For a fortnight, a cat came to the window. The staff couldnt believe it when they learned the reason.
One evening, Emilyfresh out of nursing collegeburst into the duty room, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Margaret! Hes back! Can you imagine?”
“Whos ‘he’?” The matron rubbed her temples wearily. The night shift had been gruelling, and now this
“The cat! Grey, with one white ear Hes been sitting there an hour! And he comes every daycan you believe it?”
“What do you mean, ‘every day’?”
Margaret, the ward sister, skimmed through patient files before her rounds. The new patient in Ward Four still hadnt regained consciousnessfourteen days in a coma after being struck on a pedestrian crossing. Some reckless driver had sped through a red light. As if they didnt have enough to manage with routine cases.
Emily perched on the edge of a chair. “Two weeks now. He sits by the window where Mrs. Whitmore is. Stares and stares The porters shoo him away, but he keeps coming back. Weve started calling him the Night Watchman.”
Margaret frownedstray animals were the last thing they needed. She meant to scold the young nurse, but there was too much work. Yet something in Emilys voice made her rise and walk to the window.
There, on the ledge, sat the catgrey with one white ear, just as described. Thin but clearly once cared for, its fur tangled but clean. It sat oddly upright, like a sentry on duty, its gaze fixed on the window where the new patient lay.
“Good heavens, what nonsense,” Margaret muttered. “A woman between life and death, and were discussing cats”
But something unsettled her. The cats persistence, perhaps. Such devotionrare even in people.
“What do we know about this patient?” she asked abruptly.
Emily shrugged. “Not much. Mrs. Whitmore, fifty-two. Lives alone, visited sometimes by her daughter. She was hit on the crossing near her home.”
“Which home?”
“That block of flatsthe grey one past the hospital fence.”
Margaret looked back at the cat. It turned its head as if sensing her gaze. A shiver ran down her spine at the intensity in its eyes.
The answer came unexpectedly that same day when Mrs. Whitmores daughter brought in her mothers records. A photograph slipped outMrs. Whitmore in an armchair, cradling a grey cat with one white ear.
“Is this?” Margarets voice wavered.
Her daughter sniffled. “Thats Whiskers. Mums cat. Went missing two years agodarted out when the plumbers left the door open. She papered the neighbourhood with flyers, searched every alley” She wiped her eyes. “She even refused to move. Said, ‘What if Whiskers comes back? How will he find me?'”
A chill ran through Margaret. The cat *had* returnedbut too late. Perhaps it had been nearby when the ambulance took Mrs. Whitmore away. It must have followed, searching until it found the right window.
“Where where does she live?” Margaret asked.
“Just behind the hospital. That grey block of flats”
A shrill alarm from Mrs. Whitmores monitor cut through the ward. They rushed inMargaret, Emily, the daughter. The ECG showed the first flickers of consciousness. The cat was forgotten.
When Mrs. Whitmore first opened her eyes, the world was a blur of light and voices.
“Mum!” Her daughter, Charlotte, leaned close. “Mum, can you hear us?”
Mrs. Whitmore managed a weak nod. Speaking was impossibleher throat raw from tubes, her mouth parched.
“Easy now,” Margaret soothed. “No rush. Youve done brilliantly.”
Later, Charlotte held her mothers hand, tearful but smiling. “Mum, Ive a surprise. Youll never believe it Whiskers is back!”
Mrs. Whitmore started, eyes wide with recognition and joy.
“Rest now,” Margaret said gently. “No excitement yet.”
“Imagine, Mum,” Charlotte whispered, stroking her hand. “He *found* you. Came here every day, sat by your window The nurses noticed. When I brought the photo, they knew at once!”
Tears rolled down Mrs. Whitmores cheeks.
“Ive taken him in,” Charlotte went on. “At first he wouldnt leave the hospital, kept trying to return. But weve struck a dealIll bring him to see you every day, once youre stronger.”
When Mrs. Whitmore was moved to a general ward, Charlotte arrived with a carrier, its occupant grumbling.
“No pets allowed!” a nurse snapped.
But Margaret waved her off. “Let him stay. That cats earned his place more than most.”
Emily, watching, murmured, “We thought we were imagining things”
“No imagination,” Margaret said softly. “Some loves defy all obstacleseven time.”
“Easy now,” Charlotte coaxed, lifting a dishevelled Whiskers. “Youll see Mum in a moment.”
The cat froze, sniffedthen shot to the bed in a grey blur.
“Careful!” Margaret criedbut Whiskers was already nuzzling his mistress, purring louder than the hum of the ward. Mrs. Whitmore laughed and wept, her trembling fingers stroking his fur.
“Good Lord,” Emily whispered, wiping her eyes. “Straight out of a film.”
From then on, Charlotte visited daily. Strangely, Whiskers seemed to know the timepromptly at four, hed pace by the door, yowling impatiently.
“How do you know?” Charlotte marveled. “Can you read clocks?”
Hed only flick his tail, urging her on*Hurry, Mums waiting.*
“You know,” Margaret remarked one day, watching them, “in twenty years of nursing, Ive seen everything. But this” She trailed off, then added, “We humans could learn a thing or two about loyalty.”
At home, Whiskers curled beside Mrs. Whitmores bed as if no time had passedno separation, no coma, no long vigils by a hospital window.
And Margaret? She saw the world differently now. When folk claimed animals couldnt love or that miracles didnt happen, shed just smile. True magic didnt need wandsit sprang from love.
Whenever she passed the grey block of flats, shed glance up at a third-floor window. There, often sunning himself, was a familiar silhouetteWhiskers, blinking contentedly in the light.
