Dad, have you really taken in a cat? asks his daughter Blythe, who has arrived for the weekend.
Peter Whitaker glares out the kitchen window, irritated. The same rustyfurred cat perches on his vegetable beds againthird day in a row.
It first destroyed the tomatoes, then slept in the cucumber rows yesterday, and today it simply sprawls across the young cabbage.
You should go back to your owners, the old man mutters, tapping the glass.
The cat lifts its head, fixes its yellow eyes on him and stays put, utterly brazen.
Peter pulls on his rubber boots and steps out into the garden. The cat doesnt bolt; it shuffles a few steps away and settles by the fence. Thin, ragged, an ear torn, a tail in knots.
Well, whats this, you little beggar? Peter crouches beside the cabbage, inspects the damage. Looks like youve given up, wont be taken home now?
The cat mews softly, pitifully. In that instant Peter realises the animal is starving. Its gaunt body, eyes burning.
Where are your owners? he asks, sitting on his haunches.
The cat pads closer, rubs against his boot, purring faintly as if thanking him for not shooing it away.
Granddad, why does a cat live in our yard? asks his grandson Sammy, who has come to stay at the cottage.
It belongs to the neighbours. Lost or abandonedI dont know.
Whose was it?
Peter sighs. He knows whose. It belonged to Gran Anna, from the house next door. She passed away a month ago; her relatives only came for the funeral, then locked the house and cleared out everything. The cat was simply forgotten.
It was Gran Annas cat. Shes gone now.
So the cat is left alone?
Yes, all alone.
Sammy looks at the ginger wanderer with sympathy.
Granddad, can we take it in?
Absolutely not! Peter waves him off. I didnt need a cat anyway. I have nothing to eat myself, and now
But later that evening, when Sammy drives back to the city, Peter does bring a bowl of leftover soup to the cat, sets it on the porch, and steps back. The cat sneaks over cautiously, starts eating greedily, hurriedly.
Fine, Peter mutters, one time is enough
That one time becomes a daily habit. In the mornings Peter walks out to the garden and the cat is already waiting at the gate, sitting patiently, not meowing, not pleadingjust waiting.
At first Peter feeds the cat scraps. Then he begins to boil porridge deliberately and buys cheap tins. He tells himself its only temporary, until the cat finds new owners.
Rusty, come here, he calls. Ill keep calling you Rusty. Or whatever Mrs. Anna called you.
The cat answers to any name. It just wants to be called.
Gradually Rusty settles in. By day he basks in the sunshine among the rows, by night he comes to the porch, sleeps in the old dogs hutch that remains by the garden.
Its only temporary, Peter repeats. Absolutely temporary.
Weeks pass and the cat never leaves. Peter realises hes grown fond of the ginger face at the gate, the soft evening purrs, the warm lap that sometimes finds its way onto his knees when he sits on the porch.
Dad, have you really taken in a cat? Blythe asks, surprised.
I didnt take it in. It just showed up. Its owner was a neighbour, now shes gone
Then why are you feeding it? Find it somewhere else.
Who needs an old cat? Peter scratches Rustys ear. Let it live.
Dad, thats an extra expense. Food, vet bills youre on a modest pension.
Ill manage, Peter answers shortly.
Blythe shakes her head. In recent years her father has become oddtalking to plants, now rescuing cats
Maybe you should move to the city? Come live with us. Why stay out here alone?
Im not alone. Rustys here.
Dad, seriously
Im serious. This is fine for us. We have the garden, we have the cat.
Blythe sighs. Talking to her father has become difficult; hes stubborn, withdrawn since his wife died.
In autumn Rusty grows weak. He stops eating, lies in the hutch, breathing shallowly. Peter watches anxiously, as if the cat were his own child.
Whats wrong, friend? he sits beside the hutch. Sick?
The cat opens its eyes, lets out a faint meow. Peter decides to take him to the vet in the nearby town. He spends most of his pension on treatment but feels no regret.
You have a good cat, the young vet says. Smart, gentle. Just old, immune system weak.
Will he survive?
If you look after him properly, hell make it. Just keep him safe and give the medicines.
Back home Peter sets up a little infirmary on the veranda, spreads old blankets, places bowls of food and water. He gives pills daily, checks his temperature.
Get better, he murmurs. Life would be dull without you.
And thats true. Over the months the cat becomes more than a pethe becomes a companion, the only living being that truly rejoins Peter each day.
