MaverickThe maverick finally found his place not by fitting in, but by standing apart.

He reached out his hand, intending to stroke the fierce creature, but the cat flinched away and crawled strangely from the man, further from the outstretched hand…

“Look at him!” the headmistress was almost shouting. “We’ve called his parents, and he doesn’t even look ashamed!”

Timmy stared straight into the angry woman’s eyes. On the face of the ten-year-old boy there was not a hint of remorse for the deed he had done. With a bored expression, he silently listened to Mrs. Edith Andrews’s questions.

“Burning the class register!” her voice rose to a shriek.

“Wait outside!” his father ordered sternly.

The boy left the headmistress’s office, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t care if he was punished again. He couldn’t have acted otherwise—he’d given his word…

As for his parents, they would soon forget about him again, heading off on another expedition.

That same evening, at a family meeting, it was decided to send Timmy to his grandfather’s village for the whole summer. Perhaps the old man could find a way to handle the young rebel…

*****

“This is your daily routine,” George Saville, a former soldier, pointed to a sheet of paper covered in neat handwriting. “There’s no time for loafing in the village; everyone needs to eat and drink.”

“Am I a slave?” Timmy blurted out after reading the long list of chores.

George Saville smiled, appreciating the defiant look his grandson shot at him. The day before, Timmy’s father had brought him, endlessly complaining to his own father about how difficult the boy had become. Constant fights at school, complaints from teachers and the headmistress—all of it took time away from scientific research. Timmy’s parents had left on an expedition, relieved to leave their rebellious son with his grandfather.

The days passed slowly, filled with unfamiliar tasks…

Timmy rose with the roosters, helped his grandfather feed the spotted cow Bessie, the four piglets, and the bay horse Archie. Fetch water, stack the chopped firewood, weed the vegetable beds…

The tasks never seemed to end, but Timmy had given his word not to complain.

“Is he watching me?” Timmy asked one day, eyeing his grandfather’s favourite—a large dog named Ernie—who followed him like a shadow whenever he left the yard.

“He senses you’re not from around here; he’s afraid you might get lost,” his grandfather replied with a hint of irony.

Timmy grew very fond of going fishing. The boy quickly learned to handle the rod, and after a couple of weeks George Saville started letting him go to the river alone.

The best fishing was early in the morning, when it was still cool. Timmy liked sitting on the bank with his rod and watching the sun rise, lighting up everything around. You certainly wouldn’t see that in the city!

One early morning, settled with his rods on the bank of a picturesque stream, Timmy noticed a movement in the tall grass.

Somewhere nearby a frog croaked loudly, and a dog barked. Familiar sounds, but…

The grass rustled again, and the boy decided to check…

Stepping carefully through the tall grass, Timmy peered into the morning twilight but saw nothing. Deciding it was his imagination, he was about to return to his rods when he heard a faint, pitiful whimper.

Bending down, he parted the tall grass with his hands, and a cat hissed at him fiercely, ears flattened in warning. The animal’s eyes told him to keep his distance, and the hissing was a clear threat.

“Oh…” Timmy gasped in surprise. “Why are you hissing?”

He reached out his hand, wanting to stroke the fierce creature, but the cat jerked away and crawled strangely away from the man, further from the outstretched hand.

At that moment dawn broke properly, and Timmy saw bloodstains on the animal’s light fur. A picture from the recent past flashed before his eyes—four older boys tormenting a tabby cat with a frostbitten right ear…

Timmy shuddered, shaking off the painful memory. The cat was injured, it needed help!

He couldn’t pick it up with bare hands—it was angry and clearly in pain. Looking around, he found nothing suitable. He was wearing a light jacket against the morning chill.

Slipping off the jacket, the boy approached the hissing cat:

“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty! I only want to help you… Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!”

With its last strength the cat darted aside, but Timmy was quicker. Covering the cat with his jacket, he carefully wrapped it up and held it to his chest. Then he ran as fast as he could home, forgetting the fishing rods…

“Granddad, will the cat be all right?” the grandson asked for the hundredth time, anxiously watching the door of the summer kitchen.

“Don’t worry, Angela Mitchell is a vet; she knows about wounds,” George Saville stroked his grandson’s head. “Go fetch the rods for now, and when you get back, there’ll be news…”

Timmy nodded and quickly ran to the river for the rods. He was in such a hurry he could barely catch his breath when he returned home.

