He once again placed his trust in a human.
The cat, a sleek tabby named Tom, sat in the kitchen opposite an unfamiliar woman, listening as she stared at him and spoke in a soft tone: What am I to do with you? I told my mother never to take you in The womans voice carried the weary resignation of a widow who had lost her husband. Tom was three years old and fully understood the inflection of a human voice. He sensed that this lady disliked him and that she had no use for him.
He knew the previous mistress had passed on. That night he rested at the feet of the old woman and saw her spirit rise gently toward the ceiling and drift out the window. In the days that followed, Tom wandered through the rooms of the cottage where new furnishings had appeared, their unfamiliar scents unsettling him. He tried to stay out of sight of the strangers who now roamed his home. The once warm and cosy house had grown suddenly cold.
One morning Tom vanished from the cottage. The new lady, Mrs. Aldridge, entered the kitchen to feed him and found yesterdays broth untouched. Perhaps this is for the best, she said with a sigh of relief.
Tom left on his own, without waiting to be shooed away as a useless thing. He slipped through the open front door as crates were being carried in and out. He trod unfamiliar lanes, clambered over hedgerows and crossed country lanes, avoiding places that felt chilly and where affection was scarce.
Boys tossed stones at him, and twice he tumbled from a low roof, yet he persisted, fleeing the life he had known. He finally halted only when exhaustion overtook him; his belly rumbled fiercely, reminding him that three days had passed without food.
He glanced back. Beyond an old stone wall stood a modest timber cottage that seemed empty. The air held no scent of meals, but a warm, peaceful glow emanated from the building. Tom slipped through a gap in the fence and crept toward the cottage. From a distance he spotted an open window on the attic loft and slipped inside.
The attic was piled with straw, reeking of mice. In one corner lay an old quilt. Tom settled upon it, feeling, for the first time, that he was home, his paws tingling with fatigue. His stomach roared again, but he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He awoke to a human voice. Cautiously, Tom edged to the open attic window and peered down. In the garden a little girl was chatting with someone while placing something onto a metal tray. The aroma of food drifted up, and Tom instantly recognized it.
His stomach quivered betrayingly. He descended silently from the loft and tiptoed toward the tray. With a swift leap he snatched the largest morsel within reach and darted away, just in time.
From behind the cottage emerged the girl, followed by a russet dog and two plump puppies trailing behind. Come on, dear, the girl cooed, Ive brought a bite for you and the little ones. At that moment Tom heard a voice that stirred a longforgotten warmtha voice that reminded him of the love once heard at his former home.
Goodness! the girl exclaimed, We have guests! Youre hungry too, little cat. It turned out Tom had lingered near the tray, too weak to run far. He stared warily at the girl, who, oblivious to his presence, fed the puppies and the dog. He finished his stolen bite and returned to the tray.
Seeing he would not flee, the girl placed more pieces beside the dish. Eat, she said gently, you look famished. She then fetched a bowl and poured a splash of milk. Drink, you need it, lest the hunger do you ill.
Tom calmed, ate everything set before him, drank the milk, and then climbed back to the attic, where he dozed once more on his quilt. He realized, at last, that this was his new home.
Thus he spent the entire summer there. Every day the girlnamed Mabelcame to feed both him and Jolly, as she called the russet dog, and her sprightly litter. Tom grew stronger, his coat gleamed, and he no longer felt out of place. All of them shared a single bowl, which never bothered the cat; it was now his family.
He learned to catch mice in the attic, and whenever Mabel arrived, he would present a dead mouse as a token of gratitude. She would laugh and say Thank you, letting him curl in her lap, feeling the warmth he had known so long ago.
When autumn arrived, nights grew colder. Tom had never known chill, never seen snow, and was amazed to find white moths fluttering in the morning light at the end of October. This time Mabel did not appear; instead a cart creaked up the lane, drawn by her grandfather. From his lofty perch, Tom watched the unfamiliar man with suspicion.
Mabel stepped into the yard and began laying out food. The scent drew Jolly from the cottage, followed by the two puppies. Oh dear! the grandfather chuckled, A whole family now. Yes, Mabel giggled, the cat will soon join us, and she glanced up toward the attic.
Tom heard no threat in the grandfathers voice and slipped down. Come, dont be afraid, Mabel said, stroking his back. He settled, ate, and felt safe.
Alright, my dears, lets head home, the grandfather announced, enough of wandering. He lifted the puppies onto the cart. Jolly bolted after them, and Tom, wary, stayed close. Little cat, come along, fear not. Well take you to my fathers farm in the woods, where youll be well cared for, Mabel promised.
He gazed at her; her tone and kindness echoed the voice of the lady who had once rescued him as a kitten from the streets and brought him home. Mabel cradled Tom gently, placing him in a large basket lined with a warm cloth. He offered no resistance, closed his eyes, and once more trusted a human.
Perhaps only beasts possess the power to forgive us completely, loving us despite everything.
