Marmaduke was perched on the gate, waiting. Day after day, then two, then a week The first snow fell and he stayed there, his paws frozen, his belly growling with hunger, but he didnt move.
They found Marmaduke early spring, in April. The snow still clung to the shady corners, yet the sunny patches were already showing fresh shoots. A tiny greywhite kitten had curled up against a warm pipe by the corner shop, trying to stay warm.
Look, Mum! shouted sevenyearold Emily, beaming. A kitten!
Her mother, Susan, pursed her lips. Lets keep walking, Em. Hes probably dirty and full of fleas.
Emily crouched down and held out her hand. The kitten didnt bolt, only let out a plaintive squeak.
Please, Mum, can we take him home? Emily begged.
No, and no again! We rent a flat and pets arent allowed.
Helen, passing by, halted when she heard the exchange. She glanced at the trembling childinnocent, trusting, already teary.
Where were you planning to take him? she asked.
Home, Emily sniffled. But Mum wont let us.
Helen thought for a moment. Her country cottage was overrun with mice. A little cat would grow into a fine hunter.
You know what, she said softly, I have a cottage with a big garden. Hed be safe there.
Emilys face lit up. Really? What will you call him?
Marmaduke, Helen replied quickly. Hes striped, after all.
Thus Marmaduke entered their lives. A greywhite coat, amber eyes, astonishingly trusting. The moment you stroked him, he began to purr and pressed his nose against your palm.
He turned out to be a prodigious mouser. Within a week hed cleared the garden of every rodent. The owners were delightedboth for the peace of mind and the practical benefit.
Marmaduke gave it his all. Every Saturday he met them at the gate, curled up at their feet, as if he knew this was his family, his life.
He believed it would always be so.
Then autumn changed everything. In November Helen and her husband Andrew came back for the last time to shut the cottage for winter.
What shall we do with Marmaduke? Helen asked, stuffing tins into a bag.
Nothing, Andrew waved off. Hell manage. Cats belong outside; theyre tough enough for the cold.
And they left.
Marmaduke stayed at the gate, waiting. Day after day, then another, then a week.
The first snow fell. His paws were numb, his stomach clenched with hunger, yet he kept his post. They had promised to return. They would, he was sure.
But his strength waned, and with it his hope.
One chilly morning a rasping voice called out, Hey, little fella, you freezing?
Standing over him was George Whitaker, the pensioner who lived on the neighbouring plot. Hed been the only one left to winter at the cottage. His hands were warm, and a scent of tea and hearth rose from himcomfort rather than fear.
Come inside, the old man said quietly. Youll warm up.
Marmaduke followed, and in that moment realised not everyone was the same.
George, sixtysomething, lived at a leisurely pace. Hed long stopped hurrying. His children were grown, his wife had passed three years earlier. Now it was just him, the cottage, and memories.
Wintering here was a habit: the city was stifling, neighbours distant, but out here the silence, the snow against the window, and the crackle of the wood stove felt right.
George slipped a threadbare sweater over Marmaduke and ushered him indoors.
Alright, mate, he muttered, placing a pot of milk on the stove. Tell me how you ended up out in the cold?
The cat stayed silent, his amber eyes full of sorrow.
Got abandoned, eh? The lot of em God, forgive them, George sighed.
At first Marmaduke hid behind the stove, eating only when George wasnt looking, as if waiting for a trick.
George never rushed him. He left a bowl of porridge out and talked in a low tone: Heres some grub. Not a feast, but itll keep you going. Dont be shy. Or, Snows piled highgood thing were snug inside, isnt it?
A week later Marmaduke ventured out to eat at Georges feet, then crept closer, and within a few days he was perched on Georges lap.
Well now, George laughed, youve finally settled in! Lets get to know each other properly.
He scratched Marmaduke behind the ears; the cat purred, first timidly, then louder, more confident.
Good lad, George said. Everything will be fine.
Mornings began with George waking to find Marmaduke waiting by the bed. They shared breakfast. By day, George read the newspaper while the cat watched from the windowsill.
Sometimes they stepped out together: shovelling snow, clearing pathways. Marmaduke would dart after George, splash through drifts, chase the falling flakes.
Lost your touch, eh? George chuckled. Dont worry, youll pick it up again.
Evenings were filled with Georges storiesabout his life, his children, and an old tom named Whiskers whod died a year earlier. He was a good cat, loyal. Fifteen years with me. When he went, I thought Id never keep another. It hurt too much.
Marmaduke listened, purring as if he understood every word.
By New Years, Marmaduke was settled. He slept at Georges feet, greeted him at the door, even caught a mouse once and proudly presented it.
A proper hunter! George praised, but no need for more, weve got plenty to eat.
