Ill Be Waiting
Nick, lets not beat around the bush, I said abruptly, my patience gone. I know what happened six months ago and
You do?! His eyes widened, the colour draining from his face.
Honestly, that was the reaction Id expected from Nick, so it didnt surprise me. But I couldnt let the conversation end here. I needed answers.
****
It was a bitter December day as I drifted down Oxford Street, hardly noticing the stream of shoppers rushing to finish their holiday errands.
Oi, love, fancy a coffee? called out a bloke lingering beside a vending machine.
I didnt even give him a glance. I had no interest in street-side small talk or random introductions.
Suit yourself! Enjoy being miserable then! the lad called after me, his bruised pride obvious. Judging from his tone, this wasnt his first knockback.
I ignored him. Why should I care what some stranger thinks? My mind was tangled elsewhere.
In less than two weeks, it would be New Years Eve, but the very thought of celebrating seemed absurd. For a start, I barely knew a soul in Manchestermy move was so recent, I hadnt made friends or even proper acquaintances. And on top of that well, my job seemed to hang by a thread.
Id clawed my way into a junior journalist position at a regional paper and scraped by three months. Now it looked like I was about to be handed my P45 just as everyone else was prepping for parties.
Anna, this is a respected publication, my boss, Tony Peterson, declared that morning, his voice clipped and cold. We need exclusive material, not fluff about stray cats and lost dogs. Im afraid youre not fitting in here.
But Tony, I left my hometown for this, I stammered, struggling to keep my composure.
I understand. But well, I suppose I can give you a last chance. Youve got until New Yearstwo weeks. Bring me a noteworthy article and you stay. Fail, and thats that.
I understand, I said, resignation washing over me.
So there I was, walking with my mind racing, gulping back the icy Manchester air. What could I possibly write about that would interest Tony and turn the papers readers heads? I doubted my chancestwo weeks was impossibly tight, especially with no connections in this city.
At a crossing on Deansgate, I shifted restlessly, eyeing the red man on the lights. I was heading to the police station, my last hope to dig up a storythough I knew full well most bobbies would give a journalist the cold shoulder. Still, what choice did I have?
Mums old lesson echoed in my mind as I looked left, then right, ready to dart across. But I stopped dead and peered to the right again.
There, a few feet away on the pavement, sat a young ginger tom. Street cats arent rare in Manchester, yet this one was different. His eyesLord, his eyeswere pools of sadness, tinged with a stubborn flicker of hope.
Mostly, though, I read despair. The kind of look someone gives when theyve lost all meaning.
For a wild moment, I thought the cat might be waiting to dart under the cars once the lights changed.
Come on, love, dont block the way! a woman snapped as she shuffled past with her toddler.
I murmured an apology and stepped aside, then veered toward the ginger cat.
If he really was planning what Id feared, he wouldnt succeed. Not on my watch. Life was for livingand for believing things could turn out all right.
I knelt beside him. He didnt flinch. He just sat there, gazing past the bustle and slush, looking at something far beyond the citys edge.
Hello there, mate, I said softly. What are you doing here all alone? Waiting for someone?
The cat answered with silencea hollow, soul-aching silence. Not even a mew. He didnt move when I stroked his thick orange furnothing, not even a twitch.
Whats wrong with you? I breathed.
Ever seen Hachi, the film about that loyal dog? asked a warm, crackling voice behind me. I turned to see a grandmotherly woman perched on a fold-out stool, peddling knitted hats and mittens.
Yes, Ive seen it, I replied.
Well, this fellas our local Hachionly a feline version. We call him Whiskers.
We? I repeated, scanning the area.
Yes, love. Me and a few otherslocals who feed him. Hes been here six months now.
Six months? I gasped.
Thats right. Same patch. Waiting for someone, I suspectthe one who left him behind.
Bitter anger flashed in me for the unseen owner. How could someone abandon such a loyal creature?
Ill take him home, I declared, reaching out.
Doubt youll manage, the old dear chuckled.
And whys that?
Plenty have tried, sweetheart. At least ten folkme included. He wont have it. He comes for food, but thats it. He bolts or turns up again here, right in this spot.
She sighed. Hes waiting, see. Someone he loved left him. Her words hung in the chilly air.
I looked at the ginger tom and felt my heart ache. All I wanted was to wrap him up, feed him, show him some kindness. But when I tried again, he hissed softly, and I knew not to push him further.
Told you. Just have to feed him and hope, the old woman repeated.
