They threw Oliver out again For the third time in his short little life. Luck just never seemed to find him, and this would change everything for him.
Hed barely turned one, but already hed been passed between three homes. It didnt even happen all at once. At first, theyd simply handed him off here and there. Eventually, though, it ended the same way.
Someone picked him up, carried him farther from the houseout into a neighbouring roadand, looking about, lowered him into an oversized wheelie bin, then hurried away before he could follow. Not that Oliver tried.
He understood at once. The look on the mans face said it all. His wife had been ever so upset when Oliver scratched the brand new leather sofaan expensive one at that. She handed down the sentence, and the man, well, he always agreed with everything.
And so, he tucked the ginger tom under his arm and trudged to a bin down a street or two. Oliver didnt chase after. He knew this was his sentence. He wished the goodbye had been more humanat least a pat, or an apologybut it felt as though hed been tipped out like so much rubbish.
He sighed and rummaged through the bin, his supper nothing more than old scraps of roast chicken. Clambering out, he sat by the tall green wheelie bin, gazing up at the sun, refusing to turn away from its warmth.
These were the last rays of sunlightfrom the summer, through to autumn, and on towards winter. This bit of warmth melted the thin film of ice outside, even as frost settled deep inside his chest.
Evening fell swiftly, and the chill grew harsh once the sun had set. The bitter wind and cold went about their business. The ginger cat was lost, and colder than ever, with no clue where to hide. Finally, he nuzzled into a pile of crisp brown leaves under a tree, curled into a tight ball. At first, he shivered terribly, but soon enough, as the icy damp seeped into his fur making it stiffen, a curious warmth stole over him and he stopped trembling.
Some small voice within soothed him. Murmuring gentle words that coaxed his eyes to close and told him to forget his misery and misfortune. Curl tighter, sleep. Just sleep, came the gentle urging.
It would be so easyjust give in and it would all be over. No more hunger or biting cold or wishing hed never open his eyes again.
Oliver let out one last sigh and agreed. After all, why fight? What was there to fight for, when tomorrow promised the same gnawing hunger and freezing cold?
Streetlamps blinked on, first at the far end of the road. He looked at them one last time, remembering how hed watched their glow from a window on better nights. This time, he drew in the light, and his eyes glimmered in the encroaching darkness.
That fleeting spark caught the eye of a little ginger-haired girl walking home with her father. She tugged insistently at his sleeve.
There, looksomeones in those leaves! she said.
Nonsense, its nothing, her dad grumbled, hunching against the chill. Lets get homeIm frozen.
He tried to lead her onwards, but the girl protested, shrugging him off.
I saw it! I saw the light.
Light? In a heap of leaves? He was bewildered. That cant be.
She was having none of it and ran ahead, digging through the mound until she uncovered him: the ginger cat.
Dad! she cried out.
I told you, I saw itthere he is!
Who? he questioned as he caught up.
Here. She tried to lift the frigid, limp cat.
Leave it, darling, said her father, shaking his head. Hes gone. Were not bringing a dead cat home.
Hes not dead. I know it, Dad, I do. I saw the light in his eyes, I swear.
He looked puzzled, and yet he knelt down to check for a heartbeat, listening carefully.
Inside, all Oliver wanted was sleep. The voice in his ears grew fainter, whispering for him to rest, not to open his eyes. But then, the childs stubborn voice cut through: Theres a light in his eyes!
Why do they keep disturbing me? Oliver thought in a muddle, Why cant they just let me sleep?
He forced his eyes open a sliverand there she was.
Look! she exclaimed. See? I told you! There it is againthe light!
Her father shook his head and sighed, but he took off his coat and gently wrapped it around the frozen cat, heading straight home. The little girl dashed alongside, urging, Quickly, Dad, hes cold. Please, hurry.
They hurried into a warm block of flats, and soon, a window on the fifth floor shone bright. Oliver was bathed in warm water, and given a saucer of heated milk. The ginger-haired girl stroked him and pleaded, Dont die, please dont die, little one.
The ice melted from his furand from somewhere deeper inside. Now, at last, Oliver truly felt warmth. Not from the heating, but from the caring heart of a child and her gentle father.
Outside, in the winter night, perhaps someone or something that sometimes lends a quiet helping hand looked up at that fifth-floor window. All I can do all I can do, he murmured, before adding, Not everyone can see the light. Not everyone. And few can keep it if they do.
As for Oliver, curled up on a soft blanket and watching the girl fuss over him, he didnt ponder the greatness of humankindthats for people to wonder about. His thoughts were simple.
He saw the light. The light in her eyes.
Sometimes, in the darkest moments, its a small kindness that saves us. That, tonight, is what Ill always remember.
