**The Business Trip**
Mid-autumn had set in, and the weather was far from pleasant. There was no sign of an Indian summernature clearly had other plans. The leaves turned yellow and curled up, while a steady drizzle fell all day without pause. A bitter wind cut through the air, driving anyone sensible indoors. Six degreesfar too cold for late September.
By some twist of fate, I found myself on a business trip to a small provincial town. They put me up in an old two-storey house on the ground floor. Once, these had been flats for young professionals and their families, but now, with professionals in short supply, the building had been converted into a guesthouse.
Still, I liked my room. Outside my window stood a tall, sturdy maple, and whenever I cracked it open for a smoke, I couldnt help admiring the trees strength and beauty.
Most of my days were spent working, but in the evenings, I savoured the quiet, losing myself in a good book. Back in London, silence was a rare luxury.
One evening, I felt eyes on mesomeone watching, studying me through the window. I could almost feel their gaze on my skin. I peered out into the darkness but saw nothing. Yet the sensation lingered. Who was out there? A person? An animal? I had no answer.
A few nights later, exhausted and hungry, I returned to my room and again sensed that unseen observer. Too tired to care, I cobbled together a simple supperslices of ham, tinned sardines, and breadbefore instinctively opening the window.
In a flash, a large grey tomcat with amber eyes leapt onto the sill. A handsome creature. No doubt this was my mysterious watcher, hidden among the maples branches all along.
«Come in, then,» I said. «Youre welcome. Hungry? Help yourself.»
After days of scrutiny, the cat mustve sized me up. With cautious dignity, he approached the table. I laid out ham, fish, and a small piece of breadunsure if cats even ate bread, but certain about the rest. He ate slowly, with an almost regal air.
For some reason, it lifted my spirits. Loneliness, perhaps.
We shared that meal in companionable silence. When only a scrap of ham remained, the cat fixed me with such an imploring look that I chuckled. «Go on, take it.»
With a flick of his tail, he snatched the meat and vanished into the night like an acrobat.
I was disappointed. Id wanted to talk to him more.
The next evening, I brought extramore ham, even some roast chicken from the canteen, just in case. Sure enough, the cat returned. This time, he didnt waithe tapped the glass with his paw, demanding entry.
We ate together, and for once, he seemed in no hurry to leave. He listened intently as I rambled about my life and work, his golden eyes peering straight into my soul.
An hour later, he askedpolitely, with a soft meowfor a piece of chicken before disappearing again.
I wondered who he belonged to. Where he lived. And yes, Id grown attached. The idea of taking him back to London took root. A loyal friend waiting at home, someone to confide ina living soul under my roof.
He visited every night after that, sharing meals and silent conversations. His expressive eyes answered my questions or offered sympathy when my stories grew too heavy.
With only one day left, I worriedhow would I tell him I was leaving? That I wanted him to come with me? He always slipped away before I could ask.
That afternoon, I wandered the town early, killing time. I browsed shop windows, bought snacks for the journey, andjust in casea sturdy carrier bag.
Near a row of derelict garages, a piercing yowl stopped me dead. Then snarling, barkinga fight.
I ran toward the noise and froze.
A small tabby crouched over two tiny kittens, shielding them as a snarling mastiff loomed. Three other strays circled, snapping.
And there was *my* catmy evening companionlocked onto the lead dogs muzzle, claws raking its face. Blood sprayed. The tabby screamed; the tom tore into the pack like a whirlwind.
The dogs faltered.
I swung my bags, shouting, but the tom had already driven them off.
Gently, I scooped up the kittens and their mother. «Come on, then. Lets get you home.»
The grey tom limped after us.
Back at the guesthouse, I checked them over. The tabby and kittens were unharmed, but my brave friend had a wounded paw and a gash near his ear.
The vet would see him first thing tomorrow.
Funny how things work out. Id wanted *one* cat. Now I was taking home a whole family.
But I didnt mind. For the first time in years, I had oneeven if it was feline.
And as I headed back to London, my heart felt lighter. Happiness, they say, is meant to be shared.
I think so, anyway. The carrier rested on the seat beside me, a sliver of grey fur visible through the bars. The tabby purred softly, her kittens nestled against her. My catour cat nowlicked his injured paw, then looked up, amber eyes calm and knowing. I reached in, gently scratching behind his ears. He didnt pull away. Outside, the rain finally stopped. The first real sunlight in days broke through the clouds, spilling gold across the road ahead.
