He held out his hand, wanting to stroke the fierce animal, but the cat jerked sideways and crawled away from the man, away from the outstretched hand, in a strange, awkward motion.
“Look at him!” the headteacher nearly screamed. “We’ve called his parents, and he doesn’t even feel ashamed!”
Tom stared right into the angry headteacher’s eyes. The ten-year-old boy’s face showed not a hint of remorse for the terrible thing he had done. With a bored expression, he silently listened to Mrs. Thompson’s questions.
“Burning the class register!” her voice rose to a shriek.
“Wait outside,” his father ordered, his tone stern.
The boy walked out of the headteacher’s office, slamming the door loudly. He didn’t care if they punished him again. He couldn’t have acted otherwise – he’d given his word…
As for his parents, they’d soon forget about him again, off on another expedition.
That evening, at a family council, it was decided to send Tom to his grandfather’s village for the whole summer. Perhaps he could find a way to handle the young rebel…
—
“This is your daily schedule,” William, a former soldier, pointed to a sheet of paper covered in neat handwriting. “There’s no time for larking about in the village – everyone needs to eat and drink.”
“Am I a slave?” Tom blurted out when he saw the long list of chores.
William smiled, appreciating the defiant look his grandson gave him. Yesterday his son had brought Tom, complaining constantly about how difficult he had become. Constant fights at school, complaints from teachers and the headteacher – all of it stole time from scientific research. Tom’s parents had left for an expedition, relieved to leave their rebellious son with his grandfather.
The days flowed slowly, filled with unfamiliar tasks…
Tom got up with the roosters, helped his grandfather feed the spotted Daisy the cow, the four piglets, and the bay horse Archie. Fetching water, stacking chopped firewood, weeding the vegetable beds…
The chores never ended, but Tom had given his word not to complain.
“Is he watching me?” Tom asked one day, eyeing his grandfather’s large dog Max warily, who followed him like a shadow whenever he left the yard.
“He senses you’re not from around here, scared you might get lost,” his grandfather replied with a hint of irony.
Tom grew to love going fishing. The boy quickly learned to handle the rod, and after a couple of weeks William began letting him go to the river alone.
The best fishing was early in the morning, when it was still cool. Tom liked sitting with his rod on the bank, watching the sun rise, lighting up everything around. You certainly wouldn’t see that in the city!
One early morning, settled with his rods on the bank of a picturesque stream, Tom noticed movement in the tall grass.
Somewhere nearby a frog croaked loudly, and a dog barked. Familiar sounds, but…
The grass moved again, and the boy decided to investigate.
Stepping carefully through the tall grass, Tom peered into the morning twilight but saw nothing. Deciding he must have imagined it, he was about to return to his rods when he heard a faint, pitiful whimper.
He bent down, parted the tall grass with his hands, and was greeted by a cat hissing fiercely, ears flattened in warning. The animal’s eyes told him to keep his distance, and the hissing carried a clear threat.
“Oh…” Tom gasped, startled. “Why are you hissing?”
He stretched out his hand to stroke the fierce creature, but the cat jerked away and crawled off in that strange, awkward motion, away from the outstretched hand.
At that moment it grew lighter, and Tom saw bloodstains on the animal’s pale fur. A recent image flashed before his eyes – four older boys tormenting a tabby cat with a frostbitten right ear…
Tom shuddered, pushing the painful memory away. The cat was injured, it needed help!
He couldn’t pick it up with bare hands – it was angry and clearly in pain. Looking around, he found nothing suitable. He was wearing a light jacket against the morning chill.
Taking off his jacket, the boy approached the hissing cat:
“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty! I only want to help you… Kitty-kitty!”
With its last strength the cat tried to dart away, but Tom was quicker. Covering the cat with the jacket, he wrapped it carefully and pressed it to his chest, then ran home as fast as he could, forgetting all about his rods…
“Granddad, will the cat be all right?” the boy asked for the hundredth time, anxiously watching the door of the summer kitchen.
“Don’t worry – Angela is a vet, she knows about wounds,” William said, stroking his grandson’s head. “Go fetch your rods, and when you get back, there’ll be news…”
Tom nodded and ran quickly to the river for his rods. He was in such a hurry he could barely catch his breath when he returned.
