Victor Roman, adjusting the collar of his crisp white shirt, snaps, Tie, Natalie! He snatches the tie from his wifes hand, eyes her sharply. What are you trying to hide? Hand me the one I brought back from London. I have a meeting with the board today. Natalie finds the requested tie and slides it to him without a word.
Victor grumbles, What, you cant even tie it right? He lifts his chin, watches her knot the tie in his favourite style, then steps to the mirror, adjusts the knot with a dismissive glance. Not bad, love, but you still cant do it properly. He strides to the kitchen, still at the table, and commands, Clear the scrambled eggsno, I dont want them. Bring coffee and toast. He adds, The coffees gone cold! Nothing you do is ever right!
At the kitchen doorway his fiveyearold granddaughter, Millie, who arrived yesterday with her mother for a weeklong stay, leans against the frame and watches him with the keen judgment of a child.
Victor beckons, Come here, Millie. He scoops her onto his lap, softening his voice, hoping shell giggle, hug him, and brighten the room. Millie looks up, frowning, Granddad, why are you talking to me like that? Only kind people speak that way.
Victor, surprised, asks, Am I not kind?
Millie shakes her head, No. Not kind. It feels cold here. She places a tiny hand on his chest, then slides off his knees, runs to Natalie, presses a kiss to her cheek and chirps, Good morning, Grandma.
Victor, still puzzling over his granddaughters words, finally hears the faint hum of a car outside. The driver is already waiting at the lift. He pulls on his coat, shoes polished the night before, grabs his briefcase, and heads for the door. Dont wait for lunch. I might be late tonight, he calls over his shoulder.
Descending the stairs, he feels the usual rush of power: energy humming, ready to move mountains with his subordinates, to execute any directive without hesitation. He tells himself that the details of his teams struggles are irrelevant the work must be done on schedule, no matter how many nights he spends at the office.
But Millies words gnaw at him. It stings to hear that from a little girl. He mutters under his breath, Youre just a tiny brat. Im not rude, Im strict. My job cant afford softness, or everything will collapse around me.
Between the second and third floor he spots a twomonthold kitten shivering beneath a warm radiator, eyes wide with fear. He thinks, Theres a nuisance in the hallway. Ill tell the caretaker to get rid of it. The caretaker is nowhere to be seen, though fresh snow has blanketed the pavement overnight.
Victor scowls, Idle! He stops at the lift, waiting for his driver, Vince, to arrive. Office! he snaps, then frowns, lost in thought.
No one could tell me what to do, he muses. Why? Because theyre scared. Millie isnt scared. Good on her, speaking plainly. He tells himself, Maybe shes right. Im not always this way. Life made me hard, but inside Im good and wish everyone well.
He sighs, The roads are slick today. He says this to Vince, who raises his eyebrows; Victor rarely speaks so casually. Its fine were on studded tyres, but the pedestrians are suffering. The frost is biting.
A brief exchange lifts a small warmth into Victors chest. He glances out the car window at shivering commuters at the bus stop.
Vince, look thats Lizzie from Procurement, he points to a young woman, barely older than his daughter. Lets give her a lift.
Vince nods, stops beside her. Victor smiles, Lizzie, hop in before you freeze solid. She returns the smile, slides into the back seat, her eyes sparkling. What are you hiding in that coat pocket? he asks.
She pulls out a tiny kitten, trembling, its paws and ears frosted. I was waiting at the stop and she kept darting between people, rubbing against their legs, whimpering. Shes freezing, and no one seems to mind. I tucked her in my coat to keep her warm. After my shift Ill take her home. My son will love her.
Victor asks, How old is your son?
Seven, just started Year 1. Hes independent does his homework, warms his lunch himself.
Victor remembers making Procurement work overtime several times this month for no real reason. So your boy was alone while your department stayed late? he thinks, uneasy.
He decides, Lizzie, youve rescued a cat you deserve a break. Ill give you today off for your sons birthday and for saving this little one. He adds, Vince, turn around, well drop her home.
Lizzie beams, Victor, youre so kind! Do you love cats too?
Victor chuckles, Do good people have to love cats?
Lizzie replies, Not always, but anyone who loves cats is certainly kind.
As they pull up to the office, Victor asks Vince, Do you have a cat?
Two, Vince grins. Two mischievous faces.
The workday runs its usual business rhythm. During lunch with his deputy, Victor jokes, Got any grandkids?
Two, the deputy shrugs, little rascals!
And a cat at home?
Of course! Shes the queen of the house.
Victor lifts an eyebrow, Really now?
That evening, after sending Vince home, Victor climbs the stairs to his flat. Between the second and third floor, near a radiator, the same kitten is curled on a soft blanket, a bowl of food and a litter tray beside it.
He sighs, What a world a tiny creature no one cares about. He scoops the kitten up, cradles it, and carries it to his bedroom. The kitten purrs, nestling against his chest, the longlost warmth flooding his heart.
Millie bursts into the room, squealing, Granddad! I asked Grandma to bring it home, but she said youd say no.
Victor smiles, Why shouldnt I? Ill keep it, give it a wash, and well find a name. He kisses Natalie on the cheek.
An hour later, the kitten, now named Tibby, sits on Millies lap while she leans against Victors chest, beaming.
Granddad, its not cold here any more, she whispers, touching his shirt. Its warm. Lets keep it like this forever, okay?
Victor nods, It will be, Millie. As long as theres a cat in this house, therell always be warmth.