At that moment Angela Mitchell’s slender figure appeared on the doorstep of the summer kitchen. The elderly woman said something to George Saville that made him smile happily.

“How is she?” Timmy blurted out.

“She’ll be fine,” Angela Mitchell replied. “Looks like a dog bit her… I’ve treated the wounds, now you need to look after her.”

“I’ll do everything!” Timmy exclaimed, tears of joy and relief welling up in his eyes…

That evening the boy didn’t leave the sleeping cat’s side, having made an improvised bed from a box and an old blanket. Placing bowls of food and water nearby, he just sat and watched the cat sleep.

“You going to sleep out here?” George Saville asked.

“Can I?” Timmy asked hopefully.

“Better we bring her into the house,” his grandfather suggested.

They carried the cat into Timmy’s room and put the box next to his bed.

On closer inspection, the cat’s coat turned out to be a light cream colour with faint stripes.

Timmy sat on the edge of the bed, still watching his charge sleep.

“You know, I look at you, grandson, and I marvel,” George Saville said thoughtfully, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. “You’re not lazy, you’re smart, responsible, and you’ve got kindness in you. So why do you cause such a mutiny on the ship?”

Timmy looked at his grandfather and shrugged instead of answering.

“That last stunt with the class register…” his grandfather pressed. “You didn’t burn it for nothing, did you?”

“I gave my word, and if you give it, you have to keep it,” Timmy muttered.

Reaching out his hand, he gently stroked the sleeping cat’s head.

“To whom did you give your word?” George Saville’s suspicions were confirmed—he had never believed in his grandson’s guilt.

“In the cellar of the house next to the school lives a stray cat I used to feed, and I talked to him, just like you talk to Ernie,” Timmy confessed, sniffing. “I dreamed of taking him home, but my parents wouldn’t even listen… I gave my word to Matros that I’d always protect him.”

“And what happened to that cat?” his grandfather asked in a quiet voice, holding his breath.

“Some older boys were tormenting him,” Timmy’s voice wavered. “I asked them to stop, and they agreed, on the condition that I burn the class register…”

“Bastards!” the old man burst out. “Where is that cat now?”

“Some woman took him, the caretaker told me,” Timmy stroked the cat again. “I really wish I knew how Matros is…”

“You did well!” his grandfather stroked his head. “You kept your word, that’s right. But why didn’t you tell your parents?”

“They never asked,” Timmy replied simply.

Days passed… The wounds on the body of Zephyr, as Timmy had named the cat, healed. The cat stopped hissing and looking at people suspiciously.

Zephyr accepted the care of the human who had saved her life. Soon, looking healthier and noticeably plumper, she moved to sleep on Timmy’s bed.

The boy’s dream had come true, but often in his sleep he saw the tabby Matros with his frostbitten ear. The cat would rub affectionately against his legs and purr loudly when Timmy picked him up.

“Where are you?” Timmy would ask the tabby cat in his dreams, but got no answer.

July passed, and then August…

Timmy waited for his parents to come for him, but instead his grandfather announced he needed to go to town on business. After finishing the morning chores, George Saville left the homestead to his grandson and set off for the train.

He returned in the evening, tired but content. He praised his grandson for how well he’d managed everything and, with a mysterious smile, called him into the house, where he had earlier carried a large box.

“Come here, grandson,” George Saville pointed to the sofa. “Look who came from town with me.”

Timmy entered the room and looked at the sofa. The boy blinked several times, afraid he was imagining things.

“Matros!” he exclaimed, carefully picking up the tabby cat with the frostbitten ear. “Granddad, you’re the best!”

The cat looked healthy and well-fed. Later, George Saville told his grandson how impressed he had been by Timmy’s actions, and he decided to track down the tabby cat by asking for help at Timmy’s school.

It turned out that the caretaker had contacted a shelter, asking them to take the stray cat, fearing for its life.

At the beginning of September, Timmy’s parents arrived with the news that they needed to leave on a long expedition, and the boy would have to stay with his grandfather for a while.

His parents barely recognised the cheerful, lively child in the former rebel.

“Dad, you’ve worked a miracle!” Timmy’s father exclaimed.

“Learn to listen to your child,” George Saville said instructively.

As for Timmy, he was delighted to stay living with his grandfather and not have to part with Matros and Zephyr.

The rebel had turned into the most caring and responsible master for his pets.