Oliver had been thrown out Again For the third time in his short life Luck, it seemed, was never on his side.
Barely a year old, and already ousted by three families. Well, oustedfirst it was gentle passing from hand to hand, then simply left outside. Left with little ceremony. Taken a good distance from the house, deposited into a dustbin in the neighbours alley, and abandoned. So he couldnt find his way back home. He didnt even try.
Oliver understood straight away. He read his fate in the mans face. The wife had been furious when Oliver scratched the new, very expensive leather sofa. She was the one who made the decision. And the husband? He always went along with everything.
He tucked the ginger cat beneath his arm and walked out towards the bins behind the flats. Oliver didnt follow him. No, he understood. The final look in the mans eyes had told him everything.
It was pointlessa proper goodbye would have meant a final stroke on the head, an apology. But now, it was all so cold, as if tossing out a sack of rubbish.
Oliver gave a heavy sigh and started nosing through the waste for something to eat, nibbling crusts of stale chicken someone had thrown away. Stepping out, he sat himself by the large green wheelie bin, gazing up at the sun.
He squinted, but he didnt look away. The big bright circle in the sky sent down a little warmth, and he relished it. These were the last sunny raysthe final beams of summer, autumn, wintera brief spell of warmth. A thin layer of frost melted away.
But inside, Olivers heart froze.
Evening and night crept in coldly. After sunset, the wind and chill did their work. The ginger cat started shivering, uncertain where to go, how to hide. He burrowed into a mound of crumpled orange leaves and curled up into a ball. At first, he trembled desperately, but then
When the wind battered him with shards of icy rain and his coat stiffened, he felt warmth all of a sudden. The shaking stopped. Something deep inside whispered kind words, urging him to close his eyes and let go of the pain.
Curl up tight, and sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep. The whisper soothed him, a wave of warmth lapping through his numb body. It would be so simpleto let go. To stop struggling. There would be peace, at last. No more hurt, no more cold.
Oliver sighed for the last time and gave in. What was the point of fighting? What for? Tomorrow would bring the same cold, the same hunger. The same wish to close his eyes and never, ever open them again.
Street lamps flickered to life down the road. Oliver watched them glow one last time. From his window, hed gazed at that amber light so many nightsa final ember sparked in his fading sight.
That glimmer caught the eye of a small, ginger-haired girl walking home clutching her fathers hand. She tugged his coat sleeve.
There, she said, pointing. Theres someone in the leaves.
Theres nobody there, her father replied, shrinking against the cold. Come on, lets get home. Im freezing.
He tried to steer her away from the heap of sodden leaves. But the ginger-haired girl shook off his hand.
I saw it. I saw the light.
Light? In a mound of old leaves? her father scoffed. You must be seeing things.
But the girl was already kneeling by the leaves, digging her tiny hands into the pile until she found himthe ginger cat.
Dad! she cried out.
I told you. Its him.
Him who? her father said, stooping down.
Here, said the girl, trying to gently lift his stiff, icy little body.
Leave him, the father said wearily. Hes gone, darling. We cant take a dead cat home.
He isnt gone, the girl replied, her lip quivering. Hes alive. I saw the light in his eyes.
Light in a cats eyes? her father muttered, but he came closer and lifted Oliver, pressing his cold ear against the tiny chest, searching for any sign of life.
Inside, all Oliver wanted was sleep. It was so heavy, the warmth so tempting. The voice inside his head lulled him on.
Sleep, sleep, sleep dont open your eyes.
But that other voice, the childs, echoed and echoed, stubborn as hope.
Theres a light in his eyes.
What do they want from me? Oliver wondered, Why wont they let me be? Why cant I just rest?
He forced his heavy eyelids apart. Someone was there, refusing to let go.
There! cried the girl. See? I told you. Againthe light!
What light? said her father, puzzled. Yet he shrugged off his coat, swaddled the ginger bundle, and walked briskly towards home.
The daughter hurried beside him, eyes wide with worry.
Dad, please, quick. Hes so cold.
The pair vanished through the front door, and soon, on the fifth floor, the window glowed.
Oliver was bathed in warm water, then offered heated milk to drink. The girl pleaded with him, softly.
Dont die. Please dont die.
The frost melted from his furand from his heart.
The big ginger cat watched, bewildered, as father and daughter fussed over him. He was awake now. For the first time, he felt truly warm.
Not from the radiators, but from the little girls heart.
Outside, the one who sometimes comes to help watched the fifth-floor window shining above the street. He nodded, talking quietly to himself:
All I can do. All I can do.”
He stood in the shadows, thinking a bit more.
Not everyone sees the light. Not everyone. And not everyone who sees it, knows how to hold onto it.
Oliver, looking at the ginger-haired girl, didnt think of the greatness of peoplethose, after all, are thoughts for people alone. He was thinking his own thoughts, seeing his own light.
He saw it, shining brightly, in her eyes.
