Emma was 47 when she decided to adopt. Not a child. Not a dog. Not even a cat.
What she adopted was silence.
She lived alone in a small flat, surrounded by plants, dog-eared books, and mugs she collected without knowing why. Her life had been spent postponing thingslove, travel, children. There was always something more urgent. Until one day, she stopped and realised there was nothing urgent left.
Nothing at all.
On an ordinary Tuesday, she took out the rubbish and heard it.
A meow.
Soft.
Persistent.
Broken.
She looked around. Nothing.
Then she lifted the lid of a bin.
And saw it.
A tiny cat, filthy, with a mangled tail and eyes crusted shut. It could barely breathe.
She didnt hesitate. Wrapping it in her scarf, she carried it upstairs.
She washed it. Dried it. Spoke to it.
“I dont know if youll make it, little one but at least you wont die alone.”
She stayed awake all night. The cat curled against her chest.
She held it as if clinging to more than just a cat.
Against all odds, the cat survived.
And more than thatit walked again.
Ate again.
Purred again.
And every time Emma came home from work, it ran to the door.
Even without a tail.
Even with a limp.
She named it Rudder.
For how hard it is to steer when everything seems against you.
Months passed.
With the cat came habit.
Routine.
Warmth.
Emma laughed again.
Slept with her body relaxed.
Spoke aloud, knowing someone listened even if they didnt answer.
One Sunday afternoon, as Rudder dozed in her lap, her friend Claire asked,
“Do you realise you werent the one who saved him?”
Emma looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“That cat arrived when you needed him most. When you were beginning to fade. He was your reminder.”
Emma glanced down.
Rudder was there, belly exposed, nose damp, his small body pressed to hers as if they were one.
And then she understood.
She hadnt adopted him.
He had chosen her.
Not all adoptions come with paperwork.
Some just need a chance meeting, a wound, and a heart willing to love whats still broken.
From then on, whenever someone asked why shed never married, had children, or made a family “the proper way,” Emma replied,
“Not all of us adopt children. Some of us adopt souls.”
And sometimes those souls meow.
“Some beings arrive uninvited, but stay like a promise.”
