**Business Trip Diary**
Mid-autumn. I wouldnt call the weather pleasant. Theres no sign of an Indian summernature clearly has other plans. The leaves are turning yellow fast, curling at the edges, and a fine drizzle has been falling all day without pause. A biting wind drives me to seek warmth indoors. Only 6°C outside. Damnably cold for late September
And here I am, by fates design, sent on a business trip to a small market town. They put me up in an old two-storey house on the ground floor. Once, these were flats for young professionals and their families, but now, with professionals in short supply, the place has been converted into a guesthouse.
I didnt mind it, though. Outside my window stood a tall, ancient maple, and whenever I cracked it open to smoke, Id find myself admiring that strong, beautiful tree.
Most days, I was busy with work, but evenings were for quiet and the comfort of a good book. Thats one thing my bustling hometown lackssilence.
Then, one night, I felt itthe unmistakable weight of eyes on me. Someoneor somethingwas watching. Studying me. The sensation prickled over my skin. I peered through the glass into the dark but saw nothing. Still, the feeling lingered. Who was so interested in me? Animal or human? I had no answers.
One evening, exhausted and hungry, I cobbled together a simple suppersliced ham, tinned fish, and breadthen instinctively pushed the window open. In a flash, a large grey tomcat with amber eyes landed on the sill. A striking creature. No doubt it had been observing me from the maples branches, hidden among the leaves.
Well then, come in, I invited. Be my guest. Hungry? Help yourself.
The cat, having sized me up over days, approached with cautious dignity. I laid out ham and fish on a plate, adding a small piece of breadunsure if cats even eat bread, but certain about the rest. He ate slowly, regally. For some reason, it lifted my spirits. Loneliness, perhaps.
We dined together. When only a scrap of ham remained, he fixed me with such an imploring look that I laughed. Go on, take it. With a flick of his tail, he snatched it and vanished into the night like an acrobat.
I was oddly disappointed. Id wanted more time with him, this elegant creature.
The next evening, I returned with extra ham and a portion of boiled chicken from the canteen, hoping hed return. He didthis time tapping the glass impatiently with his paw. We shared supper again, and tonight, he seemed in no hurry to leave. We began to well, converse.
It wasnt surprising I grew fond of him. He was intelligent, dignified. I found myself confiding in himwork, life, everything. Those golden eyes seemed to peer straight into my soul.
An hour later, he asked (with a soft meow) for a bite of chicken, then disappeared as before.
Now I wondered: Who did he belong to? Where did he live? And yes, Id grown attached. I began dreaming of taking him homea companion to share my flat, a friend whod keep my secrets.
He visited nightly. His expressive eyes answered my questions or softened when my stories grew too emotional.
My last day arrived. I was anxioushow would I explain I was leaving? That I wanted him to come? He always slipped away before dawn. Where would I find him?
I left work early, my tasks done. Wandering the town, I avoided the guesthouse, knowing he wouldnt appear till evening. I browsed shop windows, bought a large holdalljust in case he agreed to join me.
Somehow, I ended up near a row of derelict garages.
Thena yowl, sharp as a slap. Growling, snarling. A fight. I ran toward the noise and froze.
A small tabby queen shielded two tiny kittens while a snarling mastiff loomed over them. Three other dogs circled. Barks, howls, chaos.
And there he was*my* catclawing at the lead dogs muzzle, blood flying. The queen shrieked, covering her babies. The grey tom lunged, a whirlwind of claws, driving the pack back.
The dogs wavered.
I swung my holdall wildly, but it was hardly needed. Hed already won. The dogs fled, tails tucked.
I stroked the trembling queen, gathered the kittens into the holdall. Right then, lets go home.
The grey tom limped after us.
Back at the guesthouse, I checked them over. The queen was unharmed. The kittens, miraculously, too. But my brave tomhis left paw was hurt, blood crusted near his ear.
Tomorrow, homeand straight to the vet.
They say dreams come true. Id wanted one cat. Now I had three.
And I couldnt be happier. A familyfeline, yes, but a family. Maybe one day, my own will follow.
Now, heading back to London, I carry my most precious cargo. Happiness, they say, is meant to be shared.
I believe that.
Do you?
