The little grey tabby sat outside the vet clinics door, crying, while a tiny kitten lay at her paws
A woman strolled calmly down the street, a small dog trotting beside her on a lead. It was a cheerful autumn daythe crisp air hummed, and golden and crimson leaves swirled as if dancing to an invisible orchestra. The mood was light, almost sparkling. Until suddenly
Something impossible to ignore caught her eye: the grey tabby by the clinics entrance. She mewed pitifully, nudging the limp kitten at her feet. Every so often, she darted toward passersby, as if begging for help. She cried, pleaded, demandedyet people only quickened their steps.
Everyone was too busy, too wrapped up in their own lives to noticeor perhaps pretending not to seethe tiny, barely breathing creature on the pavement. How easy it is to walk past a strangers pain. But the woman stopped.
She bent down and gently lifted the kitten. It was so thin she could count its ribs. Its breaths were shallow. One thought flashed through her mind: *What do I do? Where do I go?* Just then, the mother cat stepped closer, locking eyes with her and meowing softly but insistently. *”Help save us”*
A sign hung on the door:
*”Closed on the 28th. No appointments.”*
The woman hesitated. A taxi? Money? Where else could she go? But giving in to instinct, she pushed the door. Andmiracle of miraclesit swung open.
At the end of the corridor stood a tall, silver-haired man in a worn white coat.
*”Please!”* she called. *”Help! I dont have money, but Ill pay you back. Shell die otherwise”* She held out the fragile body.
The vet took the kitten carefully and hurried into the operating room. The woman and the mother cat waited in the hall, trembling with nerves. After a few minutes, she noticed something oddbeneath the mans coat, between his shoulder blades, strange bumps protruded. *”Goodness, poor mans got a hunchback,”* she thought.
*”Do you think so?”* the vet suddenly asked, glancing at her knowingly before turning back to the kitten.
Hours passed. The kittens breathing steadied.
*”There we are,”* said the vet. *”Shell live. But she needs care, medicine, warmth. She cant go back outside”* He looked pointedly at the woman. The mother cat, too, fixed her with an unblinking stare.
*”What nonsense!”* the woman huffed. *”Of course Ill take them home. Both of them. Me and Biscuit”* She nodded at her patiently waiting dog*”will make room for them.”*
The vet smiled. *”Then Ill give you everything youll need. No charge. Consider it already paid for.”*
The woman blinked at being called *”miss”*those days were long behind her. But there was no time to dwell. She took the medicine, the kitten, and set off home, flanked by her loyal dog and the grateful mother cat.
A month later, she worked up the courage to call the clinic and thank the vet.
*”Hello, Dr. Whitmore speaking,”* answered a bright, youthful voice.
She recounted the rescued kittens story and thanked him, but the vet sounded baffled. After rifling through records, he said, *”Apologies, but I dont recall you. Besides, the 28th was my day offI was out of town with family. You must be mistaken. But no matterthe kitten lived, and found a home.”*
The woman sank into her chair, bewildered. Just then, the once-frail kittennow plump and adoredleapt into her lap. Nearby, the mother cat sat watching, her gaze intent.
And then *He* appeared. The old coat no longer hid the white wings beneath. The Angel smiled. *”Youre the one who saved her. I only helped a little.”*
The cat looked at the Angel and began to purr. *”I dont usually help humans,”* he muttered, as if making excuses. *”But you lot are so stubborn Fine, Ill bend the rules. One last time.”*
He winked at the cat, then dissolved into the airjust as the doorbell rang.
A scruffy man in overalls stood there, toolbox in hand. *”You called? Leaky tap?”*
*”No, but since youre here,”* the woman chuckled, *”mind fixing the bathroom too? Ill pay.”*
*”Getting my wires crossed again,”* he grumbled, shuffling inside. Kneeling, he unpacked his tools.
Wordlessly, she brought him a thick cushion and slid it under his knees.
*”Ta,”* he mumbled, then suddenly grinnedhis tired, stubbled face transforming into something boyish and vulnerable. Her heart twinged. She pitied him instantly, this clearly lonely, lost soul.
*”Would you fancy a bite? Ive got shepherds pie. And treacle pudding.”* The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
*”Pudding”* he sighed. *”Blimey, been ages”* He looked up, hopeful yet sheepish.
*”Right then!”* she blushed, bustling to the kitchen, flustered as if performing some grand act.
Meanwhile, the handymanthough pretending to focuskept sniffing the air as the scent of roasted meat and gravy filled the house. To pass the time, he switched on his old radio, and Vivaldis *Four Seasons* floated through the room.
The woman froze in the doorway. *”This cant be”* she whispered.
But it was. And it was happening now.
A month later, a couple walked through the city squarethe woman and that very handyman, now in a smart new suit. His eyes shone with peace, the kind every heart secretly longs for.
Nearby, the Angel sat beside the mother cat, grumbling. *”You cats are impossible. Nothings ever enough. What more dyou want now?”*
The cat paced, tail flicking, her stare relentless.
*”Dont even start!”* the Angel snapped. *”Ive broken every rule already. No more.”*
He fell silent, met her gaze, then sighed. *”Fine. Have it your way. Bless you.”*
By a lottery kiosk, a beggar satragged, lost in thought. But as the couple approached, he perked up.
*”Spare a quid for a hungry man?”* He held out his palm.
The man reached for his wallet, but the woman gently stopped him. She handed the beggar a fiver.
*”Miss,”* he said suddenly. *”Cant take it for nowt. Swap you?”* He offered a lottery ticket.
She startled. His voice was oddly familiar. And beneath his coatwere those small bumps on his shoulders? No, surely not
*”Check it on the 15th,”* he pressed, gripping her hand. *”Promise. Or Ill be cross.”*
*”Alright,”* she smiled, tucking the ticket into her bag.
The 15th arrived. The woman dashed around the square, stopping strangers, desperate to find the beggar. Tears welled as her husband held her. *”Well find him. Well make him accept help.”*
Meanwhile, the Angel sat in his usual café, wings hidden under an old jacket. Across from him, a black cat listened intently as he sipped his tea.
*”You know,”* he mused, *”Ive always loved Bachs sonatas. Played by Vikingur Ólafsson? Like raindrops singing”*
As if to prove it, he waved a handand a summer shower materialised beside them, droplets chiming against leaves, scattering rainbows.
The cat watched, mesmerised.
At home, the mother cat purred as she groomed her now-grown kitten. Biscuit snoozed nearby. From somewhere deep, music playedand every purr seemed to harmonise with the shimmering melody of the rain.
