Jack never had much luck from the start. Oh, sure, he had a family oncedad, mum, grandma, and grandad. A troubled lot, as people would say, but family all the same. They scraped by, living poorly, but they had a flat, and his dad and grandad kept them fed with odd jobs here and there. Then, when Jack was barely seven, the adults got into cheap vodkapaid for with some dodgy dealand didnt wake up. Only Gran survived, though her mind wasnt the same after. So off Jack went to a childrens home.
Kids there didnt take to him. Hed inherited his grandads temper, so instead of talking things out, hed clench his fists and swing at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Fought dirty, too. After a while, they left him alone, but he never made friends. He visited Gran a few times over the years. By then, shed gone properly round the bendfilled the flat with stray cats, rummaged through bins for food. Neighbours avoided her, and she lived off a small pension, most of which went to rent, thanks to Auntie Marge, the postwoman whod known his family forever and made sure Jack had a place to come back to after the home. The rest of the money barely kept Gran alive, though shed still rather feed the cats than herself.
When Jack aged out of the home, he moved in with her. Drove him mad, her and those blasted cats. Tried chucking a few out once, but Gran wailed like hed murdered them, and even he couldnt take it. So he stayed out as much as possiblegot work as a labourer, crashed in the site portacabins with the other lads. They were a rough bunch, like him, with no one waiting at home. Drank, played cards, swapped stories.
One night, after a few too many, Jack got into it with Max. Started over nothing, but fists flew fast. Jack wasnt one to back down, but then Maxs mate Kyle jumped in, and by the time it was over, Jack barely made it home. Collapsed onto his bed, ribs on fire, head pounding, struggling to breathe. Mustve blacked out.
He woke to something warm pressed against his aching side. A cat. Too weak to shove it off, he realisedoddlythe pain had dulled. The soft purring seemed to seep into him, easing the hurt. He lay still, afraid to move, and drifted back to sleep.
By morning, the cat was still there, watching him with big, strange eyes.
“Piss off,” Jack croaked, throat dry.
The cat flicked its ears and hopped down. He didnt go to workcouldnt.
Auntie Marge dropped by later, tutting, wanting to call an ambulance, but Jack refused. “Ill live,” he muttered. She brought soup, fed him and Gran. Swallowing hurt. He ate, then crashed again. The cat returnedsame one from before. Jack got a better look this time: scruffy, patchy fur, the kind folks say bring luck. It moved carefully, almost testing the air, then settled right where the pain burned worst. The purring started up, and Jack felt calm.
Over the next few days, the cat kept coming. Jack, whod never cared for pets, found himself saving scraps for it. The othersquicker, greediergot nothing. This one was *his*. His cat. The words felt strange, warm. Hed had nothing of his own in years.
One day, he took her to the vet. The bloke looked at them like they were dirt but checked her over.
“Name?”
“Hasnt got one.”
“Needs one for the records.”
“Fine. Mars.”
“Mars?”
“Yeah. Like the planet.”
The vet shrugged. “Age?”
“Dunno. Found her.”
“Three, four years. Blind, completely. No fixing that.”
Jacks chest tightened. “Nothing?”
“Not unless youve got a miracle handy. Just feed her decent grub, keep up with flea meds.”
The bill made his head spin. He was counting pennies when a quiet voice spoke behind him.
“Excuse me, young man.”
He turned. A small, neat woman, clutching a tissue. “I couldnt help overhearing. My catMars, actuallyshe passed today. Had everything ready for her, but” Her voice wavered. “If youd take some of her things, Id be grateful. The carrier, food, toysits all there.”
Jack hesitated. “But what if”
“Oh, no.” She smiled sadly. “At my age, its best not to risk leaving another soul homeless.”
Her flat was full of photosteacher, he guessed. Shed taught for years, never raised her voice, she said. Jack fixed her broken light switch just to have something to do. Over tea, he found himself talkingabout the home, Gran, the building site. For the first time, someone listened.
When he left, hauling Mars new gear, he felt lighter.
Back home, he pored over the vet paperwork. Under *name*, he carefully wrote: **Mars**.
Things changed after that. Jack visited Nina Stepanovna often. She fed him blinis (best hed ever had), told stories about her students. No one had ever talked to him like thatno questions about work, no judging. With her, he felt steady.
One night, coming home to Grans filthy flat and her yowling cats, something cracked in him. He opened the bag of food and fed *all* of them. Made porridge, fetched milk. Gran ate blankly, mumbling at the wall. Jack curled up in his room, tears he couldnt explain soaking his pillow. Mars pressed close, purring, until he slept.
The army draft came that autumn. Jack had just started getting his life straightcleaned the flat with Auntie Marges help, even got Gran to stop hoarding rubbish. Now he bought cheap cat food in bulk. But Mars was still *his*, so he couldnt leave her there.
Nina took her in, worried for Jack. When he handed over Mars vet record, she read the name and hugged him tight.
Gran died during his service. At the funeral, he felt nothingjust shame for feeling nothing. That night at Ninas, Mars wouldnt leave his side. Her purring, Ninas quiet voice, the kettle hummingit all swelled into something fierce in his chest. For the first time, he knew exactly how he wanted to live.
When he got out, Nina and Mars met him. Auntie Marge had rehomed Grans cats. Jack was glad his girl hadnt needed a new owner. Now they split time between his place and Ninas. Shed come to see him as a son, and he clung to her like family. When she suggested he study, he didnt snapjust asked for help prepping. Turned out he had a knack for it. And whenever he wanted to chuck the books aside, Mars would pad over, press close with that motor-purr, and his frustration melted.
She was there for his first heartbreak, his first loveLucy, who earned a slow blink of approval from Mars. When their son, Kirill, was born, Mars sniffed the squalling bundle, then curled up beside him, purring. She healed him through fevers, just like shed healed Jack.
“Daddy,” five-year-old Kirill asked one day, “whyre Mars eyes so funny?”
Nina smiled. “Because she sees different, love.”
“But Mummy says shes blind!”
Jack ruffled his hair. “Both right. Mars doesnt see like we donot with her eyes. But she sees whos hurting. Whos kind.”
Kirill gasped. “Magic?”
Jack lifted the purring bundle, stroking her scruffy fur. “Yeah, mate. For me? Definitely magic.”
