A Week Later, Our Neighbours Returned from Their Holiday Cottage on the Last Boat – But They Were Missing Their Enormous Grey Cat, the One-Eared Little Rogue!

Monday, 11th November

It was only a week after the neighbours from the little cottage down the lane came back on the last rowboat, and they returned without their cat the huge, grey tom with the missing right ear. All summer Id been at odds with that beast: hed swipe food off my plate, dig up the vegetable patch, and generally make a nuisance of himself. Id grown used to his antics, so when I saw the pair arrive, visibly upset that their grey fellow was gone, my heart sank. I asked my wife, Eleanor, to go straight to the front door and, without any fuss, ask where their cat had vanished to.

It turned out just as I feared: the cat had been left behind at the cottage.

I tormented myself with worry until dusk. Then I dialed my managers number and begged for a day off the next morning. Eleanor let out a weary sigh and warned, Be careful out there. See if they can ferry you over by boat.

From the moment the sun rose, the weather was against me. Heavy leaden clouds released a fine, relentless drizzle, and the wind drove damp, halffrozen leaves to cling to the pavement. I roamed the small boatshed by the Thames hoping someone would set out for the other side to retrieve forgotten things.

No one appeared, but a sturdy chap in size45 boots showed up, tinkering with a motor and muttering. I explained that Id left some crucial, lifeessential papers at the cottage and slipped him a fortypound note. He tucked the cash into his pocket, muttered something about those daisydot cottage folk who forget everything, and lowered the boat into the water.

The tide was respectable, lashing out with cold, frothy surf that threatened to capsize the little craft. After a halfhour of battling the water, we finally slipped ashore near our cottages, the gruff man offering a bleak blessing that it wouldnt hurt to earn another twenty pounds for such a jaunt. I sprinted toward the cottage as the sky turned an even duller grey and the drizzle hardened into icy sleet.

Grey! Grey! Grey! I shouted at the top of my lungs, hoping the tom was still alive.

At last Grey emerged, trembling, pressed against my boots, letting out a plaintive meow. I scooped him up and dashed back to the boat. As I leapt aboard and settled him beside me, the surly mans eyes widened, his mouth opening in surprise. Then

Grey bolted from the boat, awkwardly pressing his lone left ear to his head, letting out a soft, pleading meow before turning and sprinting away.

Stop, stop, where are you goingheavens! I roared.

I lunged after him, ignoring the curses, the angry swearing, and the vague threats of damn you to the devil. He darted ahead, I followed, wailing and flailing my arms, until he veered left and vanished into the hedgerows. I pushed aside the branches and saw Grey huddled against a tiny black kitten, both drenched and whimpering. Grey gave me a guilty look and mewed.

I dropped to the soggy ground, ready to scoop them both up, when the earth trembled. The gruff man stomped his massive boots, spitting a torrent of profanity. He materialised behind me and then fell silent.

In an unexpectedly calm, almost pleasant voice he said, Hurry, lad, before the snowstorm comes and covers everything.

I hoisted Grey and the little black kitten and we ran for the boat. How we managed to cross the river I cant sayperhaps the heavens simply minded, for the world was blanketed in white.

Just then the surly fellow, muffling the roar of the motor and the water, snarled, Youre a beast, you are.

I was taken aback. Why a beast? I asked, glancing warily at the roiling water.

He replied, So you see you tricked me with the papers and the money, yet you were the one racing to save a cat? You act like a proper man, but Im left feeling like a soulless fiend. Is that right?

I was just afraid youd refuse, and there was no one else to save him, I explained. He fell silent, snorted, and we docked at the boatshed.

He then fetched a box for the kitten and lined it with a warm towel. When I was about to leave, thanking him, he said, You see, nothing ever comes to one without a bit going to another. He turned to Grey and said, Youre coming with me. Im off fishing, and youre a proper cat. I didnt abandon the little one.

Grey looked at me, mewed apologetically, shuffled over to the gruff man, and, standing on his hind legs, pressed his front paws against the mans massive boots. The man lifted him, and the big grey tom wrapped his paws around his neck, snuggling.

The man turned away, his voice trembling for a full minute as he muttered, Well, well, well.

When he composed himself he faced me, his tone firm yet oddly gentle, and said, Id like to invite you, young man, to join me for a fishing trip next weekend. He winked.

Back home, Eleanor was looking after the black kitten when she discovered a fiftypound note tucked under the warm towel.

Now we go fishing together, regularly, with the kindly, robust grumbler. And yes, sometimes I turn up a little tipsy and without a catch, but fishing is the sort of everyday business that keeps life moving, Id say.