December 31st. New Year’s Eve. A day off. Midday. Outside, it was a proper winter – everything buried under snow. Big snowflakes smacked against the windowpanes, a real freeze in the air, and I could feel a frost settling in my chest. You know what New Year’s Eve feels like on a beautiful white day like this? That’s exactly what it was. I’d split up with my girlfriend, and there was absolutely no one to see the new year in with.
I didn’t fancy going to see relatives. I didn’t want to hear their questions about my life, give my answers, then watch their pitying faces. Frost outside, frost inside. That’s how it was.
I thought of my aunt. The kindest soul, God rest her. Right up to her last day she helped everyone she could, and she always told me: ‘On New Year’s Eve, you gather whatever you can. Good food, blankets, and you go out. You feed every cat and every dog you meet, and you lay down something warm for them.’ That’s what she did.
But I’m lazy. I’d only ever dashed to the park a couple of times and scattered dry food in a few spots.
Time had come for me, I figured. Time to remember my dear aunt’s advice and pay tribute. I packed two big bags. One had boiled chicken and plenty of dry food, the other had towels and a couple of old blankets.
I pulled on a warm hooded jacket and stepped outside. Wind and snow hit me in the face. Shivering, I set off. I searched for ages and found nothing. Either the cats had hidden from the cold, or I just couldn’t spot them. Exhausted, not knowing what to do or where to take all that stuff, I ended up at a small square.
Here’s the strange thing. Everywhere else was blowing and howling with a cold whistling wind, but above this square the clouds parted. A single sunbeam fell to the ground and lingered, and right in that beam was a bench in the middle, and a person sitting on it.
I walked over and sat down. I really needed a rest, and it felt good to sit in that gentle light.
It was an odd old man in a knitted hat, holding a bunch of tulips, staring ahead.
‘Nice here,’ I said into the air.
‘Pleasant and warm,’ he replied.
‘Why aren’t you going to celebrate New Year?’ I asked.
‘I’ll go soon,’ the grey-haired man said. ‘I’ve still got a lot to do. Just finishing this cigarette and one of those things.’ He looked at me. ‘And why aren’t you going?’ he smiled.
‘I’ve no one to celebrate with,’ I hesitated. ‘And my aunt used to say…’ I showed him the bags.
‘Your aunt told you that on New Year’s Eve you must gather whatever you can. Good food, blankets, and go out to give it all to the stray cats and dogs,’ the old man finished, looking straight into my eyes.
My jaw dropped. The cigarette fell from my mouth. ‘How do you know?’ I gasped.
In the old man’s eyes, stars suddenly sparkled. ‘You go,’ he said. ‘You need to hurry – you’re very much awaited. Remember your aunt more often. She was the kindest soul.’ He stood up, left the tulips on the bench, walked forward out of the sunbeam, crossed the road, and vanished behind a passing bus. As if he’d dissolved into thin air.
I got up and suddenly noticed four cats staring at my bags with hungry eyes. The smell of chicken must have reached them.
First came two shaggy beauties with fluffy tails. Then from the bushes, jumping amusingly through the snowdrifts, two more joined.
‘You’re just who I need,’ I told them, and laid out all the treats and blankets under a small shelter that kept off the heavy snow.
With a light heart I walked home, throwing away the empty bags. But I scolded myself for not asking that grey-haired man with stars in his eyes what he meant by saying I was awaited. I should have asked about my aunt, too. That’s me all over – I always forget the most important things and mix everything up. My whole life like that, I grumbled.
Before I knew it, my legs carried me to my building. I was about to go in when my gaze dropped.
Down there, in the bushes, in a snowdrift, sat a tiny grey kitten, crying, clutching its left paw.
I crouched in front of it. ‘What’s the matter, little one?’
The kitten sniffled and held out a small, wet paw, cold as ice. I pulled both hands from my pockets and took it. And then – completely out of the blue – I heard myself say:
‘Daddy’s hands are very healing. Soon the little sunshine will feel better.’
I carefully picked up the tiny trembling body in both hands, held it close, and stepped inside.
Now I had someone to look after, someone to see the new year in with.
After all, that grey-haired old man with stars in his eyes hadn’t lied. I was awaited. Very much awaited. And that – being waited for – is the most important thing.
OLIVER BANKSI carried the little one inside, and as the clock struck midnight, I knew I had never been so grateful to be wrong about being alone.
