**The Blind Cat**
I wasnt lucky from childhood. No, at first, I had a familyfather, mother, grandmother, and grandfather. A troubled one, as everyone around said, but a family all the same. Yes, we struggled, lived poorly, but we had a flat, and my father and grandfather scraped by with odd jobs, feeding me, my mother, and Gran. Then one day, when I was barely seven, the adults went out and drank cheap vodkasomeone had paid them for some shady work. Only Gran survived. Survived, but lost her mind. So I started first grade in an orphanage.
I never got on with the other kids. A stubborn streak, passed down from my grandfather, made me fight at the slightest provocation. Id ball my fists and lash out at anyone who so much as looked at me wrong. They learned to leave me alone, but I never made friends in all those years. I visited Gran a few times. The old woman had lost her senses completely, dragging home stray cats from the alley, wandering the bins all day for scraps.
She lived quietly, avoided by the neighbours, surviving on her meagre pensionmost of which Auntie Vera, the postwoman, quietly took as rent. Shed known my family for years and made sure Id have somewhere to go once I aged out of care. The rest of the money barely kept Gran alive under Veras watchful eye, stopping her from starving while she fed every stray in the flat. Vera tried to thin out the feline horde, but Gran just dragged in more, and eventually, she gave up.
When I left the orphanage, I moved in with Gran. God, she drove me madher and those cats! Once, I tried throwing a few out, but Gran wailed so wretchedly even Ino stranger to crueltyflinched. I gave up, staying out as much as I could, crashing at work. Id found labouring on a building site, often bunking in the watchmans shed. The lads there were rough, just like mehard drinkers, gamblers, swapping stories of near-misses and scrapes.
One night, deep in our cups, I got into it with Max. Some stupid row, but drink turned it ugly. I was used to orphanage brawls and held my ownuntil Maxs mate, Colin, jumped in. They left me barely able to crawl home. In the dark, I collapsed onto my bed, ribs screaming, stomach churning, lungs crushed under pain. At some point, I blacked out.
I woke to something warm pressed against my worst bruises. A soft weight, purring. A cat. Too weak to shove it off, I lay thereand oddly, the pain dulled, just a bit. I froze, scared to move, and somehow slept.
By morning, the cat hadnt left. It sat there, watching me with strange, wide eyes.
“Scram,” I croaked through cracked lips.
It twitched its ears and hopped down. I didnt go to work that day. Couldnt.
Auntie Vera bustled in, horrified, ready to call an ambulance. I refused. Id healnot my first beating. She brought soup, fed me and Gran. Swallowing hurt. I ate, then crashed again. The cat returned, and this time I got a proper look. Patchy fur, mismatched colours. The kind some say bring luck. It sniffed around cautiously before settling back where my ribs burned. The purring started, and somehow, the pain faded.
I started leaving scraps for it. The others, quicker and greedier, wolfed down Grans offerings, but this onemy onewaited. Id never liked animals, but this creature gave warmth when nothing else did.
The site fired me, but I found another job, better pay. Now, I didnt blow my wages on drink. I asked the shopkeeper what to buy for cats, bringing home small pouches of decent food. It smelled goodI tried some once. Not bad, if you added salt. The others yowled, but I shut the door and fed only mine.
Mine. The word sat strangely sweet in my chest.
At seven, Id lost everything. Now, for the first time, I had something of my own. No name, though. Just *my cat*.
She moved differently, hugging walls, hesitating before jumps. Maybe she was timidor maybe, sometimes, I thought she saw something.
One day, I took her to the vet, checking prices first. The vet barely glanced at us, filling out paperwork.
“Name?”
“Doesnt have one.”
“Just pick one.”
“Dont need to.”
He sighed, leaving the line blank. “Age?”
“How should I know? Shes a stray!”
He examined her. “Young. Three, maybe four. Well say four.” He eyed me. “So, what dyou want?”
I hesitated. “Can she see anything?”
“Completely blind.”
“Can you fix it?”
He snorted. “You serious? If I could, theyd knight me. No chance. But get her flea meds, dewormer. Better food, yeah?”
I nodded, wincing at the prices in the waiting room.
A voice behind me: “Young man?”
I turned. A small, neat woman clutched a crumpled tissue.
“Sorry to intrude,” she said softly. “But I saw my cat was here, too. Today.” Her voice wavered. “I was meant to take her home after treatment. But she didnt make it. She was old.” She wiped her eyes. “Its expensive here. If youd take some of her thingsher carrier, foodId be grateful.”
I stammered, awkward.
She smiled weakly. “Its alright. Im past getting another. Please.”
At her flat, I noticed the photosdozens, covering the walls. Teachers always had those.
“Youre a teacher?” I asked.
She smiled. “Retired. Never needed to shout. The children just understood.”
I fixed her broken light switchsite work had taught me some skillsand stayed for tea. She listened, really listened, as I talked about the home, Gran, the jobs.
“Come back anytime,” she said, patting my back.
I did. Often.
One night, home late, watching Gran mutter over her food, something twisted in my chest. I opened the bag of decent kibble, fed *all* the cats. Made porridge, fetched milk. Later, curled in bed, I criedsomething I hadnt done since I was small.
My cat*Martha*, now, after the teachers lost petpressed into my damp cheek, purring.
When I got my call-up papers, Martha went to live with the teacher*Nina Stepanovna*. I couldnt leave her with Gran.
Gran died while I was serving. At the funeral, I felt nothing. Just relief when it was over.
Discharged, I moved in with Nina. Martha greeted me like no time had passed.
Years later, my son, curled beside Martha, asked, “Whyre her eyes so strange?”
Nina smiled. “She sees differently, love.”
“Mum says shes blind.”
I ruffled his hair. “Both right. She doesnt see like we do. But she knows who hurts, whos kind.”
“Magic?” he whispered.
I stroked Marthas head. “To me? Absolutely.”