I looked into those sorrowful eyes. I couldnt read thoughts, but it almost felt as if I understood: this cat wasnt going anywhere. Hed wait all his life if he had to. But for who?
Do you know what happened here six months ago? I asked her.
I didnt see anything myself. But there was a rumoura young man got hit by a car right at this crossing, six months ago.
And?
Love, dont your hands freeze? she interrupted, noticing my red fingers. Take these mitts, I made them myself.
I appreciate it, but Im skint at the momentmaybe next time?
Never mind the money, just take them. Better warm than sorry.
A bit sheepish, I accepted the blue mittens and slipped them on, instantly feeling better.
As for the incidentnothing more to say, really. Some say the lad who dumped the kitten was the one who was hit. Karma, they reckon.
Serves him right! I muttered.
No one knows what happened after. The ambulance took himmaybe he lived, maybe not
The whole episode became clearer: someone abandoned the kitten and was swiftly punished by fate. But the ginger was still here, waiting. Out of devotion? Or was it more complicated than that?
I felt there was more to the story, but what?
That afternoon, instead of heading to the station, I went home, made a strong cup of tea, and opened my laptop. I dug for any info about what had happened at the crossing.
Nothing. What did I expectincidents like this dont make headlines.
I found one tiny clipping dated 16 June 2024:
Young man dashed across Deansgate despite the red light. Struck by passing car. Driver claims no faultdidnt see the man until the last moment.
Strange, I muttered. He left the kitten and rushed onto the crossingwhy hurry into traffic like that? He couldve left the kitten anywhere.
Something didnt fit.
I sipped my tea, scrolling through what few scraps I could find. It didnt add up. Why leave the kitten in the open, in danger? Did he expect the kitten to follow him?
The thought chilled me.
****
Determined now, I resolved to find the young man. First, I wanted to know if he survived. If he had, I needed to see him face-to-faceand say what I thought. Maybe even write a piece exposing him.
Tracking him down was an ordeal. The police wouldnt say a word.
Were not permitted to disclose personal details, miss, the constable said.
Not even a hint? Anything to help my investigation?
All I know is, the chap was taken to Manchester Royal Infirmary, he conceded.
So I went there, not expecting much. But as luck would have it, one of the nursing staff was someone I knew at schoolEllen, now a nurse.
Anna! Fancy seeing you here! she shouted as soon as she saw me.
Hi Ellen, this is a surprise, I replied, keeping it professional.
Still holding a grudge because of Sam? Oh, lets not dig up that old business. But trust me, dodged a bullet there.
Can we forget ancient history? I need a favourI’m looking for a bloke brought in six months ago after an accidenta name and address, if you can manage it.
Im not supposed to, you know, she frowned.
Not even as a good deed for a friend needing closure?
After a pause, she relented. An hour later, she slipped me a note with the name: Nick Murdoch.
Well, theres a name, I smiled. How could someone called Murdoch not love cats?
You’re not getting away that easily, Nick, I decided as I flagged down a cab.
****
I knocked at his door several times, but no answer. He could be at work, or maybe he no longer lived there.
Just as I was about to quiz the neighbours, I heard footsteps behind me and turned. A young man with kind, if melancholy, eyes stood before me.
Are you Nick Murdoch? I asked, my hands shaking.
I am. And you are?
My names Anna. Im a journalist at the local paper. Id like to ask you a few questions.
His brows furrowed. A journalist? About what? Im not anybody important. Im an IT guyspend more time with screens than with people.
Your job doesnt matter. All I need is a little of your time, I explained gently.
He nodded. Fine. Ive just boiled the kettle and bought some biscuits. Come in, then.
Inside, I sat at his kitchen table across from him. Part of me burned with the urge to condemn him outright, but something in his eyes held me backthey reminded me, in an odd way, of the ginger cats.
Tea and a biscuit? he offered.
Thank you.
So, whats this about? Nick asked.
You really cant guess? I said, a little sharply.
He tensed; I saw it in his shoulders.
Well, I dont knowwhats all this about?
Nick, lets just be frank, I said. I know what happened six months ago.
You do?! he gasped, paling again.
As expected. But it wasnt enough. I pressed on.
Yes, I know! Frankly, I think youre a scoundrel. Someone whod abandon a kitten on the street deserves to be called out. That cat has waited for you, you know! Hes never left! While you sit at home, drinking your tea
Nick looked utterly confused.
I only wanted to look you in the eye and tell you what I think. So, what have you to say for yourself?
I I honestly cant remember, he stammered.
I laughed hollowly. How convenient.
