**The Business Trip**
Mid-autumn. The weather is far from pleasantno sign of an Indian summer in sight. Nature clearly has other plans. The leaves turn yellow and curl inward, while a fine drizzle lingers all day without pause. A biting wind drives anyone sensible indoors, and with the temperature barely scraping 6°C, its unseasonably cold for late September.
By some twist of fate, I find myself on a business trip to a small town. Im lodged in an old two-storey house converted into a guesthouseonce home to young professionals and their families, though now, with professionals scarce, the building has been repurposed.
Still, I like my room. Outside my window stands a tall, sturdy maple, and whenever I crack the window for a smoke, I cant help but admire its strength and beauty. My days are mostly spent working, but in the evenings, I relish the quiet, lost in a good book. Back in the bustling city, silence is a rare luxury.
Then, one evening, I feel ita pair of eyes watching me through the glass. Someoneor somethingis studying me intently. My skin prickles with the sensation, but when I peer into the darkness, I see nothing. The mystery lingers. Whoor whatcould be so interested in me?
One night, exhausted and starving, I return to my room and sense that gaze again. As I cobble together a simple supper of sliced ham, tinned sardines, and bread, I unthinkingly push the window open. Suddenly, a large grey cat with golden eyes leaps onto the silla handsome creature. Clearly, hes been observing me from the maples branches.
Well then, come in, I invite him. Youre welcome here. Hungry? Help yourself.
The cat, having sized me up over days, approaches with cautious dignity. I set out a plate with ham, fish, and a small piece of breadunsure if cats even eat bread, but certain about the rest. He eats slowly, regally, and for some reason, it lifts my spirits. Loneliness, perhaps.
We share the meal, and when only a scrap of ham remains, he fixes me with such an imploring look that I laugh. Take it if you want. With a flick of his tail, he seizes the ham and vanishes into the night like an acrobat.
Im left surprised, oddly bereft, wishing hed stayed longer.
The next evening, I return with extra foodmore ham, some roast chicken from the canteenhoping hell visit again. He doesnt disappoint. This time, he doesnt wait for me to open the window but taps insistently on the glass with his paw.
We dine together, and tonight, he lingers. Hes an intelligent creature, listening intently as I ramble about my life and work, his golden eyes seeming to peer straight into my soul. After an hour, he requests a piece of chicken with a soft meow before slipping away.
I wonder who he belongs to, where he lives. And yesIve grown attached. I start imagining taking him home with me, a loyal companion to share my quiet evenings.
The days pass. He visits nightly, our conversations one-sided but comforting. His expressive eyes answer my unspoken questions or soften when my words grow heavy.
With one day left of my trip, anxiety gnaws at me. How do I tell him Im leavingand that I want him to come? He always disappears at night. Where do I even look for him?
That afternoon, I wander the town aimlessly, dreading the empty hours before his usual visit. I browse shop windows, buy a larger bagjust in caseand somehow end up near a row of derelict garages.
Then, a piercing yowl cuts through the air, followed by snarling and barking. I sprint toward the noise and freeze.
A small grey-and-white cat shields two tiny kittens, cornered by a snarling dog and three others circling for the kill. The scene is chaoshissing, growling, barks of triumph.
Then I see *him*my grey companionlaunching himself at the lead dog, claws raking its muzzle. Blood sprays as he whirls like a tornado between the pack, driving them back. The mother cat screams, pressing herself over her babies.
I grab the only weapons at handmy shopping bagsbut before I can intervene, the dogs break. They flee, tails tucked, as my fearless cat stands his ground.
I scoop up the kittens, gently coax the mother into the larger bag, and murmur, Come on, then. Lets get you home.
The grey cat limps after us, one paw injured, blood matting his fur.
Back in the room, I check them over. The mother and kittens are unharmed, but my brave friend needs a vet. Tomorrow, well head homeall of us. Funny how things work out. Id hoped for one cat; instead, Im taking home a family.
And I couldnt be happier. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I belong somewhere too.
They say happiness shared is happiness doubled. As I return to the city, my heart feels lighter than it has in years. The kittens curl together in a box on the seat beside me, their tiny purrs vibrating through the car. The mother cat watches them with quiet vigilance, while my grey companionnow with a clean bandage on his pawrests his head against my arm, golden eyes half-lidded with trust. Rain streaks the windshield, but inside, warmth spreads like sunlight. At red lights, I glance at them, and something tight in my chest finally releases. The city skyline emerges in the distance, no longer cold or indifferent, but a place where I can imagine a porch with a cat flap, a bowl by the door, and evenings spent not in silence, but in quiet companionship. I reach down and stroke his fur. Welcome home, I whisper. He presses closer, and for the first time, I believe it myself.
