15October
I turned the key in the front door and froze; three damp, fluffy bodies were perched on the doorstep.
The relentless, drizzly autumn rain had been falling for days. I trudged across the back garden of my terraced house in Manchester, clutching my umbrella as if it might shield me from not just the cold drops but the whole indifferent world around me. The lock clicked, and a short, plaintive sound slipped from behind me:
Meow.
I stopped, twisted my head. At the threshold, three tiny, shivering bundles were huddled togetherorange, white and black, as if someone had deliberately chosen contrasting colours to make them look extra hearttender.
Good heavens I whispered, almost to myself.
The kittens stared up at me, not pleading, not calling, just looking. Something in their eyes made my chest tighten.
Why are you here? I murmured, crouching down. Go on, little ones, get somewhere safe.
The orange one lifted a paw and brushed my fingers. I flinched, rose quickly, opened the door and stepped inside. I turned back; the kittens were still there, unmoving.
I’m sorry, I whispered, closing the door behind me.
That night sleep eluded me. I lay listening to the wind rattling the branches outside, and it seemed as if somewhere beneath my doorstep a faint meow lingered. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps my conscience.
By morning the rain had eased. I looked out the window the doorstep was empty.
All right then, I said aloud, as if justifying myself. Someone else will find you.
But a sharp, needlelike ache stabbed my heart, as if Id lost something important.
Emily! a familiar voice called from the street.
My neighbour Margaret stood in the pathway, a leash in her hand and her mutt Buster tugging at it.
Come out, lets have a chat!
I pulled my scarf tighter and made my way down.
They say you had kittens at your door yesterday. Where are they now?
They left, I shrugged. They came, they went.
Oh, you silly thing, Margaret sighed. Cats dont just wander in for nothing. If they chose a home, theyre bearing goodwill. And you shooed them away?
I didnt shoo them, I answered quietly. I just didnt take them in.
That was cruel, Emily. Its a sin to turn away those who come to you.
Her words lodged painfully in my chest. I lingered a moment longer, then, with sudden resolve, turned back.
Ill go looking for them.
Thats the spirit! Margaret called after me.
Umbrella in hand, wet pavement beneath my boots, I combed the whole garden, peered behind bins, under the stairs, into the cellar nothing. Only silence and the rush of water in the drains.
The next day I rose at dawn, left the radio off, dressed, and went searching again. I covered my own yard, then the neighbours, checking every corner.
Purrpurr, I whispered, feeling foolish. Where are you, little ones?
All I received was a fine, irritating drizzle.
The third day was the hardest. I roamed until dark, my legs aching, my coat soaked through, but I could not stop. At the lift entrance Margaret met me.
Emily, youre drenched! Youll catch a cold!
I cant stop, Margaret, I said, exhausted. They came to me. And I
I understand, she nodded. Well look together tomorrow.
On the fourth morning, just as I was about to step out, a soft, suppressed meow drifted from beneath the heating pipe. I crouched and peered down. In a corner, two kittens orange and white were pressed together, thin, drenched, trembling. The white one could barely breathe.
My dears, I whispered, gently extending my hands. The orange one let itself be lifted at once; the white one was too weak.
I wrapped them in my coat and carried them home, feeling tiny heartbeats throb against my palm. In the kitchen I fetched an old towel and tucked the pair in. The orange one perked up immediately, sniffing around, while the white one lay still.
Dont you dare die, I murmured, rubbing his paws. Hear me? Dont!
I poured warm milk into a shallow dish. The orange kitten nosed the bowl greedily. I fed the white one drop by drop from a syringe. After an hour he let out a quiet meow.
Well done, I smiled, the first genuine smile in days.
But where was the third the black one?
Leaving the rescued duo in the warmth, I went back out. I searched until evening, then heard a plaintive squeak from under the old shed. A tiny black kitten was wedged between the boards.
How did you squeeze in there, you little rascal? I chided, extracting him. The gap was narrow; I fetched a hammer and pried the board aside.
The black kitten was the weakest of the three. I brought him home, placed him beside his brothers on a frayed blanket by the radiator. The orange one darted around the kitchen, the white one breathed steadily, and the black one
Hold on, little one, I cooed, offering him milk. Dont give up.
At midnight he finally managed a few sips on his own.
The first weeks were brutal: diarrhoea, fevers, one falling ill, then another. I stayed up nights, warming, feeding, rushing him to the vet.
Maybe you should rehome them? Margaret suggested one afternoon.
No, I said firmly. Theyre mine now.
Mine. It was a word I hadnt spoken in a long time.
I named the orange boy Rusty mischievous, restless, always nosing everything. The white one became Snowball dignified, a quiet observer who loved perching on the windowsill. The black one I called Shadow silent, cautious, but he attached to me more fiercely than the others; as soon as I sat, hed settle on my lap.
