It was New Year’s Eve. The 31st of December. A day off. Mid-afternoon. Outside, winter was in full force, and everything lay buried under snow. Against the windowpanes, large flakes hurtled through the air, real frost gripping the world—and I could feel a frost settling on my heart. Do you know what New Year’s Eve feels like on such a beautiful, white day? Well, that was exactly what this day was. I had parted ways with my partner, and there was absolutely no one to celebrate the holiday with.
I didn’t want to visit relatives. I didn’t want to hear their questions about my life, my answers, and then see their sympathetic faces. Frost outside, frost inside. That was it.
I thought of my aunt. She had the kindest soul, God rest her. Right up until her last day, she helped anyone she could, and she always told me: ‘On New Year’s Eve itself, you must gather everything you can. Good food, blankets—then go outside. Feed every cat and every dog you meet, and lay down a warm blanket for them.’ That’s what she did.
But I was lazy. Only a couple of times did I rush to the park and scatter dry food in various spots.
It seemed my time had come, I thought. Time to remember my dear aunt’s advice and pay tribute to her. I packed two big bags. In one was boiled chicken and a heap of dry cat food; in the other, towels and a couple of old blankets.
I put on a warm hooded coat and stepped outside. Wind and snow hit my face. Shivering, I set off. I searched for a long time, with no luck. Either the cats had hidden from the cold, or I simply couldn’t find them. Exhausted and unsure what to do, or where to put everything, I came to a small garden square.
What happened next was astonishing. Everywhere else it was blustery, with a cold, whistling wind—but here the clouds parted, and a single ray of sunlight landed on the ground and lingered. In that beam sat a bench at the centre of the square, and on it sat a person.
I walked over and sat down. I desperately needed a rest, and it was pleasant to sit in that gentle ray of light.
He was a strange, elderly man in a knitted hat, holding a bunch of tulips, staring ahead.
‘It’s nice here,’ I said to no one in particular.
‘Pleasant and warm,’ he replied.
‘Aren’t you going off to celebrate New Year?’ I asked.
‘I’m off now,’ said the grey-haired man. ‘I still have plenty to do—just finishing one of them after this cigarette.’ He looked at me. ‘And why aren’t you going?’ he smiled.
‘I’ve no one to celebrate with,’ I hesitated. ‘And my aunt used to say…’ I showed him the bags.
‘Your aunt told you that on New Year’s Eve itself you should gather everything you can—good food, blankets—and go out to give it all to homeless cats and dogs,’ the old man finished, looking straight into my eyes.
My jaw dropped, and my cigarette fell to the ground. ‘How do you know that?’ I gasped.
In the old man’s eyes, stars suddenly sparkled. ‘You go,’ he said. ‘You need to hurry, because you’re very much waited for. Remember your aunt more often. She was a woman of the kindest soul.’ He stood, left the bunch of tulips on the bench, walked forward, stepped out of the sunbeam, crossed the road—and suddenly vanished behind a passing bus. As if he had dissolved into thin air.
I rose from the bench and noticed four cats staring greedily at my bags. The smell of chicken must have reached them.
First came two shaggy beauties with fluffy tails.
Then, from the bushes, jumping amusingly through the snowdrifts, two more arrived.
‘You’re just who I need,’ I told them, and laid out all the treats and blankets under a small shelter that kept the heavy snow off.
With a light heart, I walked home, tossing the empty bags. I only scolded myself for not asking the grey-haired man with stars in his eyes what he meant by saying I was waited for. I should have asked about my aunt too. That’s always my way—forget the most important thing and muddle everything. My whole life like this, I berated myself.
Without noticing, my feet carried me to my building, and as I reached the entrance, my gaze dropped.
There, in the bushes, in a snowdrift, sat a tiny grey kitten, crying, clutching its left paw.
I crouched down in front of it. ‘What’s wrong, little one?’
The kitten sniffled and held out its small, wet paw, cold as ice. I pulled both hands from my pockets and took it in them. And then—completely out of nowhere—the words left me:
‘Daddy’s hands are very healing. The sun will make you feel better soon.’
I gently scooped the trembling little body into both palms, pressed it to my chest, and walked into the building.
Now I had someone to look after, and someone to celebrate New Year with.
After all, that grey-haired man with stars in his eyes hadn’t lied. I was waited for. Really waited for. And that’s what matters most—when someone is waiting for you.
