A Visitor at Night

I spotted him from the window close to midnight. He was a brown long-haired breed. Although the terms 'long hair' and 'short hair' are usually associated with cats, in my cat conscious mind, it seemed fine. He was gaunt and hungry and had obviously not eaten for days.

After a bit of whistling and coaxing he followed me up the stairs to our flat on the second floor. He stood waiting patiently outside the door. Luckily there was an unopened pack of Parle G biscuits at home. He looked up expectantly, cocking his ears. I poured out the contents of the packet in a plate and placed it under his nose. He looked at the biscuits longingly. Sniff he did, but eat he wouldn’t. That was certainly puzzling behaviour for one whose ribs showed through an emaciated frame.

My more perceptive sister brought a bowl of cold water. He jumped up at the sight of it and lapped it to the very last drop. His thirst quenched, he settled down contentedly to finish the biscuits in peace.