The cat watched her in silence. With a sigh, gathering her courage, Annabel reached out, hoping the sleeves of her leather jacket would protect her hands from the claws of the furry stowaway
Her shift was ending, and Annabel made her way to the back of the bus, inspecting beneath every seat with her usual care.
The bus had become a second home of sorts. And, as it was at her real home, Annabel insisted on tidiness. Perhaps because there was never anyone about to make a mess?
“Annie, it’s high time you settle down,” the older ladies at the depot would chide her. “You’re nearly thirty, and still on your own. And this jobit’s no woman’s role, you know. Takes a proper constitution to put up with some of the characters we get on board!”
“I get on with everyone,” Annabel would reply with a smile. “And I rather enjoy driving. Besides, a husband isnt something you acquire like a cat or a dog!”
The ladies would exchange glances, knowing that a man could be quite a bit more bother than a pet.
“Then you ought to get a cat, at least,” they suggested. “No sense being lonely!”
Annabel would simply sigh. “The right cat hasn’t found me yet,” she would tell them, heading home to put on music, prepare her supper, read, and then drift off to sleep
Her days were much aliketwins in a row. She didn’t care for weekends; they left her with too much time, and that’s when she’d simply hop on a bus as a passenger and let herself be taken for a ride to somewhere beautiful and bright.
This particular day was no different. When her route finished, she set about tidying up the coach.
As she peered beneath the back seat, she started; two shining eyes glinted up at her from the gloom!
“Well, nowwho are you, then? Here, kitty, kitty How did you get under there?” Annabel crouched down. “Are you lost, dear?”
The cat gazed back at her, unmoved.
She sighed and steadied herself, reaching under the seat in the hope her jacket sleeves would spare her from any claws the stray might deploy.
To her surprise, the cat calmly let her extract him, allowing her a proper look.
He was magnificent.
She was no expert on breeds, but his broad face and plush fur suggested a Persian. Around his neck hung a collar with a medallion.
“Merlin,” Annabel read, turning the cat this way and that to see. “Well! Are you the famous wizard, then?”
The cat yawned, as if he wouldn’t rule it out.
“And what am I to do with you, your magical majesty?” she chuckled politely. “Where shall I start looking for your master?”
The cat simply yawned againmeaning, perhaps, How should I know? And anyway, a meal and a rest wouldnt go amiss.
She realised she had only one choice. Or, truthfully, two, but what sort of person leaves a lost animal out in the street?
“Right, here’s what we’ll do,” she declared. “You’ll stay the night with me. Tomorrow, Ill print notices with your photograph. Im sure someones searching high and low for you!”
The cat offered no objections. But just as Annabel turned to leave, he squirmed from her arms.
“Whats wrong now?” she wondered, watching him slink off. He returned from under the seat, something clutched in his teeth.
“Whats that, Merlin?” she asked, leaning closer.
He dropped the object into her palma lottery ticket.
“Well, I never!” She scrutinised the discovery. “So your master lost both you and his ticket in one go?”
The cat gazed at her, then yawned yet againcould we get a move on?
Annabel hurried away, mind racing. Should she mention the lottery ticket in the found-pet notice? What if some chancer claimed the cat just to lay hands on the ticket?
Shed have to be clever about it. For now, shed best buy something special for her guest.
“What would you like, hmm?” she asked in the shop, staring at the shelves heavy with tins and pouches.
Merlin glanced along the row, then stretched a paw decisively toward one particular pouch.
“This one, then?” she checked.
He snatched it up with his teeth, and doubt vanished.
“You are a clever boy,” she praised.
He gave a rumbling sound that plainly said, “Dont I know it?” With groceries for both of them, they headed home
“Make yourself comfortable,” she suggested, setting the cat down on the floor.
Merlin immediately set about inspecting the flat. Annabel busied herself in the kitchen. Lacking cat bowls, she gave him two saucers for food and water.
Once he had dined, Annabel took his photo and designed a notice, omitting both name and mention of the lottery ticket.
She showed her handiwork to Merlin. “Look at youhandsome as ever! Tomorrow Ill pin these up on the bus. Maybe someone will recognise you. Oh!”
She froze. Tomorrow was another shift, and shed no idea what to do with the cat.
Leave him at home? Not idealhed just been lost, after all. Bring him along? Impossible. A distracted drivers a danger to her passengers.
Then it struck her: Christopher, the neighbour from across the hall. He worked from home, rarely venturing out save for the odd grocery run. Tall, slightly awkward, bespectacled.
Their exchanges were briefnodded hellos, each going their own way. But Christopher struck her as someone who could look after a cat for a day.
Steeling herself, Annabel knocked next door. Christopher appeared, tousle-haired, slippers on, trousers baggy at the knees. He peered at her in mild surprise.
She explained the situation as best she could, hoping to persuade him, but persuasion wasn’t necessary; he just nodded and took the spare key.
For a moment, Annabel felt a pang that hed paid her hardly any attention. Sighing, she returned to her flat.
“Here, kitty! Merlin, where are you?”
She found him by the balcony door, his stare imploring her for passage.
She paused, deciding no such clever cat would dare leap from the eighth floor, then opened the door and stepped out with him.
With a neat hop, Merlin alighted on the rail. Annabel let out a gasp and reached out, steadying him.
