MARQUIS
By the age of 28, I had already done my share of moving about. At first, it was moving from city to city with my parents because of my fathers job. He was a specialist in a niche field, developing and implementing new technologies. People with his expertise could be counted on one hand, which is why the company valued him greatly and mostly turned a blind eye to his bringing us along on every transfer.
Personally, I never liked his transfers. Old friends were left behind, sometimes there wasnt a school nearby, and on occasion, Mum and I would barely be able to leave our flat. Dad would immerse himself in his work for days on end, sometimes barely coming home at all, claiming he was conducting some marvellous experiment that would change the course of humanity itself.
But all I ever wanted was for him to be home more often, and for Mum to smile again.
In this latest cityBrightonluck seemed to be on our side. The flat was comfortable and the school was only a short walk away. Still, I struggled to make friends before wed move on again; Ive never been good at getting to know people. Mum found a job at the local hospital as a paediatriciandoctors are always needed, arent they? Things seemed to be settling down at last.
Near the end of winter, with patches of snow still lying on the ground, spring announced itself in the air. The wind was less bitter, the sun peered more boldly through the clouds, and the snow started melting into large puddles along the pavements.
One morning, I trudged my way to school, dodging puddles and broken branches, worrying that I might be late for the first lesson. Mum had left early for the hospital, and Dad hadnt come home from work the night beforeId overslept. Truthfully, I wasnt too bothered; school in this city felt dull and I hadnt found much to enjoy.
Tucked away near a row of terraced houses, beside a mound of grimy snow, a large ginger cat sat, shivering. He stood in the cold slush, his fur matted and thin. I caught his gazean expressionful look full of longing and hopeand suddenly couldnt bring myself to walk on.
But his eyesblue, almost human, soulfuldrew me in. I crouched down and gently stroked his head. He was skin and bone, fur sodden, trembling with cold. Without a second thought, I scooped him up and tucked him under my coat. He nuzzled my jumper and began to purr weakly.
Who did this cat belong to? Should I take him home or leave him? Would Mum and Dad let me keep him?
Growing up, pets had always seemed out of the question, what with Dads transfers and all. Now, though, I couldnt imagine leaving this shivering, blue-eyed, ginger cat behind. He was mine.
I rushed home, forgetting about school altogethermy whole attention was on the cat. After drying him with a towel, I realised he was still shaking. There was no milk, so I opened a tin of corned beef Dads company provided and heated some water, hoping it would warm him.
If you could have seen how he devoured the foodhe must have been starving for days. Once he had some warm water and a bit to eat, I wrapped him in a woollen blanket, making a makeshift bed, and lay down on the floor beside him. I stroked his head, rubbing gently behind his ears until he finally warmed up and drifted off to sleep; I soon nodded off as well.
We both woke up when Mum came home that evening, and she instantly understood: where the cat had come from, why Id missed school, and that hed be with us for good. She bathed him, set up a proper resting place, and sent me to the shop for milk and chickencaring for the cat would be my job. I was glad for it.
The arrival of this ginger cat filled my life with purpose. Of course, I knew my parents loved me, but Id felt so lonely before. Suddenly, life felt a little brighter, lovelier, because this cat needed meand only me.
Even Dad, seeing my new happiness, said nothing about our new family member. My life found meaning in looking after my cat.
I started trying harder at schoolto do my parents proud, but partly because wed all grown fond of this handsome, intelligent creature. When Mum bathed him, we realised his fur shone with golden highlights, and his blue eyeswhat a stunning cat! I named him MARQUIS.
Time passed. Marquis grew stronger, his fur glossier still, blue eyes sharp and clever. The whole family loved him, though he only ever truly let me in. I suspect the memory of that cold morning when I found him stayed with him forever.
Hed sleep pressed against me, his paw wrapped around my arm or neck, purring quietly as I drifted off to dreamland. Id rush home from school every day, eager to find Marquis waiting. Whatever had happened that day, I told Marquis everything. Life in Brighton was almost bearable now.
But Marquis was not an ordinary cat. He was not just intelligent but sly tooa real character.
He always wanted to follow me everywhere, but the idea of bringing him to school seemed ridiculoushed only cause a distraction. Marquis had other ideas. One spring morning, while I got ready for school, my bag at the door and Marquis nowhere in sight, I assumed he was hiding in a cupboarda new game wed taken up. Running late, I dashed off.
Imagine my shock when, halfway through a lesson, a ginger head popped out of my rucksack, causing the whole class to burst into laughter. Of course, I was told off thoroughly. The teacher insisted my father come in to discuss my behaviour, not my mothershe spoiled me, apparently.
At home, my parents gave me a talking-to, but I could tell they were amused by Marquis mischief.
