After five years of scraping pennies, working overtime, and reconstructing my life after div:orc:e, I finally had a place of my own.
That’s when I noticed him. A black cat, sleek as midnight, crouched on the stone wall between my yard and the woods.
I walked onto my back porch, coffee still in hand. “Well, hello there, handsome.”
The cat stood, stretched lazily, and sprang down from the wall with unbelievable grace.
He purred, arching his back into my palm. His fur was incredibly silky and well-groomed.
The tag said “Archibald” in exquisite script, with a phone number below. Something about the name fit him well. He had a dignified air about him, like a refined gentleman dressed in a fur coat.
I took out my phone and dialed.
“Hi, I’m calling about your black cat? Archibald? He’s here in my yard.”
“That’s my late wife’s cat. He’s very special to me. Is he alright? I’ve been searching the neighborhood for hours.”
“He’s fine. Seems to think he’s known me for years.”
I gave him my address, and he promised to be there shortly.
Ten minutes after I called, a well-maintained vintage Jaguar arrived outside my house.
The driver, a man in his sixties, appeared to have stepped off the set of a vintage film. When he spotted Archibald, his entire expression softened.
“There you are, old friend.” He cradled the cat in his arms with such love that my throat tightened.
Archibald rested against his chest, purring loudly.
“Thank you, Miss. You’ve done me a great service.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a business card. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Anything at all.”
I read the name on the card, Mr. Grayson, and watched as they drove away. I assumed that would be the end of it. I was mistaken.
Three days later, a sharp knock disrupted my morning coffee routine. A man in a nice suit stood on my porch, leather bag in hand, his look serious.
“I’m Mr. Peters, legal consultant. May I come in? It’s about the cat you found.”
“Mr. Grayson is involved in a legal dispute over his late wife’s estate. The cat is… a significant part of the case. He’s technically the beneficiary of a $5 million trust.”
Mrs. Grayson had established the trust to ensure that Archibald was cared for.
However, her sister was fighting the will, saying that Mr. Grayson had lost the cat on purpose to void the trust.
“We’re prepared to offer you $100,000 to sign this affidavit regarding when and how you found Archibald,” he said, handing me a printed page.
I accepted the fountain pen Mr. Peters provided me, but as I read the document, I saw something peculiar.
“The date here is incorrect.” I pointed to the page. “This is a full week later than when I actually found Archibald.”
“You’re asking me to lie?”
I swirled the pen in my fingers and focused on the page. $100,000 for a minor falsehood… But does that mean Archibald will go live with his late owner’s sister, who is fighting the will?
“I’m sorry,” I said, setting the pen down and sliding the affidavit back to him. “I can’t do that.”
I knew I had done the correct thing.
The next morning comes another knock. This time, Mr. Grayson appeared on my porch, his look serious.
He gave me a tiny wooden box and an envelope. “A token of my gratitude for your integrity.”
The box included a tiny silver locket. When I opened it, I discovered a small photograph of Archibald.
The big sh0ck came when I opened the envelope.
The inside contained a deed of trust for a tiny rental property.
I could finally breathe after years. I quit my soul-crushing office job and opened a tiny pottery studio, a desire I’d had since college but never had the confidence to pursue.
