“Running late!” In three minutes, she dashed into the bathroom, hastily applied makeup, threw on her coat and boots, and bolted for the elevator.
“My god, I’m late!” Marta López jolted awake, with just enough time to become a whirlwind of efficiency. In barely three minutes, she achieved the impossible: slapped on makeup, wrestled into her coat and boots, and sprinted for the elevatorall while cursing her alarm for betraying her.
Madrids streets greeted her with a drizzle typical of September, but Marta had no time for umbrellas or hesitation. Missing the bus meant facing Don Antonio, her boss, a man whose tolerance for tardiness matched a bull mid-charge. A minute late in his world meant an epic scolding and muttered threats about “trimming staff.”
As she ran, she mentally bid farewell to her Christmas bonus, her pending day off, and even the ten oclock coffee break with coworkers. The crowd around her, equally stressed, resembled a parade of umbrella-wielding zombies. Even the sky had turned dramatic, as if joining the chaos.
Two hundred meters from the bus stop, Marta froze. Beside a worn-out bench, a soaked kitten tried to meow, producing only a sound like a badly tuned violin. *”Do I keep going or help?”* she wondered. She knew Don Antonio would scorch her with a glare, but leave this shivering furball? No way.
Approaching, she noticed the cat limping. “Oh my god, who hurt you, sweetheart?” Without a second thought, she bundled it in her scarf (white, now ruined) and took off running againthis time with an extra passenger. *”If I get fired, at least I keep the cat,”* she reasoned.
Her plan to sneak unnoticed into the office failed. Turning the hallway corner, she collided with Don Antonio, arms crossed and scowling. “López! What time do you call this? Or do we work whenever we feel like it?” Trembling, Marta opened her coat slightly. The kitten peeked out with a pathetic *”meow.”*
“He was hurt, Don Antonio. I couldnt leave him,” she stammered, tears and snot included. She already pictured clearing her deskuntil her boss unexpectedly scribbled an address on paper. “Take him to this clinic. Now. And dont come back today.”
Marta gaped, convinced it was the end. Until Don Antonio added, “Take today and tomorrow off. And good job with the kitten.”
At the clinic, a grandfatherly vet chuckled, revealing the kitten only had a sprain. “I knew Don Antonio as a kid,” he shared. “He used to rescue dogs from sewers and fight kids who bothered cats. Now he donates half his salary to shelters, but with people well, after what happened with his family, you know.”
That night, with the kitten (now “Pepito”) purring on her lap, Marta got a call. “Hows the patient?” Don Antonio asked. They ended up sharing dinner, talking animals until the waiter kicked them out.
And so, between pet rescues and shared coffees, Marta learned even the grumpiest bosses hide a soft heart. As for Pepito? He never felt the cold again.
