A cat was sitting forlornly by the doors of the local surgery. She let out heartbreaking cries, and at her paws sat a tiny, frail kitten.
That morning, I was strolling along a quiet street in Oxford, the lead of my black Labrador, Alfie, held gently in my hand. The crisp autumn air rang clear and the golden and crimsons of fallen leaves spun and danced on the pavement, almost as if some unseen orchestra was conducting their movement. Life felt light, hopeful. Yet all at once
All at once, something caught my attention that I simply couldnt ignore: by the entrance to the surgery, a cat was sitting in distress, mewing pitifully, and at her feet, a kitten, barely able to move.
Every now and then, the mother cat would spring up, dash to a passerby as if begging for help, crying and pleading, almost demanding. People hurried their pace, eyes fixed ahead, as though the sight of a struggling creature was invisible, or at least someone elses concerna familiar failing, I suppose. But I stopped.
I crouched down and gently picked up the little thing. The kitten was so skinny, his ribs so sharp, his breath so faint.
My mind raced: What should I do? Where can I go? Just then, the mother cat came closer, looked straight into my eyes and gave a soft, desperate meow. Help, please.
A note was stuck to the surgery door: Closed on 28th. Staff day off.
I panicked. Taxi? Money? Where, then? I trusted my instinct and pressed hopefully on the door. It swung open.
At the end of the hallway stood a tall, silver-haired man in a worn white coat.
Please! I called out, Can you help? Ive got no money on me, but Ill pay you back. He wont survive otherwise, and handed him the skinny little body.
The vet took the kitten with surprising gentleness and hurried him into his surgery. The mother cat and I waited in silent worry in the hallway.
After a while, I noticed what looked like odd bumps across the back of his coat.
Poor man, a hunchback, I thought.
You believe that, do you? he suddenly turned, giving me a long, searching look before returning to the kitten.
Hours passed. At last, the kittens breathing steadied.
There you are, said the vet, hell make it. But hell need caremedicine, warmth. Hes no fit match for the streets anymore. He looked at me, and so did the mother cat, her eyes sharp and expectant.
Dont be ridiculous, I replied hotly. Of course Ill take them bothher as well. Alfie and I, well manage.
The vets smile was warm: Then Ill give you everything youll needfrom food to medicine. Dont fret about the bill. Consider it already settled.
His use of madam struck me as oddly old-fashioned. But I had no time for pondering. I took the supplies, the kitten, and with the cat and Alfie accompanying me, walked home.
A month slipped by. Finally, I plucked up the courage to phone the surgery to thank the vet.
Hello, Dr. Summers, how can I help? came a friendly young voice.
I shared my story and gratitude, but the vet sounded puzzled. After some rummaging in his computer, he replied:
Im sorry, but Ive no recollection of you. Besides, I was off on the 28th, away in the Lake District with my family. You must be mistaken, but what matters is that your kitten has a home now.
I slumped into my chair, dumbfounded. At that moment, the once-frail grey kitten, now lively and a family favourite, hopped onto my lap, while his mother observed me closely from the floor.
Then, He appeared in the roomthe stranger in the battered coat, no longer hiding his white wings. He smiled kindly.
You did save him, he told me. I just nudged things along. I rarely get involved, but cats can be awfully persistent. Well, Ill break the rules just once more.
He winked at the cat, then seemed to vanish at once into thin air. Right then, the doorbell rang out.
On the doorstep stood a slightly awkward man in an old boiler suit with a toolbox.
Did you call for a plumber, miss? Something up with your pipes?
No, I didnt, I replied, smiling. But since youre here, perhaps you could take a look at the bath as wellIll pay, of course.
Mixed things up again, havent I, he muttered, a little embarrassed, stepping inside. Kneeling, he set out his tools.
Wordlessly, I fetched a thick cushion to place beneath his knees.
Thank you, he whispered, then surprised me by smiling. For a moment, his tired, stubbled face softened, revealing something childlikeunguarded, almost innocent.
A pang struck my hearta sudden rush of pity for this clearly lonely, uncertain man.
Would you care for some lunch once youre done? I blurted, hardly recognising my own voice. Ive got shepherds pie, and theres still some tomato soup left over.
Shepherds pie he breathed, with longing. Havent tasted that in years. He looked up at me, hopeful yet apologetic.
Right, wellwait there! I found myself blushing, hurrying off to the kitchen as though the task was of grave importance.
Meanwhile, the plumber tried and failed to keep his mind on the job, distracted by the warming smells wafting in from the kitchen.
The house soon filled with the comforting scents of baked meat and fresh soup. To lighten the long repair, he played Vivaldis Four Seasons from his phone.
I paused in the doorway, whispering to myself, It cant be. No, it really cant. And yetit was happening, right then and there.
Another month passed. Through the main square of the city, I walked arm-in-arm with the former plumber, now smartly dressed in a new suit. Happiness and a deep sense of peace shone in his eyesthe sort you hope for but seldom find.
Its so easy to rush by. But sometimes, pausing just long enough to offer kindness can save a lifeor, just as importantly, a broken soul. Thats what Ive learnt: Be attentive, be kindyou never know whose world youll change, or who might change yours.
