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Connor paid the driver and wrapped his jacket tighter around himself before he made his way up the walk of his townhouse. It was a cold, wet night by the Bay and he wanted nothing more than to settle himself in front of a warm fire with a glass of brandy.
As he unlocked the door, Connor caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down to find a small form on the step. The cat was sitting at the corner, as far out of the wind and rain as it could get and in spite of its damp fur, the feline's posture was as regal as any of its kind. Connor didn't have the heart to chase it away and left it in the scant shelter it had found.
He closed the door behind him, removed his jacket and went into the study. He stoked the banked fire and soon had a warm, inviting blaze. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Connor poured himself a measure of brandy and sat at his desk to go over the papers he needed for his meeting in the morning.
His concentration was broken by a loud bang and Connor looked up to find the shutter on the window had come unlatched. As he refastened it, he noticed the rain had turned into a full-fledged storm. His thoughts returned to the small creature on the doorstep and knew he couldn't leave it out there in that weather, even though he didn't really want a cat in the house.
Connor opened the front door and looked outside. The cat was still there, but it was now sitting with its paws tucked underneath its body, looking for all the world like a loaf of Silas' bread. He braced himself, ready to drop the animal if it struggled, but it didn't complain as he picked it up. Instead, he felt the low rumble of a purr against his chest as he carried the cat into the kitchen.
"You'd better not scratch the furniture," he warned the cat as he set it on the floor. The cat blinked big, blue, slightly crossed eyes at him and then proceeded to groom its fawn coat. Connor marvelled a bit. He'd never seen blue eyes on a cat before.
Connor searched and found an old bowl, filled it with milk from the icebox and set it in front of his guest. The cat settled itself in front of the tin and proceeded to lap up the offering. It was an attractive little thing, he thought. The cat's fur was a light tan, darkening into familiar tabby stripes on its tail, legs and face and he figured there must have been a Siamese somewhere in its background.
The cat finished its meal and proceeded to rub against Connor's leg, purring its thanks.
"You can stay in here tonight," he told the feline, "but you're on your own as soon as the storm is over." The cat just continued to purr as it started to wash its face and Connor had to chuckle. Remembering how his sister provided for the strays she sometimes put up in the woodshed back when they were growing up on the farm, he found a box and shredded up an old newspaper for the cat to use. "And you'd better use it," he sternly informed the cat, who blinked those blue eyes at him again.
It had grown late, so Connor firmly shut the door to keep the cat confined and went to his room to get ready for bed. An unearthly caterwauling floated up the stairs. Connor ignored it for a while, but the plaintive meows wouldn't let him sleep. He went downstairs and opened the kitchen door.
"Would you rather be out in the storm?" he asked the cat. The cat responded by purring and rubbing against him again.
Connor's resistance melted. "Oh, all right." He picked up the cat and took it upstairs. The vibration of a purr against his chest was soothing and after setting the cat on the bed, Connor began to stroke the soft fur. The cat stretched and rolled over, inviting Connor to scratch its belly. He obliged and chuckled when the cat grabbed his hand with velveted paws and began to lick it fiercely. "You really are a charmer, you know that," he told the cat as he got back into bed. Connor's new friend curled its warm body against him and they both fell asleep to the gentle rumble of the cat's purr.