I was trudging home late one evening, utterly exhaustedon nights like that it feels as if every patient at the clinic decides to fall ill at once. The veterinary practice seems to stretch time like taffy: the hours crawl, then slip away, and before I know it its ten oclock, Im shutting the examination rooms and dreaming of tea, a blanket and quiet.
As I stepped onto the landing and opened the blocks front door, a soft meow drifted out. It was thin, insistent, like a thread pulling from the darkness. I frozehabit of a vet: even when you try to be just a woman with a bag, the job clings to you like fur.
The sound came again, nearer. Then I saw it. On the landing between the second and third floors, under an old radiator, sat a cat. Small, silverwhite with a dark patch over the right eyea brushstroke of colour. Its fur was matted on one side, eyes huge, beautiful, yet weary. The look said, Im hanging on, but Ive no strength left.
Hello, I whispered to myself in surprise. What are you doing here?
The cat didnt bolt; it tucked its head against its shoulder, the feline way of saying Im not a threat. I sat down, held out my palm. It sniffed my scentfear, medicine, the stories of the clinicand took a tiny step toward me. Agreement sealed.
A neighbour from the sixth floor popped his head out, surveyed the scene, and voiced what many were thinking. Miss, dont touch it. It could be infectious. The manager will have a word with us.
Let her have it, I replied calmly. Ill take the cat. Its cold.
What if its rabid? he asked in a low voice.
Its just exhausted, I said. Warmth will heal it.
The neighbour fell silent. I slipped my scarf under the cat, lifted it gently. I expected resistance, hissing, but it curled against my jacket and seemed to whisper a quiet thank you. Cats dont speak, yet their silence can be louder than words.
Back home I switched on a soft nightlamp, fetched a towel, a bowl of water and a spare litter tray. I set a cardboard box in the corner as a temporary nest. The cat emerged cautiously, looked around and began groomingjerky, nervous, but moving. Thats always a good sign: its returning to itself.
Lets get acquainted, I said. Im Victoria. And you are?
She padded to the water, drank calmly, not greedily. I sat and watched. Five minutes of silent observationthe unspoken rule of any vet. In that time you learn a lot. No collar, ears clean, a tuft of fur tangled on the hind leg, a tiny scratch on a paw. Nothing criticaleverything could be mended with warmth, a brush and time.
I opened a packet of just in case cat foodthe one I always regret buying and then thank myself for having. She ate neatly, then sat beside me, looking over her shoulder as if asking permission to stay.
You may stay, at least for the night, I said.
She nudged my hand with her head. In that instant the promised quiet arrived, but a different kinda soft purr humming beside me. I laid out a blanket, placed a towel nearby. The cat chose a spot on the edge, not the centre, eyes halfclosed, still keeping watch. I lay down and felt a strange calm: cats can bring order to a restless mind.
During the night I woke a couple of times. Once she let out a test meow, I stroked her, and she purred again. Later a message popped up in the buildings chat: Who brought this cat in? Well sort it out. I smiledwe will, after we warm her up.
In the morning I took a photo and posted an ad: Found cat. Silverwhite, patch over right eye. Friendly. Looking for owners. I plastered it on the lift board and sent it to local groups. The clinic scanned her microchipnothing. No surprise.
The receptionist asked, Will you keep her?
First well look, I replied. If no one claims her, Ill take her in.
She smiled as if she already knew the answer.
That evening a call came. Hello a cat with a patch over the eye? Like a smudge of dirt? a shy female voice asked.
Yes. Do you know her?
I think so. In the flat above ours lived a woman, Eleanor Whitfield. Shes in hospital now. She had a cat, Daisy. We sometimes fed her, but the building wont let her in. I thought Daisy went with Eleanor, but the ambulance took her away. Shes been looking for a way back.
Please, come and see, I said.
Twenty minutes later a woman in her forties arrived with a sevenyearold girl, the girl peeking from behind her mothers coat. Daisy sprinted from the kitchen, halted, and stared with a questionmark in her eyes. The woman knelt.
Daisy? she whispered. Daisy, is that you?
The cat took a couple of quick steps and pressed her forehead against the womans hand. Understanding flooded the room without words. The little girl squealed with joy, then sat down carefully, the kind of reverent respect children sometimes lose as they grow up.
We thought someone had taken her, the woman said hurriedly. Eleanor is in hospital, we used to feed Daisy, but she vanished two days ago. They wouldnt let her back into the flat. She sighed, smiled wearily. Youre Victoria, the vet? I saw you in the chat. Thank you.
What happened to Eleanor? I asked gently.
The story was simple yet bitter. Eleanor Whitfieldthe old lady on the third floor as the girl called herlived alone with Daisy, was only mildly ill, but one evening her heart gave out. Neighbours called an ambulance, she was taken away. Her relatives live far away, and the building manager said hed sort it out, which really meant a locked door and a cat waiting under the radiator.
We could take her in, the woman said, but we have a parrot. Im worried they wont get along. I work late, my daughter is in afterschool care. We could look after her temporarily, then see what happens.
Lets do this, I suggested. Daisy stays with me tonight. Tomorrow Ill visit Eleanor in the hospital and find out if anyone can adopt her. If not, well figure something out together. Ill help if you decide to keep her. The parrot can be kept in another room and we can introduce them gradually.
The little girl listened intently, nodded, then asked, Can I buy her a bowl? So she has her own. They sell them near the bakery.
You can, I smiled. And a little blanketcats love those.
When they left, the cats eyes seemed calmer. I put the bowl down, sat on the floor and waited. She stretched a paw onto my knee, as if saying, Dont let me go alone. I felt my own engine rev up againthe same one that keeps me answeringAnd in that quiet moment I learned that caring for a stray heart can mend the hidden wounds of our own.