Im not lying. The doctors said I suffered retrograde amnesia from the accident. I can show you the certificate.
And he did. I checked his discharge papers. It didnt read like a lie.
So you dont remember owning a cat?
No. Theres no sign I ever had one hereno bed, no toys, nothing.
Did you live alone here six months ago?
No, I was with my fiancée.
Well, lets ask her then, I urged.
Cant. She left me while I was in hospital. Only left a note.
He passed me her goodbye letter. I read it and tossed it aside, disgusted.
Still, ring her. Do you have her number?
He shrugged and dialled, putting the call on speaker.
Hi, Amy, its Nick.
What do you want? I told you, Im not coming back.
Its about something else. Did we ever have a kitten before my accident?
She snorted. A kitten? You know I cant stand those flea-ridden things! If youd insisted, wed never have stayed together. No way.
Infuriated, I hung up for him.
Why would you do that? Nick protested.
She deserved it. How can someone talk about animals like that?
So you see, I never had a cat, Nick said, holding out his hands. Maybe youve got the wrong man.
Well soon see about that, I replied. Put your coat onwere going out. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.
****
We got out on Deansgate, and straight away, I saw the ginger tom, pacing his lonely patch.
Nick followed me, glancing anxiously about.
Why are we here? he asked.
Just come.
We stopped in front of Whiskers, who sat in the exact same spot hed claimed for half a year.
That him? Nick murmured.
Yes. The local Hachi. They say hes been waiting for someone ever since the incident. I thought you were his owner.
But Ive never
Nick, would you stroke him? I interrupted.
He hesitated, but knelt and laid his hand on the cats thick fur. Instantly, he gasped and drew back. It felt like an electric shock.
The cat swivelled toward him, surprise shining in his eyes.
I think he recognises you, I said.
Is this the fellows owner, at last? came a familiar voicethe old lady with her woolly wares.
Not sure, I replied, but it looks like the cat knows him.
For a moment, the two just looked at each other. Then the ginger cat meowed, leapt up, and nestled into Nicks arms. Nick clung to him, crying openly.
Nick, are you remembering? I asked.
I I think so. At least, I remember him.
And nothing else?
Part of me was frustratedI so wanted clarity. Did Nick abandon him, or save him? Or neither?
Just then, a city bus pulled up, and the driver hopped from his seat, ignoring the horns of other cars. He strode over, seized Nicks hand, and shook it.
Do I know you? Nick asked, bewildered.
Not really. But I know you. Six months agoyou saved that ginger kitten. He ran into the crossing, and a car came barreling towards him, purposefully speeding up. You rushed out, scooped the kitten to safety, but you didnt make it clear yourself. It was heroic, mate.
Nick blinked. I I remember the cat. Not much else.
Youre a top bloke, you are, the driver said. A real gent.
Desperate for the full story, I pressed for details, and the driver explained: the kitten had run across the road, the car tried not to stop, but Nick intervened just in time, saving the kitten at great risk to himself.
So that was it.
Nick, Im sorry for what I said. I only heard idle gossip and made assumptions.
Nick smiled. Dont worrywhat matters is that the cats safe.
Will you take him home? I asked.
I willif he wants to come, Nick said, addressing Whiskers.
The cat said nothing, but his purrs and how tightly he pressed against Nick made it plain: he would go anywhere, as long as they were together.
****
So thats how the story of Manchesters ginger Hachi ended. A loyal cat waited faithfullyuntil, at last, his person returned. No matter what the odds, they found each other again.
I leaned back from my laptop, satisfied, and called into the kitchen, Nick, want to read my article before I publish it?
Nick was sitting with Whiskersnow named Biscuitat the kitchen table.
Its almost New Year, Anna, he grinned. How about we celebrate together?
Youre right. SorryI got caught up writing, forgot the world around me. Want some help getting the tea on?
Ive got the salads, roast chicken, potatoesthe lot! he laughed.
And thats how we welcomed in the New Year, the three of us, at one table.
Ahead lay new dreams. New beginnings. Wed see them through, us three.
At 11:59pm as London counted down, my article Ill Be Waiting went live. Id missed my deadline for a big scoop, and yes, I lost my job. But I shared something heartfelta tale of a faithful cat and a true hero.
After the holidays, an editor from a national magazine rang with a job offer.
Shall I take it? I asked Nick.
Of course! he beamedand told me, by the way, hed just been made head of IT at work.
Thats how it should be, I reckon. Because people who care about animalsenough to risk everythingdeserve only the very best.