Just then, the slim figure of Angela appeared in the doorway of the summer kitchen. The elderly woman said something to William, which made him smile happily.
“How is she?” Tom burst out.
“She’ll be fine,” Angela replied. “Looks like a dog bit her… I’ve treated the wounds, now you need to look after her.”
“I’ll do everything!” Tom exclaimed, and tears of joy and relief welled up in his eyes…
That evening the boy never left the sleeping cat’s side, having made her a makeshift bed from a box and an old blanket. He placed bowls of food and water nearby, then just sat and watched her sleep.
“Are you going to sleep here?” William asked.
“May I?” Tom asked hopefully.
“We’d better bring her into the house,” his grandfather suggested.
The cat was moved into Tom’s room, and the box was placed next to his bed.
Upon closer inspection, the cat’s coat was a light beige colour with barely visible stripes.
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, still watching his charge sleep.
“You know, grandson, I’m amazed,” William said thoughtfully, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. “You’re not lazy, you’re smart, responsible, and kindness isn’t foreign to you. So why are you causing mutiny on the ship?”
Tom looked at his grandfather and shrugged instead of answering.
“That last stunt with the class register…” his grandfather pressed. “You didn’t just burn it for no reason?”
“I gave my word, and if you give it, you have to keep it,” Tom muttered.
He reached out and gently stroked the sleeping cat’s head.
“To whom did you give your word?” William’s suspicions were confirmed – he hadn’t believed in his grandson’s guilt.
“There’s a stray cat that lives in the basement of the house near the school. I used to feed him and talk to him, just like you do with Max,” Tom confessed, sniffling. “I dreamed of taking him home, but my parents wouldn’t even listen… I gave my word to Whiskers that I’d always protect him.”
“And what happened to that cat?” his grandfather asked in a quiet voice, holding his breath.
“Some older boys were tormenting him,” Tom’s voice wavered. “I asked them to stop, and they agreed – on the condition that I burn the class register…”
“Villains!” the old man burst out. “Where is that cat now?”
“A woman took him, the caretaker told me,” Tom said, stroking the cat again. “I wish I knew how Whiskers is doing…”
“You did well!” his grandfather patted his head. “You kept your word, that’s right. But why didn’t you tell your parents?”
“They never asked,” Tom answered simply.
Days passed… The wounds on Marshmallow – as Tom had named the cat – healed. The cat stopped hissing and eyeing people suspiciously.
Marshmallow accepted the care of the human who had saved her life. Soon the cat, now prettier and noticeably plumper, moved to sleep on Tom’s bed.
The boy’s dream had come true, but often in his sleep he saw the tabby Whiskers with the frostbitten ear. The cat would rub affectionately against his legs and purr loudly when Tom picked him up.
“Where are you?” Tom would ask the tabby cat in his dreams, but there was no answer.
July passed, then August…
Tom waited for his parents to come for him, but instead his grandfather announced he had to go into town on business. Having finished the morning chores, William left the household in his grandson’s care and set off for the train.
He returned in the evening, tired but pleased. He praised his grandson for keeping everything in order and, with a mysterious smile, called him into the house, where he had earlier carried a large box.
“Come here, grandson,” William pointed to the sofa. “Look who came back with me from town.”
Tom entered the room and looked at the sofa. He blinked several times, afraid he was imagining things.
“Whiskers!” the boy exclaimed, carefully picking up the tabby cat with the frostbitten ear. “Granddad, you’re the best!”
The cat looked healthy and well-fed. Later William told his grandson that Tom’s act had impressed him, and he decided to find the tabby cat, enlisting the help of Tom’s school.
It turned out the caretaker had asked a shelter to take in the stray cat, fearing for its life.
At the beginning of September, Tom’s parents arrived with the news that they had to leave for a long expedition, and the boy would have to stay with his grandfather for a while.
His parents hardly recognised the cheerful, lively child as the former rebel.
“Dad, you’ve worked a miracle!” Tom’s father exclaimed.
“Learn to listen to your child,” William said instructively.
As for Tom, he was delighted to stay living with his grandfather and not have to part with Whiskers and Marshmallow.
The rebel had turned into the most caring and responsible master for his pets.
Author: Ilona Schwander
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