We tried to bring your things to the lost property room, the police officer remarked. But Your cat put up quite the fight. Wouldnt let anyone near. Please, just collect your belongings and your cat. Weve enough on our plate as it is
Every station has its waiting rooms. Some are spacious and bright, others are rather cramped and gloomy. In some, youll find plush chairs; in others, its only hard wooden benches. Theyre all different, yet share one thing in commoninevitable waiting.
Almost everyone who travels by train arrives early at least once, worried about missing their train, only to end up fidgeting with boredom. Suitcases and bags piled by their feet, time dragging on, you begin to chastise yourself for being too careful.
That day was no exception. People sat in the room, carefully avoiding each others eyes. Some flipped lazily through newspapers; some buried their noses in books; most hid behind their phone screens. A few ate hastily put-together sandwiches. And it was to these that he would approach
The waiting room was on the ground floor, with a door opening straight onto the high street. Unsurprisingly, the smells of food wafting from bags and lunchboxes must have caught his nose.
He was a big, dishevelled grey cat. Around his neck hung a collar with a telephone number.
People tried to brush him off, especially the mums feeding their children:
Shoo! Off with you, filthy thing. Youll give my child fleas or something.
The cat would sigh and retreat. He didnt beg for scraps, not really. He just sat beside people and stared, and stared, and stared
He was terribly hungry, but he simply didnt know how to ask.
Only a few days ago, hed been brought here. His owner had passed away without warning, and the relatives had decided to sell the house. One of them came up with a solutiondrove the cat to the station, left him there, and said:
Someone will feed you here. You wont starve and walked away.
But how to ask? What to do? How to tell people he was starving? All this was beyond him.
So he would just quietly sit close by, looking into peoples eyes. Inhaling the tempting smells until he felt quite dizzy.
But the people, already irritable from the ordeal of waiting for a train, didnt want anything more to deal withespecially not a stray cat. They just hoped to leave this waiting room behind and forget it as quickly as a bad dream.
Id arrived at the station early that day myself. I was just travelling for worka quick overnight trip, with a day at the office and back home again. I had about forty minutes to spare. Growing bored, I found myself watching the people and noticed the cat just as one mother snapped at him and waved a sandwich at his nose.
The cat, unfazed, wandered off and sat down a little further away. Hed grown accustomed to the shouting and threats.
I noticed the collar and figured he must have run away, and his owners would be frantic. From my briefcase, I pulled out a box of homemade meatballs my wife had packed for the journey, peeled back the lid and smelled the wafting aroma.
Cor, thats lovely stuff I said out loud, glancing over at the cat. Here, puss, come over. Ill give you one.
The cat shifted from paw to paw, wary of another cuff.
Come on, dont be scared. I wont hurt you, I coaxed.
He finally crept forward, peering at me. I laid a meatball down on a napkin. The cat let out a soft mew and began eating, careful not to drop a bit.
Proper housecat, you are, I observed.
I could just make out the phone number, keyed it in, but the line was dead.
I swore under my breath. The train was leaving in twenty minutes, and now the situation was stickier than expected.
What do I do now? I hissed, looking round for ideas.
Feeling hopeless, I phoned my wife. Hurriedly, I explained and asked,
What should I do? Hes obviously not a stray. The owners numbers dead. Hes wandering about, hungry, and everyones shoving him away.
Only you, she replied, sighing. Always getting caught up in these things. Why this cat in particular?
You dont get it, I answered. Everyones ignoring him, and he doesnt even know how to beg.
Waiting room? she said.
Exactly! I perked up.
Give me the number on the collar.
Before heading for my train, I led the cat to a quiet corner and left him the entire box of meatballs.
Wait here, I said, stroking his head. My wife will come and find you, I promise.
The cat looked up at mehis only friend in daysthe one who had noticed him, fed him, spoken kindly. He nudged my hand and mewed softly.
Thats it. Wait for her. Shell come, youll see.
The next day was packed and only in the evening did I manage to call my wife.
Any luck? I asked. Found the cats owners? Fed him?
Spent all night searching, she said. But I did manage to learn this from the collar: the owners passed away, and the family just dumped him at the station.
I fell quiet.
Im going back tomorrow. He wont be left, she promised.
I know you will, I said. I trust you.
I can hear how unworried you are, she snapped. Dont go working yourself up, love, its not good for your heart. Ill ring our daughter and her husband, well all go together.
I hung up, trying to reassure myselfthere are plenty of stray cats about; you cant save every one. But the worry wouldnt shift. Somehow, this grey tom had become significant to me.
I slept badly. Dreamt I was stroking the cat, trying to explain something, while he listened and nodded along.
In the morning, my wife rang: theyd combed the station, spoken to the cleanersthe cat was gone.
I was overtaken by a strange sense of guilt. I couldnt explain it, but I couldnt let it go.
I hurried back as soon as I could.
By evening, Id returned to our home town. Instead of heading back straight away, I left my suitcase with another passenger and set off on a search.
I was terrified Id never find himor Id find him too late.
For an hour and a half, I paced the station, then started checking the bins and peering under every bush.
Near midnight, my wife joined me, complaining the whole way.
At 2am, completely exhausted, we slumped down on a bench by the entrance and lit a cigarette.
My feet are aching, she groaned.
What now?
Lets rest, then try again. Where are your things?
I clapped a hand to my forehead.
At the station by some man. But hell be long gone now!
Lets fetch your things first. If theyre still there, well drop them at the car, then keep looking.
We went through the waiting room. The police patrol stopped us by our suitcases.
Yours? the officer asked.
Yes, we chorused.
Whyd you leave them?
We were looking for a cat, together again.
What cat? he asked, then nodded at the luggage. That one?
There, curled among the cases, was the big, grey tom.
We were going to bring your luggage to lost property, added the officer. But your cats a real bruiser. Guards it like a dog, wouldnt let anyone near.
So, he hadnt vanished. Just popped out and come back. Collect your things and your cat, please. Weve enough to be getting on with.
I approached cautiously. The cat, recognising the man who had fed him, petted him, and asked him to wait, let out a joyful mew and stretched up against me.
I sat down, gave him a reassuring stroke, and breathed out in relief. My wife sat next to me.
Only you, she said, kissing me on the cheek. You always get yourself tangled up in these things Come on, grab your things and lets be off.
I took my suitcase and bag, she gathered the large, ragged tomcat. He purred, headbutted her, mewed with delight, and tried to lick her cheek all at once.
She laughed, swatting away his exuberant affection.
Back at ours, the first thing my wife did was bathe him in warm water, wrap him in a towel, remove his collar, and pour a bowl of fragrant chicken broth.
That night, he crept into our bedroom, curled beside her, and nudged her arm as though making sure she wouldnt vanish.
She laid a hand on his back and whispered,
Sleep, sweetheart, sleep. Youre safe now.
The cat purred softly and drifted off.
I finally slept as well. I dreamt again that we were scouring the station for a cat.
And maybe, just maybe, the cat dreamt all this time hed been looking for someone too.
Meanwhile, at the railway station, a little ginger kitten darted about; she peered up at passersby, mewling pitifully, but everyone hurried on.
No one had time to stop. After all, there are so many cats in the world. You cant save or feed them all, can you? And on they went.
In the end, I learned that a single act of kindness can mean the world to someone, even if that someone is just a scruffy, hungry cat at a busy station. Sometimes, what we do for one can make up, in some small way, for all the ones we cant help.