Winter rushed by. February turned to March, and one crisp morning a car engine rumbled at the gate.
Marmaduke perked up, sprinted to the window. George looked up, his brow furrowing.
Theyve arrived, he said lowly. Your previous owners.
Out of the vehicle stepped Helen and Andrew, smiling, animated, looking over the garden.
Wheres our Marmaduke? Helen called, her voice ringing. Marmaduke! Come here, you little hunter!
The cat trembled, pressed against the glass.
Dont you want to go with them? George asked quietly.
Marmaduke met Georges gaze, and in the old mans eyes the answer was clear. He understood without words.
Right then, George nodded, theyll want you back. But they left you here to fend for yourself. Its their choice now.
Half an hour later the door slammed with loud knocks.
George Whitaker! Helen shouted, her tone sharp. We know the cats with you! Come out this instant!
George rose slowly from his armchair. Marmaduke scurried under the bed, curling into the far corner.
Stay quiet, George whispered, dont show yourself.
The door swung open. Helen stood, confident and demanding; Andrew lingered, uneasy.
Good day, George replied flatly.
Wheres our cat? Helen demanded. The neighbours told us you have him!
What cat? George asked evenly.
Dont play games! Greywhite, Marmaduke. We left him out in the autumn, thought hed manage, but hes ended up with you.
In November? In the freezing cold? Georges eyes hardened. You expect a house cat to survive a winter outside?
Andrew shuffled, Hes a cat, he should cope.
George stepped forward. A domestic cat out in a winters night? You cant be serious.
Helen snapped, Give us the cat! We need him; the mice are back in our garden.
No, George answered curtly.
What do you mean no? Helen hissed. Hes ours!
Its yours? George chuckled hoarsely. Where were you when he shivered at the gate, starving? Where were you when I brought him halfdead inside?
Andrew mumbled, We didnt know
Didnt know, or didnt want to know? Georges voice rose. You petted him in summer, then dumped him in winter like an old coat!
Who are you to lecture us? Helen seethed. If you dont give him back, well take you to court for abandoning an animal!
At that moment a familiar head poked out from beneath the bed. Marmaduke peeked out as the shouting grew louder.
There he is! Helen cried, reaching forward. Marmaduke, come!
The cat pressed against Georges leg and stayed put.
See? George said softly. Hes made his choice, and it isnt in your favour.
Ridiculous! Helen lunged. Just hand him over!
Never, George snapped.
What right have you to stop us? Helen shouted, turning to Andrew. Say something!
Andrew stayed silent, guilt etched on his face.
A new voice cut through the din. Mrs. Margaret Thompson, the neighbour from down the lane, stepped up to the fence.
So, youve finally come back? she said, eyes twinkling. Looking for the cat?
Yes! Helen snapped. Our cat!
Your cat? Margaret replied dryly. And who fed him all winter? Who kept him warm when you left him out?
Andrew stammered, We didnt ask
Exactly, Margaret said. You didnt ask because you didnt care. Summer toy, autumn trash.
Soon a small crowd gatheredMr. Bob, Mrs. Lacey, a few other localsall siding with George.
Conscience doesnt seem to be yours, muttered Mrs. Lacey. Abandon a creature in the cold!
Bob waved a hand. Marmadukes now Georges. Good for him.
Suppose you try to take him by force? Margaret asked, eyes narrowing.
Let them try, George replied quietly.
Helen glared, This isnt over! She stormed back to the car, Andrew following reluctantly, heads down.
No one saw them again. Whether it was guilt or plain sense, they didnt return. The neighbours formed a united front, and Marmaduke had shown clearly where his true home lay.
By summer, Helen and Andrews garden was swarming with mice.
Just what we needed, muttered Bob as he passed, wanted a cat worker, got a mouse kingdom instead.
Georges life changed too. He found new purpose, joy in small things. Each morning he greeted Marmaduke with a cheerful Morning, lad, boiled porridge, bought fresh milk.
Marmaduke thrived: his coat shone, his eyes sparkled. He felt the master of his little domain.
When Georges grandchildren visited in summer, they were fascinated by the cat and soon grew attached. One of them, Lily, said as she left, Im glad you took him in, Granddad. You both look happy.
Yes, George smiled, watching Marmaduke saunter off to meet the guests. Very happy indeed.
When winter returned, the same snow that had once nearly been Marmadukes last fell again. He raced out into the yard, leapt into the drifts, and played with the flakes, no longer fearing the cold.
Thats the way it should be, George said, looking out the window with a grin. All right now.
By spring, as the last snow melted, a For Sale sign appeared on Helen and Andrews plot. Marmaduke sauntered past, indifferent. He had more pressing matterslike waiting for George to return from his early morning fishing trip.