Then, one summers day, disaster struck at Dads laboratory. Mum got a call and rushed to the hospital. The staff, chief physician, even police were there already. Thered been an explosionsome kind of leak from a container. Two workers were killed instantly, and Dad and his colleague were rushed to intensive care, gravely ill from unknown poisoning. No one knew what had caused it or how to treat those still alive. The company hid behind classified information; Dad never spoke of his work at home.
Mum and I tried to visit, but we werent allowed beyond the waiting room. That night Mum sent me home while she stayed at the hospital. I wept with fear, telling Marquis all my worries. He snuggled close, purring, trying to soothe me. I barely slept.
Those ten days were agony. Dads colleague died. Dad alone could have explained what had happened, but he lay unconscious, barely alive.
Finally, Mum persuaded the hospital head to let us see Dad in intensive care. We arrived in the evening, donned gowns, and I carried my ever-present rucksack. Dad lay, gaunt and still, amid softly beeping machines. We sat beside him, Mum holding his hand.
Somehowperhaps dreaming, perhaps notI saw a ginger head appear from the bag. Marquis must have sensed where we were going and hidden himself away. He leapt onto Dads chest and settled there.
Mum wanted me to take him away, but at that very moment, Dad breathed in deeply. We froze.
Mum said, Let Marquis stay, just for a while. We sat quietly through the night, eyes fixed on Dad and the cat. Marquis stretched across Dads chest, purring in strange, wavering notes. By dawn, worried about the nurses, we gently placed Marquis back in my rucksack. He looked exhausted.
Intriguingly, Dad began to breathe easier, and hope returned. Marquis, usually insatiable, barely ate that day, sleeping almost the whole time.
By midday, we learnt that Dad had regained consciousness, though he couldnt yet speak. Mum dashed to the hospitalhe recognised her and could answer with gestures.
That night, again, we took Marquis to Dad, and again he curled up on Dads chest, performing some sort of feline magic with his strange, gentle purr.
After several days, Dad improved, finding his voice, slowly growing stronger. Meanwhile, Marquis, my closest friend in the world, lay weak and wan. Every night we brought him to Dad; each time, he seemed to pour out some secret energy to heal him.
I feared losing Marquis, but in this situation, what choice did I have? I felt I was betraying my cat, but Marquis, sensing my thoughts, each evening climbed into my bag himself.
Eventually, Dad was well enough to come home. The investigation at the lab concluded and he was retired due to his health. We returned home to Bath, to the flat given to my parents by my grandparents when they marriednow more precious than ever. Mum worked at the local surgery, and Dad began writing about his scientific discoveries.
Marquis went with me to visit my grandmother in her small cottage on the edge of the city. As I told Gran the whole story, she listened intently, stroking Marquis, speaking gently to him. The cat lay in my arms, listless. We took him to the local vet, who, after several tests, could find no clear cause for his frailty.
Its as though his spirits been drained, the vet said quietly. Gran whispered, He gave everything.
A few days later, Marquis was gone. One last time, his thin paws wrapped around me, he purred so softlyand by morning my friend had left, following the Rainbow Bridge, his mission on earth complete.
I could barely imagine life without him. Marquis was more than a brotherhe was the most precious thing in my world. I buried him beneath the great apple tree in our garden, marking the spot with his favourite toys and treats. All night, I sat there, flooded by memories of the day I found him, of his remarkable eyes, our games, the happiness he brought. Most painful of all, I remembered how he would hide in my bag, and where that had led
Eventually I drifted into a sad sleep. In my dreams, a strong, healthy, playful Marquis appeared: I promise, Ill return to you.
Gran woke me with the sunrise. She, too, hadnt slept. I told her my dream. Then look out for him, she said. He promised to come back.
I moved in with Gran, studying computers, eventually becoming a software developer. The memory of Marquis never left me.
During my placement with a company designing Smart Homes, I arrived at the site, checked in, collected keys, and decided to stroll along the riverside before settling in. The weather was glorious.
Some fellow trainees, all girls, were chatting in a gazebo. We discussed the days ahead, who would be working where, and eventually I returned to my room.
Near the entrance, thick bushes grew. A gentle rustling caught my eye as a small ball of ginger fur rolled out onto the path in front of me. I picked it up andcould it be?a pair of blue eyes blinked at me.
Marquis, I whispered. Oh, how long Ive waited for you. The kitten, not at all shy, licked my nose.
And suddenly, the world was bright with colour again. Life felt wonderful, hope blossomed.
Marquis had returned! Marquis was back!
Years have passed. Im now a sought-after specialist, often asked to design smart homes. Wherever I go, my ginger delightmy Marquisis there by my side.
At 28, Ive been married for two yearsalso thanks to Marquis. I met my wife at the vet’s, when I brought Marquis for his injections. Now, Marquis is a father as wellmy wife has a ginger tabby too, and together they have gifted us two delightful kittens.
And we are happy.
You know, sometimes all a person needs is to feel needed, to truly believe theyre worthy of happiness, and that good things lie ahead. That, I think, is the secret. What do you think?
