Friendship
Theyd been mates for what felt like centuries, and now Stephen stood before Peter, begging for a hand.
Peter, I get it, but think about ityoure not getting any younger. What am I to do with you? You were a manager, and you want me to be a stacker? Peter chuckled, eyeing the silverhaired man.
Stephen shrugged and nodded.
Hang in there, Pete Ill ring you if something decent pops up. Dont be a sourpuss, old chap! Well get through this! Peter shouted as he left.
It wasnt the first rejection in two weeks. Stephen had started to steel himself, though at first the setbacks hit him hard.
They say a friends true colours show in a pinch. Stephen Whitfield had spent his entire career in senior roles, boasting a wide circle of acquaintances. When trouble struck, however, the crowd vanished.
As is often the case, the new boss arrived with his own crew, and Stephen was politely yet firmly asked to submit a resignation of his own accord. Retirement was just around the corner, but nobody seemed to mind.
Thus he found himself suddenly without a prestigious job or a steady paycheck.
Undeterred, Stephen remembered the many people in town hed helped find work, get scholarships, or solve a myriad of other woes.
Kirby wont turn me down! I helped him out big time once, Stephen told his wife Poppy as he headed to yet another interview.
He returned looking glum and taciturn.
Friends names Dave, he sighed.
Poppy read the disappointment in his eyes without a word.
Come on, Stephen, sit down and have a bite. Whatevers happening, itll work out for the best, she said, setting the table.
Stephen nodded, then spent the evening scrolling through his phones contacts list of top friends.
Help arrived when Stephen was about to throw in the towel. An old driver, now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant, took him under his wing.
I could use a supply clerk. Its a busy job, but I think youll manage, he said politely to his former boss.
Stephen welcomed any work and started the next day.
The tiny factory sat on the outskirts of Birmingham. Behind a chainlink fence, two hulking workers unloaded a meatladen truck.
A small gang of local cats watched the ritual like an audience at a theatre.
Stephen smiled at the striped whiskered troupe, their moustaches twitching as they escorted each new batch of treats.
Later it turned out the whole site was ruled by a feline gang that didnt welcome strangers. They were a bit odd and rather unfriendly. Every time Stephen tried to pet a striped, whiskered fellow, the cat would either bolt or hiss.
Hard lads, these, Stephen laughed, watching the cook, Zinnia, toss leftovers to her charges.
Yes, theyre not the cuddliest lot. Even the kittens are a bit standoffish, Zinnia replied, gesturing toward a pair of stripespotted youngsters tussling with their elders.
Soon Stephen settled in and learned every cats name. They, in turn, grew to trust the silverhaired man, especially since he often slipped them a morsel.
Although Stephen didnt keep 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 keen, hoping for a scrap.
Six months slipped by unnoticed.
Autumn arrived with its damp breezes and grey drizzle. The cats hid more, yet never missed a meal.
One day a lone, scrawny black kitten with a patch on its back appeared on the factory grounds. The gang kept its distance, but didnt attack. The tiny creature won Stephens heart in an instant.
Stephen was out for his usual postlunch smoke when a sleek black bundle on tiny legs trotted straight toward him.
Meow, it croaked, sneezing.
What on earth is that? Stephen asked the cats.
They stared indifferently. The newcomer wasnt like them; the others were brownstriped with ambergreen eyes. The little kitten brushed against Stephens leg and purred.
You look soft, Stephen smiled.
It mustve been dropped off, dear. Ours keep to themselves, you see, said Zinnia, wiping her hands on a cloth.
Stephen eyed the gang warily; they could have easily swatted the kitten.
He went inside, tossed the kitten a slice of sausage, and placed a smaller portion a short distance away for the others. The gang pounced greedily, while the kitten lingered, rubbing against Stephens hands before finally nibbling.
Its a cuddly one, Stephen sang, gazing into the kittens eyes as it purred contentedly.
He christened the newcomer Pasty. From then on, the first thing Stephen did each morning was feed Pasty, then dash off to his duties.
What are you feeding there? Poppy asked, eyebrows raised.
A tiny, funnylooking kitten, Stephen replied, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
Maybe you could take it home? Poppy suggested, though she knew Stephen loathed indoor pets.
No, why would we need a cat? she retorted.
Right as you wish, he shrugged.
One bleak, overcast morning, Stephen heard a familiar voice.
Oh! Stephen, hows it going? Peter bounded toward him, cheeks rosy from the cold.
Found a job yet? Peter asked, extending a hand.
Stephen gave a cool stare, nodded silently, and kept his hand in his coat pocket. Hed learned the true price of their friendship long ago.
Wild as ever, Peter muttered, hurrying to his car to escape the chill.
The kitten, now plump, perched on a wooden plank at the warehouse entrance, its black coat standing out like tiny bristles against the frost.
Dont they let you in? You lot are proper beasts, Stephen growled toward the insulated cat shelter where the gang huddled.
Yellow eyes glittered from within, gauging whether a human might feed them and if it was worth leaving their cosy nook.
The radio announced that a snowstorm would blanket the city that night.
Did you hear the forecast, Stephen? How will we get to work tomorrow? the driver moaned.
The shift ended, and the driver offered Stephen a lift home. Snowflakes began to drift onto the pavement.
Dave, could you drop me off at the factory instead? Stephen blurted.
The driver shrugged and turned the wheel.
Missing work, eh, Stephen? he laughed, pulling up at the fence.
But Stephen was already lost in his thoughts.
He raced into the yard, the fresh snow covering the ground like a thin white blanket. He called out, Pasty, Pasty, Pasty! but the kitten didnt appear. The yard cats watched him nervously as he circled, shouting into the frosty air.
Soon a flock of fluffy felines surrounded him, and two crows perched on the fence, curious about the spectacle. Snow kept falling, thickening.
Pasty! Where have you gone? Stephen cried, eyes darting around.
Sensing the snow, the cats retreated to their shelter, realizing no food would come from him today, and huddled together for warmth.
Stephen turned away, heading out of the yard.
By morning, as the meteorologists had promised, the whole town lay under a thick layer of snow.
Blimey! Look at this, neighbours muttered, trudging through massive drifts.
Stephen barely made it to work, arriving a touch late like everyone else. The groundskeeper had already cleared the paths, and the cats peeked out of their shelter, hopeful for a bite.
Stephen laid a treat before them.
Here you go! Pasty sends his regards, he said gently, eyeing the wary gang.
A sudden burst of childhood joy rose inside him, like when a boy once sledded down a hill with his parents. Perhaps the snow had something to do with it.
He recalled the previous day when the mischievous kitten finally emerged from hiding at the last moment. Stephen couldnt believe his eyes, lunged for the little creature, and held it tightly.
Good lad, Pasty! Youve finally shown up, you little scamp! he exclaimed.
The kitten yawned, sneezed, and clung to Stephens trousers with tiny claws, as if terrified of losing his new friend.
Poppy didnt even seem surprised when Stephen walked in with the newest family member.
Decided to keep it, have you? she teased.
I did. Imagine him out there in this blizzard all alone, Stephen said, gingerly setting the tiny marvel on the floor. The kitten sniffed the air, whiskers twitching as it explored its new domain.
Stephen watched the little furball, eyes shining. Poppy wrapped her arms around her gruff husband, knowing better than anyone the kindness that lay in his heart.
The kitten perched on the windowsill, gazing out at the snowcovered world. In the distance, the man who had chosen him as a friend trudged back toward the yard.
Their bondbetween a burly man and a tiny catwas different from any human friendship, yet both Stephen and Pasty knew it was free of betrayal, deceit, or flattery. And that made it worth waiting for and believing in.
