The snow had been falling for three days straightthick, heavy, as if it would never end. I still recall the kittens first memories, the taste of warm milk and the gentle hands of Grandma Margaret.
When he was just a newborn, Margaret found him tucked away in a cardboard box behind the corner shop on High Street. She clambered over the low railings, slipped through the hedges and lifted the box, from which a faint, plaintive squeak drifted out.
What a sorrowful little thing, my grandfather sighed as he peered inside. Who could have left you here, lad? What have you done to deserve this?
Removing her faded silk scarf, Margaret wrapped the tiny, stillnameless kitten snugly. At first she thought it might be a calico girl, but once home she realised the fluffy newcomer was a boya small, very lively tomcat.
Alright then, youll be called Tom, she said, heading to the stove to heat some milk.
Thus Tom became a pampered house cat, a shadow that trailed his owner wherever she went. He followed her everywhere, guarded the house like a watchdog, and especially perked up whenever she smelled of fresh cream.
Eighteen months later tragedy struckGrandma Margaret was taken away in a white Austin Mini and never returned home. A neighbour kept feeding Tom for a while, but soon new relatives moved into the house. They had no affection for the cat at all.
Fine, let him be, they muttered, and shoved Tom out into the frosty night.
The cold and the fear overwhelmed him. He had never known life on the streetleaves rustled under his paws, twigs snapped, and every rustle sent a shiver through his fur. He bolted, heedless of the road ahead.
A scent stopped him colda tasty, inviting smell. In front of him stood a modest stall selling meat pies. Toms belly rumbled, and he edged forward timidly.
Hungry, little one? the stalllady smiled. Come closer, Ill toss you a bite.
And so Tom survived by nibbling leftovers from the pies, sipping milk from a disposable cup, and curling up in a cardboard box that had once held chicken thighs.
One day the stall was lifted away on a crane. Tom darted about, desperate to understand where the woman whod fed him for weeks had disappeared to.
He fled to the bushes by a bench, curled into a trembling ball and weptsoftly, without a sound. He wept from the cold, from the loneliness, from the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
He soon fell asleep. In his dream he was once more a proud, large cat perched on a high branch, beside a massive white bird that seemed part dove, part human.
How did you get here, Tom? the Bird asked, spreading its enormous wings.
In the dream Tom recounted everythingGrandma Margaret, the stall, the hunger. The Bird listened patiently, then vanished.
Tom opened his eyes to find a white fluff on his nose. He thought it was a feather, but it was only a snowflake, cold and delicate, and the snowfall was deepening.
He shivered, mewed, but no one answered. Only the indifferent snow swirled around him.
He survived that way: sleeping in the box, eating the snow, nibbling bits of bread tossed to the birds, dodging dogs, and growing ever thinner.
The snow kept falling, now on its third day, and memories of Margarets warm kitchen grew fainter.
Then a bark rang out behind him. Tom leapt with all his strength, scrambled up a tree, and settled on a high branch, where he soon fell asleep again.
The same Bird visited his dream.
Hard times, Tom? it asked.
Oh, its terrible cold, hungry the dogs he replied.
What would you wish for most?
To see Margaret even once Tom whispered.
Look, the Bird said, and Tom saw heralive, standing beside the bird.
My dear! he mewed plaintively. How wretched I am without you
My love, Margaret answered, her voice soft. Ive missed you! Come to me, sweet boy
She reached out, and at that instant the Bird gave Tom a gentle nudge on the shoulder. He tumbled down.
Below the tree stood two women. One was pushing a pram; the other was bright and cheerful.
Lucy, watch out! shouted the woman with the child as the cat landed in her friends arms.
Look at that! laughed Lucy. My horoscope said fortune from the heavens today! Never thought it would be literal!
Tom opened his eyes slowly and whispered,
Meow
Hello, my little joy, Lucy smiled. Whats your name?
Meow, Tom replied.
My husband had a cat named Tom once, Emily said thoughtfully.
Then lets call him Tom, Lucy decided.
And Tom thought, Thats me, Tom, and gave another soft meow.
The two women walked out of the park togetherEmily to feed her son, Lucy with her new fluffy companion.
And Tom understood: he was once again expected, loved, and found.
