens and ushered the queen into the bag. Come on, then. Lets get you home.
The tom limped after us, one paw injured, his ear bleeding.
Back in my room, I checked them over. The queen and kittens were unharmed, but my brave grey friend needed a vet. Tomorrow, wed see oneright after the train home.
They say dreams come true. Id hoped for one cat. Now I had three.
And I couldnt be happier. A familyfeline, yes, but a family all the same.
Maybe one day, therell be more.
For now, Im heading back, heart full, with the most precious cargo Ive ever carried.
Happiness, after all, is meant to be shared.
Dont you think?
