When Emily gets an entirely black British Shorthair as a housewarming present, she spends a few stunned minutes trying to believe it.
Her modest onebedroom flat in Manchester, which she has barely managed to rent, is still empty of furniture. There are bills to sort, a leaking tap to fix, a job interview to prepare forand now a kitten.
Recovering from the shock, she peers into the ambergold eyes of the tiny creature, sighs, smiles, and asks the giver:
Is it a male or a female?
Its a male, the friend answers.
Alright, youll be Milo, Emily says to the kitten.
Milo opens his little mouth and politely mews, Meow.
***
It turns out British Shorthairs are remarkably easygoing. Now, three years later, Emily and Milo live in perfect sync. Over time she discovers that Milo has a tender soul and a huge heart.
He greets her when she comes home from work, curls up beside her at night, watches movies from his perch, and darts around the room while she tidies up, tail flicking merrily.
Life with a cat acquires brighter colours. Its comforting to have someone waiting at the door, someone you can laugh with or share a sigh with, someone who understands you before you finish the sentence.
Everything seems fine, until
Lately Emily notices a dull ache on her right side. At first she blames an odd twist while reaching for a mug, then she blames the greasy takeaway shes been ordering. When the pain intensifies, she finally sees a GP.
When the doctor explains the diagnosis and what lies ahead, Emily spends the whole evening crying into her pillow. Milo, sensing her distress, pads quietly over and tries to soothe her with soft, rumbling purrs.
She drifts off, lulled by Milos vibrations. In the morning, having accepted her fate, Emily decides not to tell anyone in her family about the illness, wanting to avoid pitying looks and unsolicited advice.
She clings to a thin strand of hope that the doctors will manage her condition. They propose a treatment course that could improve her health.
The question of Milos future surfaces. Deep down, having reconciled that her illness might end tragically, she resolves to find Milo a new home and caring owners.
She posts an online ad, stating she is giving away a pedigree cat to a good family.
When the first caller asks why she wants to part with an adult cat, Emily, without really understanding herself, claims its because she developed an allergy to cat fur while pregnant.
Three days later Milo travels in a carrier, with all his belongings, to his new owners, while Emily is admitted to the hospital.
Two days after that she phones the new family to ask about Milo. They apologise repeatedly and tell her the cat escaped that same evening and they cant locate him.
Emilys first impulse is to flee the ward and search for Milo. She even begs a nurse to let her out, but the nurse sternly reprimands her and orders her back to bed.
The woman sharing the nextdoor bay, noticing Emilys frantic pacing, asks whats wrong. Through tears, Emily explains everything.
Dont waste your tears, love, says the frail, kindly woman, tomorrow a consultant from Oxford will visit. I have a poor prognosis too; my son, a businessman, tried to move me to a private clinic, but I declined. Ill ask that doctor to see you, maybe it wont be as grim as you think, she adds, gently patting Emilys shoulder.
***
Escaping the carrier, Milo realises hes in a strangers house. Another unfamiliar hand reaches out to pet him.
The cats nerves snap; he swats the hand with a swift paw and darts into a dark corner.
Penny, dont touch him yet, let him settle, a soft female voice says, though it isnt his new owners.
Milos heart thuds loudly, thoughts scatter, his spirit aches. How could his owner have handed him over to strangers? Why would she abandon him?
His amber eyes scan the room in panic. He spots an open window, bolts through, and leaps out onto the street!
Luckily the building is only two storeys, and a tidy garden lies beneath the window. Milo lands on the soft grass and begins the long trek home.
***
The consultant arrives as a warmlooking woman in her early forties. She introduces herself as DrMaria Patel, reviews Emilys treatment plan, and asks her to lie on the couch, turned onto her left side.
She probes gently, asking where the pain hurts, what kind of ache it is, then checks the chart again and repeats a few medical manoeuvres on the equipment.
Emily hopes for nothing good. She returns to the ward, where her neighbour in the adjacent bed is already lying there.
What did they tell you, dear? the neighbour asks.
Nothing yet, they said more staff will come in shortly, Emily replies.
Right. Im afraid the news is the same for me, the neighbour sighs, confirming the diagnosis.
Im so sorry, and thank you for everything, Emily says, unsure how to comfort someone who already knows her time may be short.
Half an hour later DrPatel returns with a couple of consultants.
Emily, I have good news, she says, smiling. Your illness responds well to treatment. Well start a twoweek course, and youll be back on your feet.
When the doctors leave, the neighbour whispers, Thats wonderful. Im glad I could still do a good deed before I go. Be happy, love.
***
Milo has no guiding star, nor does he know of any. He simply follows his feline instinct home. The route through alleys and rooftops is littered with hazards and amusing mishaps.
Never having roamed the streets before, the dignified British Shorthair transforms within a day into a fierce hunter, instincts sharpened.
Avoiding noisy roads, he darts, scurries, andimagining hes soaringleaps over fences, then climbs trees, always pressing toward his destination.
In a quiet courtyard, rattled by a nearby road, he meets a seasoned alley cat. The other cat recognises Milo instantly, lets out a loud yowl, and lunges. Milo, shifted from aristocratic poise to snarling bandit, stands his ground.
The skirmish ends quickly. The local cat boss slinks away into the shrubbery, leaving a slightly torn ear as a souvenir.
It was only a display of ego; the alley cat wanted to prove who ruled the patch. Milo presses on, undeterred.
Recalling distant ancestors, Milo learns to sleep in trees, choosing branches with a convenient fork for a perch.
He also discovers the indignity of scavenging from bins and stealing scraps from other yard cats fed by sympathetic residents.
One afternoon a pack of mongrels corners him on a weak sapling, barking and trying to knock him down. Passersby intervene, shooing the dogs away. A woman grabs Milo with a piece of sausage as bait.
Hunger and fear cloud Milos mind; he lets himself be petted and lifted. Yet, after a brief rest in the warmth, he remembers his purpose, slips out of the womans flat, and darts through the lift doors that open just in time, resuming his journey home.
***
After being discharged, Emily drives home, replaying the kind womans words about happiness. She is ecstatic that the diagnosis proved false and that she is healthy again.
But her heart aches for Milo. She cant picture returning to an empty flat with no one to greet her.
Crossing her own threshold, Emily phones the people who took Milo, asking for the exact address. When she reaches them, she learns how Milo escaped and decides to follow his trail.
They tell her its impossibletwo weeks have passed, and a house cat is unlikely to survive on the streets. Yet she refuses to accept that.
Emily walks the neighbourhood, peeking into every garden, scanning nearby parks and garages. She tries to think like a cat who has never been outside. She calls out Milos name, gazing into dark basement windows.
As she nears a house, she realises Milo has vanished without a trace. It seems absurd that a cityslick cat could have made it this far, especially after two hours of wandering on foot.
She returns to her own garden, tears welling, sorrow heavy in her chest. Through the blur, she spots a black cat emerging from across the pavement, moving toward her.
Some black cat, flashes through her mind. She freezes, then, eyes widened, she shouts, Milo!
The cat doesnt sprint; it has no strength left. It sits, squints with a hint of joy, and softly mews, Im home.
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