Granddad, is Rusty better? asks Sammy, who has returned for the winter break.
Hes fine. Look, hes sleeping on the cushion.
Rusty indeed lies curled up on a warm cushion, fur shining, eyes clear. Healthy again.
Will he stay here forever?
Where else could he go? Peter strokes him. Were together. He gives me company, I give him a home.
Granddad, didnt you feel lonely before Rusty?
Peter thinks. Since his wife passed, the house felt empty, quiet. He boiled soup for one, watched TV in silence, went to bed in a vacant bedroom.
I was very lonely, my dear. Very lonely.
And now?
Now Im not. Rusty greets me when I return from the garden, purrs while I cook dinner, sleeps on my lap while I watch TV. Its better.
Sammy nods. He, too, loves animals and understands how they can fill an emptiness.
Granddad, what does Mum think?
Mum would say its a needless expense, a hassle.
And you?
I think it isnt needless. Rusty brings me joy, and joy isnt wasteful.
In spring an unexpected visitor arrives: a niece of the late Gran Anna, a young woman with a small child.
Granddad, sorry to bother you, she says. Im Sophie, Annas niece. I heard your cat is still here?
Peters heart skips. Could he have to give Rusty away?
He lives here, he replies cautiously. What of it?
I just wanted to ask After the funeral we left quickly and didnt think about the cat. Its been on our minds and we feel embarrassed. Wed like to take him back.
I understand, Peter feels a tightening in his chest.
Youre probably fed up with him? Lots of trouble
No, not at all. Hes a fine cat.
Sophie looks out to the garden where Rusty lounges in the sun beside the rows.
Look how hes changed! He was so thin, sick. Now hes a handsome lad!
I treated him, fed him well.
Thank you so much! Sophie is genuinely grateful. Well take him, of course, and cover any costs
Peter remains silent. Legally the cat belonged to Annas family, but in the months hes become part of his life. He wonders how to explain that.
May we see him? Sophie asks.
They walk over. Rusty lifts his head, eyes them warily, then walks to Peter, rubbing against his legs.
Strange, Sophie remarks. He doesnt recognise me. I used to visit Aunt Anna often
Time does that, Peter explains. He probably just forgot.
But Peter knows its not forgetfulness. The cat has simply chosen a new keeperthe one who fed, treated, and loved him.
Listen, Sophie says suddenly, could he stay with you? He seems used to you, and youve grown attached.
How? Peter looks puzzled.
Its simple. We live in a flat with a small child. The cat is old and used to the freedom of the country. Moving him would be harsh.
But hes ours
He belonged to Aunt Anna. Now hes ours. You rescued him twicefirst from hunger, then from illness. Hes as much yours as ours.
Peter cant believe his luck.
Seriously? He can stay?
Of course! Just let us know if you need food or medicine well help.
After Sophie leaves, Peter sits on the porch, stroking Rusty.
Hear that, mate? Youre staying with me. Forever.
The cat purrs, closing his eyes contentedly.
That evening Blythe calls.
Dad, hows the cat? Is he alive?
Hes alive. In fact, hes officially mine now. The owners came, let me keep him.
Good. If hes already settled
Blythe, you know what Ive realised?
What?
A lonely person and a lonely cat save each other. I saved him from starvation; he saved me from solitude.
Dad, stop being philosophical
Im not being philosophical, Im speaking truth. I now have a purpose getting up in the morning, preparing food, giving medicines. And theres joy a purr right beside me, a greeting at the gate.
Blythe is silent, perhaps finally understanding why the cat truly matters to her father.
Dad, are you sure you wont move to the city now?
Absolutely not. I have everything here the house, the garden, Rusty. Why would I need the citys hustle?
Alright then. So youre staying.
Im staying. Were staying.
Another year passes. Peter and Rusty live a measured life. Mornings bring breakfast and a stroll through the garden. Days are spent on chores while the cat naps in the shade. Evenings end with dinner, the TV, and Rusty on his lap.
Neighbours have grown used to seeing them together.
Peter, your cat has become quite tame!
Hes not mine alone. Were one another.
And its true. They rescued each otherthe solitary old man and the unwanted old cat. In each other they found understanding, warmth, a reason to keep going.
What more does one need for happiness?
Rusty purrs on his owners knees, and Peter thinks how glad he was not to shoo that hungry stray away. How glad he felt pity
Sometimes the most important decisions arent made with the mind, but with the heart, and they turn out to be the right ones.
