The Time-Traveling Tabby

Toby lived happily with Annie, a simple, lazy office worker who worked from home. Her cozy little house fill with a lot of books, —different kind of books—and right in the center of the living room stood the big grandfather clock, tall and proud. Annie said that it was a gift from his own grandpa, who was a clock maker. However, Toby didn’t care much about books or clocks. He only cared about Annie. “Time to eat, my little orange,” she would say every morning, placing his bowl. Toby would meow in reply and rub against her leg. It was their routine—simple, warm, perfect. One stormy afternoon, dark clouds rolled across the sky, and rain began to pour. “I’ll be back soon, Toby,” Annie called, putting on her green coat and picking up her little woven basket. “Just running to the shop for a few things. We’re also running out of your favorite cat food.” Toby flicked his tail when he heard they were running out of cat food. Toby meowed from his favorite spot by the window. “I know, I know, you don’t like the rain,” she chuckled. “But don’t worry. I won’t be long.” Then she opened the door, and the wind howled as she stepped outside. The door clicked shut. Toby waited. He curled up on the windowsill and watched as the rain fell harder. Thunder rolled across the sky. Hours passed. Then, suddenly, the big grandfather clock rang loudly—BONG! BONG!—its chimes echoing through the house, signaling that it was 6 p.m. Then… silence. It stopped ticking. Toby lifted his head. Something didn’t feel right. He padded to the window. Outside, the streets were dark, the rain still falling. Night had come—but Annie had not returned. Toby’s ears flattened, and his tail flicked. He jumped down and sat by the door, staring at it. Waiting. Listening. He stayed there all night. The next morning, light streamed through the windows. The storm had passed but Annie was still gone. Toby who had no sense of time, felt like he had been waiting for eternity. Next day, the doorknob turned, and the door opened. People stepped inside—Annie’s family. Toby recognized a few faces from when he was newly adopted, but they had rarely visited before. However, he saw no Annie with them. He hissed, trying to scare the people away, but they did not pay any attention to the poor cat. Toby exhausted his energy hissing and trying to shoo the people away. He went back to his favorite spot by the window, still waiting for Annie to arrive. Later that afternoon, Toby saw those people outside, along with new faces, coming in. They entered carrying a large, white rectangular box into the house. Toby backed away, his fur bristling. Toby meowed loudly. He trotted up to the doorway and sat firmly in the center of the hall. Meow! Annie is not home! You should go back! He hissed as someone tried to approach him. Hisss! I’m guarding the house until she comes back! But no one listened. No one understood. Only Annie had ever understood his meows. “Toby?” a familiar voice called gently. Toby turned. It was Jenny—Annie’s younger sister. She looked older than Toby remembered, but her eyes were the same: kind and warm. Meow... Where is she? “Oh, Toby,” Jenny whispered, kneeling to stroke his fur. Her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m so sorry.” Toby looked at her closely. He nuzzled her face, purring low and soft to comfort her. Jenny gathered him into her arms and held him close. “She loved you so much,” she whispered. “Come on, Toby. Come say goodbye.” Jenny carried Toby into the room where the white box had been placed. It rested beneath the window, where the light fell gently across it. She stepped forward slowly, carefully, and stopped just in front of it. Toby peered over her arms—and his eyes widened. There she was. Annie. Lying still, hands folded, dressed in her Sunday clothes, with her favorite blue scarf tucked around her neck. Her face was peaceful, almost like she was sleeping. He trotted over to her, crying softly. Toby’s ears perked up. Meow! Annie! You’re home! He jumped out of Jenny’s arms and landed softly on the white box where Annie was lying inside. He gently pawed the glass of the casket. Meow! Wake up, Annie. I waited for you all night. But she didn’t move. Toby tilted his head, confused. Again, he gently pawed the glass, then looked back at Jenny. Jenny shook her head slowly, her eyes filled with tears. “She’s not waking up, Toby,” she said softly. “She’s gone.” Gone? Toby blinked. Then, slowly, it began to make sense. He had seen this before—long ago, when he was just a kitten. His own mother had curled up in the alley and never moved again. That cold night, Annie had found him, wrapped him in her shawl, and brought him home. Now, it was her turn to go. Toby climbed up onto a nearby chair, then onto the edge of the box. The house was quiet. Even the clocks had stopped ticking. But Toby stayed there, refusing to go down or be picked up, keeping time one last time for Annie. Toby fell asleep, and he remembered first time meeting Annie.