Dear Diary,
It feels as though weve been friends for centuries, and now here I stand, pleading for a favour.
Stephen, I understand where youre coming from, but think about your age. What can I possibly offer you? I was once a manager and now you expect me to be a loader? Peter Whitaker chuckled, eyeing the silverhaired man across from him.
I, Stephen Michael, nodded slowly.
Hang in there, Stephen Ill ring you if something sensible turns up. Dont get down, mate! Well pull through, Peter called out as he walked away.
It wasnt the first rejection in the past fortnight. Ive begun to accept the sting, learning to keep my composure despite the disappointment that first hit hard. As they say, a friend is proven in adversity. I spent my whole career in senior roles, surrounded by acquaintances, but when the chips fell, I found myself alone.
As is often the case, a new boss arrived with his own crew, and I was politely yet firmly asked to tender my resignation. Retirement was only a few months away, but that meant nothing to anyone else. Suddenly I was without a prestigious job and the accompanying income.
Still, I refused to surrender. In town I knew many folk I had helped find work, finish studies, or solve various predicaments.
Kirby wont turn me down! I helped him out big time once, I told my wife Harriet as I headed for yet another interview.
The interview left me grim and silent.
Thats a friend, isnt it? I sighed.
Harriet read the worry in my eyes without a word.
Come on, Stephen, have a bite. Whatever happens, its for the best, she said, setting the table.
I nodded, then spent the evening scrolling through my phones contacts, the list of best mates.
Help arrived when I was about to throw in the towel. An old driver of mine, now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant, took me on.
I can put you on supplies. Its busy work, but youll manage, he said politely to his former boss.
Grateful for any work, I started the next day. The plant sat on the towns outskirts, behind a sturdy iron fence where two stout workers unloaded a truck of meat. Not far away, a small clan of local cats watched the ritual as if it were a sacred ceremony.
I smiled at the striped, whiskered creatures as they trotted in unison, escorting another load of treats. Later I learned the whole site was guarded by a band of feral cats that tolerated no strangers. They were quirky, a touch wild, and shied away whenever I tried to pat them.
The lot here are tough customers, I laughed, watching the cook Dorothy hand out leftovers to her feline charges.
Yes, theyre not very friendly. Even the kittens are aloof, she replied, pointing at a pair of striped youngsters tussling with the older cats.
In time I learned the names and personalities of each cat. They grew to trust the silverhaired man who often fed them, even if I never kept pets at home. Whenever I stepped out for a cigarette, the cats would gather, eyes fixed on me, waiting to see if I had any scraps.
Six months slipped by unnoticed. Autumn arrived with its damp winds and grey rain. The cats hid more, yet never missed a meal.
One day a lone, skinny black kitten with a patch on its back appeared, keeping to itself. The regular gang gave it a wide berth, but didnt attack. Something about the little creature melted my hardened heart.
I was outside, smoking after lunch, when the kitten emerged from a corner, a tiny ball of black fur on slender legs.
Meow, it rasped, sneezing.
What on earth is that? I asked the cats, who looked on indifferently. Their own coats were brownstriped with yellowgreen eyes, unlike this solitary black one.
The kitten brushed against my leg and purred.
Look at that, isnt he sweet? I said, smiling.
Dorothy, who had just appeared, remarked, Looks like someones tossed us a stray. Our own stay together, but this little ones been left out.
I hesitated, aware the gang might bully the newcomer, so I slipped a piece of sausage to the kitten and placed treats a short distance away for the others. The stray lingered, nuzzling my hands before finally eating.
From that moment I began calling him Biscuit. The first thing I did each day was feed Biscuit, then dash off to work.
Who are you feeding? Harriet asked, bemused.
Its just a tiny, funny kitten, I replied, slightly embarrassed.
Maybe you could bring him home? she suggested, though she knew I never liked indoor pets.
No, we dont need a cat in the house, I muttered.
Right as you wish, she shrugged.
The weather grew bleak, the sky overcast. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice.
Hey, Stephen! Good to see you!
Peter Whitaker hurried towards me, his breath forming clouds.
Found a job yet? he asked warmly, extending his hand.
I gave a cold stare, nodding without taking his hand out of my pocket. Years of our friendship had taught me the price of false hope.
Youre a bit wild, Peter muttered, hurrying to his car to escape the cold.
Biscuit, perched on a low board at the warehouse entrance, shivered, his black fur resembling tiny needles in the frost.
Dont they let you in? You lot are a bunch of beasts, I warned the sheltering cat hutch where the gang lounged, their yellow eyes flickering, trying to gauge if a human would feed them.
The radio announced a heavy snowstorm approaching the city.
Did you hear about the snowfall? How will we get to work tomorrow? a driver lamented.
At the end of the shift, the driver offered me a lift home. The sky darkened, and the first flakes began to fall.
Dave, could you drop me at the plant instead? I asked suddenly.
He shrugged and turned the wheel.
Missing work, are we? he chuckled, pulling me up at the fence.
I barely heard him as I rushed into the courtyard, where snow now covered the ground in a thin white blanket. I sprinted to the boards where Biscuit usually waited and called, Biscuit, come here!
The kitten didnt appear. The stray cats watched me anxiously as I ran around, shouting. Soon a flock of crows perched on the fence, observing the scene. Snow fell steadily.
Biscuit! Where are you? I cried, glancing around.
The cats, sensing the storm, retreated to their hutch, realizing no food would come from me today. I turned and left the yard.
By morning, as the forecasters promised, the whole town was blanketed in snow. Residents trudged through deep drifts, commenting, Well, thats a proper snowstorm, hasnt happened in ages.
I arrived late to work, like most, after the groundskeeper cleared the paths. The cats peered out of their shelter, eyes hopeful. I laid out a treat for them.
Here you go, Biscuit sends his regards, I said softly, watching the wary gang keep their distance.
A rush of childhood joy filled me, like the first time I rolled down a hill with my parents. Perhaps the snow had something to do with it.
Yesterday, the mischievous kitten finally emerged from his hideout at the very last moment. I didnt believe my eyes, rushed over, and clasped him tightly.
Good lad, Biscuit! At last youve shown up, my friend! I repeated, overjoyed.
The little cat sneezed and yawned all the way home, clinging to my fingers as if terrified of losing me.
Harriet didnt even blink at the sight of me returning with a new family member.
Finally decided to keep him? she asked slyly.
I did. Can you imagine him out there in this blizzard all alone? I replied, setting the tiny marvel on the floor.
He sniffed cautiously, his whiskers twitching as he explored his new domain. My eyes sparkled as I watched him. Harriet embraced me, knowing my heart was generous despite its stern exterior.
Biscuit perched on the windowsill, watching the snowcovered streets. Outside, the same cat who chose me as his friend roamed the white drifts.
Our bondbetween a grizzled man and a tiny kittenmight be unconventional, but theres no room for betrayal, deceit, or flattery in it. And that makes it worth waiting for and believing in.