He glanced at her, haughty yet bemused, then turned his head upwards. As Annabel stroked his fur, she followed his gazeto the stars.
The heavens blinked down, a thousand eyes alight. She watched as one star broke free and tumbled across the sky, like a silvery tear.
Merlin nuzzled her hand, as if to saygo on, make a wish. And so she did
She drifted off to sleep the moment her head touched the pillowno music, no book, just the soft purr of Merlin beside her, as if singing her a lullaby.
In the morning, after giving Christopher directions half-awake, she made her way to work.
All day she drove through London with the notice displayed, but no one expressed interest in the fate of the whiskered foundling.
Annabel was somewhat ashamed to admit it, but she was relieved. She hurried home with wings at her heels, knowing what waited for her there
The flat was fragrant with coffeeproper, percolated coffee. Annabel normally settled for instant, so the difference was immediately apparent, or rather, caught her nose.
“I made myself at home,” confessed Christopher. “No offence, but your coffees dreadful. I brought mine over, made a pot. Want a cup?”
“Oh, yes please!” Annabel beamed. “Wheres Merlin?”
Merlin appeared at that moment, tail high, evidently content. He pressed affectionately against Annabel’s leg, bestowing his highest favour.
“Your Merlin is right as rain,” Christopher grinned, stooping to stroke the cat. “I must say, I havent felt this relaxed in ages. Sat down to work, opened up my laptop, and found I just couldn’t be bothered fiddling with the website”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Remembered how I used to make up storiesfairy tales, really, and suddenly the words just came. I wrote a story about a cat.”
“Will you show me?” Annabel asked, genuinely interested.
“Its nothing, really,” he protested, though clearly longing to share. “You mean it?”
“Absolutely! I adore a good fairy tale. Well, fantasy, really, but theyre almost the same thing!” she said, eyes shining.
And so, of course, he relented.
They drank delicious coffee together and read the tale, while Merlin lounged on a cushion, watching them graciously, as if they were kittens playing at his feet.
Annabel loved the story. When Christopher finally left, she felt a faint pang of sadness. Only faintshe still had Merlin.
Then, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Merlin jolted up and marched regally toward the door. Annabel called, “Who is it?”
“It’s about the notice,” came the reply. She froze.
Her first instinct was not to answer, but that wasn’t right. She opened the door. There stood a tall, elderly gentleman in a black overcoat, smiling kindly.
“Now, my dear, dont be alarmed,” he said softly. “Truly, Ive come for the catand to prove it, Ill tell you: his name is Merlin. Come here, old chap.”
And indeed, Merlin flew straight into the man’s arms, confirming everything.
“Please, come in,” Annabel managed in a quiet voice.
For some reason, she wanted to cry. Imagine growing attached to a cat in just one day! The old man entered, glanced about, smiled. She could have sworn he and the cat exchanged a knowing look.
“Will you offer me some coffee?” he gently asked.
Annabel brewed a fresh pot, thankfully supplied by Christopher. All the while, the old man and the cat sat as if deep in silent conversation.
“Oh, by the by,” the old man said at last, breaking the silence. “Did you find anything else with him?”
Annabel blushed. She fetched the lottery ticket and handed it over, but the old man gently pushed her hand away.
“No, thats for you,” he insisted, smiling.
“But its yours!” Annabel protested.
“And you found it, my dear, and Merlin doesnt object. Consider it a gift.”
“But what if its a winning ticket?” she faltered.
“Will you really keep turning away any chance at happiness?” said the old man with a twinkle.
She dropped her gaze. That was exactly what she had wished for upon the falling star.
“Let happiness in, my dear girl,” he smiled. “Dont fret. Im sure well meet againwhen you return”
Return from where, she wondered, but the old man was already gone, the door shut behind him.
She found herself drifting to bed, and dreamed of Christopher’s storya powerful wizard, who, thinking only of himself, found none of his magic made others happy. As punishment, he was transformed into a cat, doomed to roam the earth until the spell was finally broken
The next morning Annabel went off to her shift, but everything seemed brightersunlight, smiles from her passengers, even the bus itself seemed more lively.
And yes, she checked the lottery ticket and, to little surprise, found it had won her a holiday by the sea. What astonished her far more was that her boss readily said:
“Go on, Annie. Treat yourself, its well overdue. The ladsll cover for you!”
So there was the sea, the stars, and this shimmering sense of renewal.
She returned home, heart glad, carrying seashells and the sea itself echoing inside her.
As she was unlocking her door, out popped Christophertall and tousled as ever.
“Someone called by for you yesterday,” he said, pausing to look at her. “Wanted me to pass on a message You look different. Very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Annabel smiled. “What did they want me to know?”
He slapped his forehead, rushed inside, and came back carrying a fluffy grey kitten with an all-too-familiar dignified air.
“Turns out, this is your cats son. Orwell, the son of that cat you found. His names Arthur.
The old man said that only youand, er, well, only wecould be trusted to raise him,” Christopher stammered.
“Hows that?” asked Annabel, her heart suddenly beating fast.
“He saidthey can only trust the lad to us,” Christopher admitted.
“Miaow!” Arthur affirmed, stretching out to his new mistress.
She reached for the kitten, her hand meeting Christopher’sand suddenly, the world felt just a bit warmer, kinder, and fuller of ordinary, splendid happiness.