The house filled with purrs, patters, the clink of dishes. Scents of milk, shampoo, fresh bread returned. Life returned.
I now wake earlier than before, to tend to my kittens: fill fresh water, scatter food, change the litter. My day follows a clear rhythm breakfast, play, lunch, indoor roam, evening cuddles, sleep. And astonishingly, I enjoy every minute of it. For the first time in ages I have a genuine reason to get out of bed.
Two months later the kittens had grown, robust, turning from frail bundles into tiny rascals. Rusty was especially fearless, evermoving, constantly causing mischief pulling down curtains, toppling a flower pot, climbing into wardrobes and making a mess.
What have you gotten yourself into now, you scamp? I scolded, though my tone was warm, my smile forgiving. Rusty, as if understanding that Id always forgive him, rubbed against my legs and purred, as if saying, Its just play, Mum!
Snowball was his opposite composed, dignified, as if born for philosophical contemplation. He claimed the kitchen windowsill, watching the garden for hours, occasionally meowing as if conversing with passing birds or advising the neighbourhood cats.
Shadow became my constant shadow. Wherever I went bathroom, kitchen, bedroom he was right there, a black silhouette with eyes that seemed to hold my whole past.
Youre quite attached, arent you? I laughed, stroking his ear.
Then one morning something felt wrong. I woke to find Snowball settled in his usual spot, Rusty sprinting down the hallway, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen.
Shadow! I called. Where are you, little one?
No answer. I searched the whole flat under the sofa, in the wardrobe, even the washing machine. Nothing. My heart tightened. Had he slipped down the stairs? The front door was shut the casement was shut I bolted to the entrance hall, then out to the back garden, checking the basement, the attic, the hedges along the fence.
Shadow! Shadow! I cried, ignoring the neighbours curious glances.
From the window Margaret peered out.
Emily, whats happened?
Shadows gone! I said, voice trembling. I dont know where hes run off to!
Hold on, Ill come down well look together!
We combed the whole garden, probing every nook. I was on the brink of tears when a faint meow drifted from above. I froze, listening. It came from the top shelf of the wardrobe, behind a stack of boxes.
Shadow! I exhaled, relief flooding me. How did you get up there, you little rascal?
He mewed plaintively, scared to jump down. I fetched a stool, climbed carefully, and coaxed the trembling kitten into my arms. Pressing him to my chest, I stroked his back and whispered:
You gave me a proper fright, you silly thing
He purred, nudging his head into my cheek as if apologising.
In that instant I realised I wasnt merely afraid of losing a kitten; I feared being alone again. These three had become my family, my purpose, a piece of my heart. Rusty hopped up, meowed, Snowball gave a approving rumble, and Shadow curled against my neck.
That evening, for the first time in a long while, I felt truly needed.
Thank you, I murmured, arranging the water bowls. Thank you for coming to me.
Now Rusty greets me at the door every time I return from the corner shop leaping, purring, rubbing against my legs. Snowball watches over the house from his high perch, a true sentinel. And Shadow, ever faithful, stays close his amber eyes full of tenderness and understanding.
When Im sad, he lies beside me, warming me with his body. When Im joyous, he purrs louder, as if sharing my happiness.
The house feels alive. I no longer get up because I must; I get up because I want to feed my boys, play, talk. Yes, I talk to the cats, and Im not embarrassed. They answer in their own way soft purrs, a flick of a tail, a brief meow.
In those quiet exchanges I learned the greatest truth: I am no longer alone. Those who needed me are now the ones I cannot live without.
A year later I stood at the window, watching the garden where I first sheltered three sodden kittens.
Snowball, look, its raining again, I said to the white cat perched on the sill.
Snowball meowed back, his gaze never leaving the glass. Hed grown into a graceful adult with green eyes, as calm and wise as an old professor. From the hallway came a thundering patter Rusty charging in with a toy mouse clenched in his jaws. Still a mischievous whirlwind, now a fluffy orange whirlwind, like a living orange peel.
Turned the house upside down again? I laughed.
And at my feet, as always, Shadow purreda sleek black coat like burnt coal, eyes reflecting my whole past and present. He never strayed farther than a step from me.
My darlings, I whispered, leaning toward him.
The gate creaked; Margaret returned with Buster.
Emily! she called. Come out!
I smiled, looking at my furry companions.
Margaret, you were right, I said softly. They saved me.
Then I glanced upward and added quietly:
Thank you, dear perhaps it was you who sent them to me.
Outside, rain tapped a steady rhythm on the windowsill, but inside the house was warm and peaceful. I closed my eyes, listening to the contented purringthe very sound that marked the beginning of my new life.
Three kittens who appeared on a rainy day taught me the ultimate lesson: love always finds its way back, sometimes as three sodden kittens at your doorstep.
