The rubbish tip was getting a new visitor. A sleek silver estate car rolled up, and a huge grey rag was flung onto the concrete. The groundskeeper, Tom, muttered as he trudged over to sweep up the extra mess, but the rag wriggled away and slipped behind the bins. When he peered into the gap between the metal wall and the containers, he spotted a big grey cat, shivering with fright.
Summer was winding down, and August had turned out to be unusually cool and rainy that year. One crisp morning a fancy foreign car pulled into a courtyard in the little town of Bramley. Tom was already clearing the unusually damp leaves from the nights rain when he noticed the vehicle none of the locals owned anything that posh. The tinted windows hid the interior, so Tom guessed it was a visitor for one of the residents, but he was wrong.
The car idled for a minute, then rolled toward the rubbish bins and stopped. The passenger door cracked open and that same grey rag was tossed onto the pavement.
What are these people, cant even toss it in a bin? Tom thought, sighing as he hustled over. He was about to scoop up the abandoned litter when the car drove off, leaving him grumbling at the driveway.
He was too late. The rag turned out to be alive and darted behind the bins. Peeking into the narrow space, Tom saw a large grey cat, curled up, trembling like a frightened bird.
Bloody hell, whats the story here? First a tiny puppy, then a couple of kittens good that their owners took them away. And now an adult cat gets booted out. Whos going to keep a beast like this? A tramp, maybe. Come on, get up, dont be scared, Tom muttered, trying to coax the cat out.
The cat barely lifted its head, tucking it deeper under its chest.
Come on, youre going to get squashed by the tipper truck soon if you stay, Tom urged.
The animal stayed frozen, as still as a statue, perched in a position that felt safe to it. Frustrated, Tom went on with his rounds the job was on display, and he had to finish cleaning and move to the next yard.
So much for the nice folk around here he grumbled, watching the grey cat of what looked like a British breed disappear into the shadows, suddenly homeless.
When the rubbish collection lorry finally arrived, the cat bolted out of its hiding place and scrambled across the courtyard. With nowhere else to go, the poor creature dove into the grass beneath a large bench and curled up, lost in its own gloomy thoughts.
In the cats mind everything had turned upside down. It tried to make sense of why it was suddenly out on the street, wondering if anyone would ever come back for it. Deep down, a tiny hope lingered that someone would return and take it home again. Better to stay here and wait than to disappear completely, the bewildered feline decided.
Mrs. Margaret Clark had married off her daughter Blythe and was left alone in a flat on the second floor of a typical fivestorey block. Blythe lived in the same town with her husband and visited often. They werent just mother and daughter they were best friends, with no hidden grudges or secrets.
When the neighbours first spotted the clean, calm cat, they assumed it belonged to someone in the building and was just out for a stroll. Mrs. Clark loved watching the big grey beauty, especially when the courtyard was empty. For a better view and safety, the cat would climb onto the bench that, with autumn arriving, no one used any more.
Passersby hurried past, busy with their own lives, barely noticing the gloomy bench resident. The cat stayed there because there was nowhere else to go. Wandering far in search of shelter was risky at any moment the owners might return, the cat thought.
Food was a constant struggle. Thanks to Toms diligent sweeping, the courtyard was tidy, but the cat had to survive on whatever it could find in the bins. That meant competing with a gaggle of crows plump, confident birds with strong beaks that were always the first on the rubbish. They kept a sharp eye out, and even the occasional stray dog stayed away from their territory, leaving the weakened cat even more vulnerable.
After a few weeks of street life, the oncewellgroomed cat looked thoroughly ragged, and the residents, fearing disease or scratches, warned their children to stay away. Still, a few neighbourly souls, including Mrs. Clark, slipped bits of food to the starving feline. Autumn settled in, drenching the ground with long, dreary rains, turning everything a dull grey, matching the cats mood as it realised no one would come back for it.
One day, a compassionate neighbour, Sophie, heard Toms tale about the abandoned cat and took notice. She often helped stray animals find owners, but this time her efforts fell flat nobody wanted to adopt a cat that had been tossed out for unknown reasons. After consulting with family, she hesitated, and Mrs. Clark, unsure she could handle a fullgrown cat, declined as well.
What Mrs. Clark didnt know was that, each evening, the cat would muster the courage to climb the fire escape by her flat and slip into the flower boxes attached to it. From there it would stare longingly through the kitchen window, inhaling the warm smells of homecooked meals, yearning for the comfort it had lost. When the night grew cold, it slunk back to its bench.
Two months passed. By night the chill grew harsher, and the drenched, resigned cat simply sat on the bench, accepting its fate. For the November holidays Blythe and her husband Evan came to stay with Mrs. Clark. She spent the whole day bustling in the kitchen, roasting a joint, tossing salads, and baking a Victoria sponge. They lingered over tea and chatter until late.
Looks like its raining again, and theyre saying snow tomorrow, Blythe remarked.
Mrs. Clark placed a teacup on the table, drew the curtains aside, and let out a soft, trembling sigh, pressing her hands to her chest. The grey cat stared at her, eyes wide with fear.
In a heartbeat the cat leapt back, nearly slipping off the slick railing.
Whats the matter, love? Why are you so frightened? Blythe asked.
Its the cat on the balcony, Evan replied. He always perches on that bench. Hes scared too. What if he falls?
They went out onto the balcony and found the cat huddled on the bench, its damp fur puffed out, trying to cling to the few crumbs of warmth it could gather from the open window.
He must have crawled up the fire escape, Evan guessed.
Brave little thing. We should give him something to eat, Blythe said.
The group huddled together in the chilly air, put the kettle on, and Margaret sat at the table, lost in thought. Blythe poured tea for everyone.
Mum, Ive put a slice of cake with a little rose on it, just how you like it. Have some tea while its hot, she said.
Mrs. Clark tugged the curtain back, tears glistening, and stared out the window.
No, I cant keep doing this, she whispered, standing up. She grabbed a piece of the roast and headed for the hallway.
Ill be right back, she announced, pulling on her old coat.
The cat didnt resist as she scooped it up, trembling with both fear and surprise. In her arms it turned back into a limp grey bundle with floppy paws. Holding the shivering stray close, she took it home.
No one ever asked Mrs. Clark why shed taken the cat in. They didnt need to, because she was the only one in the block who did the right thing, just like a decent human should.
The onceneglected cat spent a week warming itself by the radiator. Food was nice, but the cosy domestic heat meant more to it than any gourmet dish. Mrs. Clark gave the feline the name Percy, and, feeling a bit whimsical, added the middle name Procopius.
Percy turned out to be a proper gentleman, behaving with the poise of a cat whod once owned a comfortable home. If theres an ideal cat out there, its Percy Procopius. He settled into the family as a beloved member.
Sometimes Margaret teases him:
Percy Procopius, what crimes did you commit to be tossed out and end up on that bench?
Percy stays silent. He cant speak, and even if he could, hed have no answer he never knew why he was abandoned.
Now Percy has lived with the caring Mrs. Clark for almost two years. Hes fed, petted, and content. Yet, if he hears a raised voice, the old fear from his previous home resurfaces, and the big, strong cat will curl up on the floor and try to hide.
Everyone whos met the big grey cat is left guessing: why did anyone throw away a perfect cat like Percy?
