Margaret was forty-seven 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 potted plants, dog-eared books, and mismatched 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 the rubbish to the bins and heard it.
A meow.
Soft.
Persistent.
Broken.
Her eyes darted, searching. Nothing.
Then she lifted the lid of a wheelie bin.
And saw him.
A tiny cat, filthy, with a mangled tail and crusted eyes. Barely breathing.
She didnt think. She wrapped him in her scarf and carried him upstairs.
She bathed him. Dried him. Whispered to him.
“I dont know if youll make it, little one but at least you wont die alone.”
She stayed awake all night. Him, curled against her chest.
Her, holding him as if he were more than just a cat.
Against all odds, the cat lived.
And not just that.
He walked again.
Ate again.
Purred again.
Every time Margaret came home from work, he limped to the door to greet her.
Even without a tail.
Even with a crooked leg.
She named him Nemo.
For how hard it is to swim when everything is against you.
Months passed.
With the cat came habit.
Routine.
Warmth.
Margaret laughed again.
Slept deeply again.
Spoke aloud, knowing someone listened even if he didnt answer.
One Sunday afternoon, as Nemo dozed in her lap, her friend Charlotte asked,
“Do you realise it wasnt you who saved him?”
Margaret looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“That cat came when you needed him most. When you were starting to fade. He was your reminder.”
Margaret glanced down.
Nemo lay 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 only need coincidence, 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,” Margaret replied,
“Not all of us adopt children. Some of us adopt souls.”
And sometimes those souls meow.
“Some beings arrive uninvited, yet stay as though they were always meant to.”
