31 October 2025
Manchester
It feels as though Stephen and I have been friends for centuries, and now, after all those years, he stands before me begging for a favour.
Tom, I get it, but think about your age. What could I possibly do for you? You were a manager once, and now you want me to be a warehouse hand? Peter Peters chuckled, eyeing the silverhaired man beside me.
Stephen nodded, his expression weary. Hang in there, Tom Ill ring you if something decent comes up. Dont sulk, mate well pull through! he shouted as he left.
It wasnt the first rejection in the past fortnight. Stephen had grown accustomed to the sting, learning to keep his temper in check, though at first it broke his heart. As they say, a friend is proved in hard times.
Stephen Michael had spent his whole career in senior posts, amassing a wide circle of acquaintances. When the chips fell, however, nobody stood by his side. As is often the case, a new boss arrived with his own crew, and Stephen was politely but firmly asked to tender his resignation on grounds of voluntary termination. With retirement only a few months away, no one seemed to mind.
Suddenly, the respectable job and steady income vanished. Yet the man refused to wallow. Hed helped countless locals find work, finish their studies, or sort out other woes.
Clarke wont turn me down, Ive helped him plenty before, Stephen told his wife, Emily, before heading to yet another interview.
He returned looking sullen and silent. Even my mate cant help, he sighed.
Emily read the disappointment in his eyes. Alright, Stephen, sit down and have a bite. Whatever happens, its for the best, she said, setting the table.
Stephen nodded, then spent the evening thumbing through his phones contacts list, marking the best friends.
Help arrived when I was about to give up. An old driver, now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant on the outskirts of town, offered Stephen a position as a supplies clerk. Its a busy job, but I think youll manage, he said politely to his former boss.
The next day Stephen reported for work. The plant sat behind a sturdy iron fence, where two burly lads unloaded a truck full of carcasses. Not far away, a ragtag gang of local cats watched the ritual with keen interest.
Stephen smiled at the striped felines as they trotted past, their whiskered faces following each new delivery. Later I learned that the factory grounds were essentially a cat kingdom; the residents guarded their turf fiercely. Each time Stephen tried to pet a striped cat, it either bolted or hissed.
The lot here are a tough bunch, I laughed, watching the kitchen maid, Zinnia, haul out the lunch leftovers for her charges.
True enough. Even the kittens are a bit standoffish, she replied, pointing to a pair of cheeky youngsters tussling with the older cats.
Eventually Stephen grew accustomed to the place and learned the names of all the cats. They, in turn, began to trust the silverhaired man, because he often slipped them bits of food. Though he never kept pets at home, he loved animals and always tried to look after them. Whenever he stepped out for a smoke, the cats would circle him, eyes halfclosed, hoping for a scrap.
Six months slipped by unnoticed. Autumn arrived with its damp winds and grey rain. The cats retreated to the shelter, yet never missed a meagre meal.
One day a skinny, black kitten with a bald patch on its back appeared on the premises, keeping to itself. The resident gang ignored the newcomer, but they didnt attack either. Stephen, as usual, was outside after lunch, a cigarette dangling from his lips, when the tiny creature waddled straight toward him.
Meow, it croaked, sneezing as it went.
What on earth is that? Stephen asked the cats. Their indifferent stare said they didnt recognise the odd one they were all brownstriped with amber eyes. The kitten rubbed against Stephens boot and purred.
Youre a softie, Stephen chuckled, patting the little thing. Looks like someone tossed us a stray.
The kitchen maid, noticing the scene, remarked, Our lot stays together, but that little one is out of the clan. Funny they didnt shoo him away.
Stephen, wary that the gang might harm the kitten, slipped inside and fetched a slice of sausage, laying it a short distance away. The other cats lunged greedily at the offering, while the kitten lingered, nuzzling Stephens hand before finally eating.
From then on Stephen christened the kitten Pasty. He fed him first, then the others, and the tiny creature became his constant companion.
Why are you bringing lunch for the cats? Emily asked, bemused.
Its just a funny little thing, a tiny black kitten, Stephen replied, a faint blush on his cheeks.
Maybe you could bring him home? she suggested, though she knew Stephen disliked indoor pets.
No, we dont need a cat in the flat, Stephen answered, shrugging.
The weather turned bitter, the sky overcast. A familiar voice called out, Oi, Stephen! Hows the job hunt going?
Peter Peters, an old friend, hurried toward him, extending a hand. Stephen stared coldly, gave a silent nod, and kept his hand in his coat pocket. Hed learned the true cost of that friendship long ago.
Wild as ever, Peter muttered, hopping into his car to escape the chill.
Pasty perched on a small board at the warehouse entrance, his black fur bristling like needles in the frost.
Dont they let you in? Stephen growled at the insulated shed where the cats huddled, their yellow eyes glinting, gauging whether hed feed them.
Later that day, the radio warned of an incoming snowstorm. Whats the plan tomorrow, Stephen? How will you get to work? the driver asked.
When the shift ended, the driver offered Stephen a lift home. Snowflakes began to dust the streets.
Actually, could you drop me at the factory instead? Stephen snapped, surprising the driver.
The driver shrugged, turned the wheel, and laughed, Missing the old job, eh? before pulling up at the gate.
Stephen didnt hear him. He bolted into the courtyard, where a thin layer of fresh snow covered the ground. He called out, Pasty! Pasty! but the kitten didnt answer. The resident cats watched him nervously as he paced the perimeter, shouting.
Soon a flock of crows perched on the fence, eyeing the scene. Snow fell steadily.
Pasty! Where are you? Stephen cried, turning anxiously. The cats, sensing the storm, retreated into their shelter, curling up together for warmth.
By morning, the city was buried under a thick blanket of snow, as the weather forecast had promised. Residents trudged through deep drifts, muttering, Well, thats a proper snowfall.
Stephen arrived late to work, like everyone else, after the groundskeeper cleared the paths. The cats peeked out of their shed, hopeful for a treat. He scattered bits of sausage for them, saying, Here you go Pasty sends his regards.
A feeling of childlike joy warmed his chest, reminiscent of a snowy hill climb with his own parents. Perhaps it was the snow, or perhaps it was the tiny creature that had finally emerged from his hiding place the night before. When Stephen finally caught the kitten, cradling him tightly, he whispered, Good boy, Pasty! At last youre here.
Emily, watching him at the doorway with the new family member, asked, Decided to keep him?
Yes, Stephen admitted, setting the little furball on the windowsill. Hes tiny, a bit shaky, but hes ours now.
The kitten sniffed the air, exploring his new domain. Stephens eyes sparkled as he watched him. Emily wrapped an arm around her stern yet tender husband, knowing his heart was generous.
That night, the kitten perched on the sill, watching the snow swirl outside. The man hed chosen as his friend the one whod never turned his back stood there, a silent guardian.
Our bond may be between a large, blustery man and a meek kitten, but its forged of loyalty, honesty, and a refusal to betray. Thats the lesson Ive learned: no matter how harsh the world becomes, a little kindness, even to a stray cat, can bring warmth to the coldest of days.
