When I think back to the day my dear friend Eleanor Whitmore was given a jetblack British Shorthair as a housewarming gift, I can still picture her stunned silence.
Her modest, secondhand onebed flat in a narrow lane of old Manchester, the one she had scraped together over years of hard work, was still bare of furniture. There were other worries demanding her attention.
And then the kitten. Coming out of her shock, she gazed into the ambergold eyes of the tiny creature, sighed, smiled, and asked the wellmeaning neighbour who had delivered the visitor:
Is it a tom or a shecat?
A tom!
Very well, you shall be called Basil, she said to the kitten.
He opened his little mouth and politely mewed.
It turned out that British Shorthairs are most agreeable companions. Now, three years later, Eleanor and Basil have become inseparable. In the course of living together she discovered that Basil possessed a tender soul and a generous heart.
He greets her at the door after a long day, curls up beside her in sleep, watches films with a soft purr at her side, and darts his tail about when she tidies the flat.
Life with a cat had taken on bright colours. It is comforting to know someone is waiting at home, someone with whom you can laugh and weep. Most of all, he seems to understand you from a single word.
One would think that was enough, but
Lately Eleanor began to feel a dull ache on her right side. At first she chalked it up to an awkward twist or a strained muscle, then blamed her indulgent meals. When the pain grew sharper, she finally visited the doctor.
When the physician delivered the diagnosis and explained what lay ahead, Eleanor wept through the whole evening, burying her face in the pillow. Basil, sensing her distress, pressed close and tried to soothe his mistress with low, rumbling purrs.
Sleep claimed her amid Basils gentle vibrations. By morning, resigned to her fate, she decided not to tell any of her relatives about the illness, lest she endure pitiful looks and clumsy offers of help.
She clung to a slender hope that the doctors might still master her ailment. They suggested a course of treatment that could improve her condition.
Then the question arose: what to do with Basil? Deep down, accepting that her sickness might end tragically, she resolved to find a new home for the cat and good owners who would cherish him.
She placed an advertisement online, stating she was giving away a pedigree cat to a loving family.
When the first caller inquired why she was parting with an adult animal, Eleanor, without fully understanding herself, confessed that during her pregnancy she had developed an allergy to cat hair.
Three days later, Basil was placed in a carrier and sent off with his belongings to his new owners, while Eleanor was admitted to the hospital.
Two days after that she phoned the new owners to ask after Basil. Apologising repeatedly, they told her the cat had escaped that very evening and they could not locate him.
Her first impulse was to flee the ward and hunt for the cat. She begged a nightshift nurse to release her, but the nurse sternly rebuked her and ordered her back to her bed.
A fellow patient, noticing Eleanors frantic motions, asked what was wrong. Between sobs, Eleanor poured out the whole story.
Hold your tears, child, said a frail, elderly lady named Mrs. Agnes Fletcher tomorrow a kind doctor from York will visit. My own diagnosis is dire; my son, a businessman, tried to move me to another clinic, but I refused. He has managed to arrange things, I think. Ill ask that doctor to see you too; perhaps it wont be as dreadful as you fear.
Thus comforted, Eleanor clung to the ladys warm hand.
***
Basil, having slipped from the carrier, realised he was in an unfamiliar house. A stranger reached out to pet him, but the cats nerves snapped; he swatted the hand away and fled into a dark corner.
Paul, dont touch him yet, let him settle, a soft female voice called, though it was not his new mistresss.
The cats heart hammered, thoughts scattered, his spirit throbbed. How could his beloved Eleanor have handed him over to strangers? Why had she abandoned him?
His amber eyes scanned the room in panic. Spotting an open window, he leapt, a flash of black fur, and burst out onto the ledge.
Fortunately, the window opened onto a modest secondstorey garden, with a welltended lawn below. From there began his long trek back home.
***
The doctor who appeared to Eleanor was a gentle woman in her early forties, introducing herself as Dr. Maria Palmer. She examined the treatment chart, then asked Eleanor to lie on the couch and turn onto her left side.
She probed gently, tapping, asking where the pain lay, what it felt like. She reread the chart, adjusted the equipment, and repeated the procedures.
Eleanor expected no good news. Returning to the ward, she found her neighbour already on the bed.
What did they tell you, dear? the neighbour asked.
Nothing yet; they said more staff will come in, Eleanor replied.
Im sorry, the diagnosis is grim, the neighbour whispered sadly.
Thank you, truly, Eleanor answered, unsure how to console someone who knew her days were numbered.
Half an hour later Dr. Palmer entered with a team of physicians.
Eleanor, I have good news. Your condition responds well to treatment. Ive prescribed a twoweek course; youll recover fully, she announced with a reassuring smile.
When the doctors left, the neighbour spoke softly:
Thats wonderful. Im glad I could do one more good deed before I go. Be happy, love, she added.
***
Basil had no guiding star, nor any notion of one. He simply followed his feline instinct back home. The journey through thickets and alleys was fraught with perils and comic mishaps.
Never knowing the streets, the noble British Shorthair turned in a single day from a dignified aristocrat into a wary prowler, instincts sharpened.
Avoiding noisy thoroughfares, he slipped, scurried, and, in his mind, leapt over rooftops to evade dogs, then vaulted onto trees, always pressing toward his goal.
In a quiet backyard, startled by the rumble of a nearby road, he met a seasoned tomcat. The older cat, recognising the newcomer at once, let out a loud yowl and attacked. Basil, transformed from a pampered pet into a snarling bandit, stood his ground.
The clash was brief. The local feline boss fled into the hedges, leaving behind a torn ear as a souvenir.
It was simply a matter of pride; the old tom wanted to prove his dominance. Basil, however, kept his eyes on home, undeterred.
Recalling the lore of his ancestors, he learned to nap in trees, choosing branches that formed comfortable forks.
Admittedly, Basil grew ashamed to admit he scavenged from bins and pilfered scraps from other yard cats fed by wellmeaning neighbours.
One day a pack of stray dogs cornered him on a feeble sapling, barking and leaping. Residents gathered, shooing the dogs away. A woman, seeing the frightened cat, lured him with a piece of sausage. Hunger and fear clouded Basils judgment; he approached, allowed herself to pet him, and even perched on her lap.
After a spell of warmth and safety, Basil remembered his mission, slipped past the woman, and darted into the stairwell, slipping through a door that swung open just in time, resuming his voyage home.
***
When Eleanor left the hospital, the words of the kindly doctor lingered in her mind, urging her to be happy. Of course, she rejoiced that her prognosis had been overturned and that she was well again.
Yet her heart ached for Basil. She could not imagine returning to an empty flat with no one at the door to greet her.
Crossing her own threshold, she phoned the people who had taken Basil and asked for the precise address. Upon arriving, she learned how Basil had escaped and set out to follow his trail.
People told her it was impossible, that two weeks had already passed and a domestic cat was unlikely to survive on the streets. Still, she refused to accept that.
She walked on foot, peering into every courtyard, scanning nearby gardens, garages, and alleys. She tried to think as a cat who had never known the outdoors, calling Basils name, gazing into the dark windows of cellars.
As she neared the house where the cat had vanished, she realised his tracks had gone cold. It seemed absurd that a housebound feline could have travelled so far, especially after a twohour walk fraught with delays.
Entering her own yard, sorrow weighed heavy on her shoulders; tears welled, her spirit hurt. Through the haze she spotted, across the pavement, a black cat moving toward her.
Some black cat, the thought flashed. Eleanor halted, stared, and then, with a cry, shouted, Basil!
The cat did not sprint; it seemed exhausted, sat down, and, eyes halfclosed in relief, whispered, Im home.
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