Speaker 1: Thomas lives alone on a small island. The island is
Speaker 1: not large. You could walk around its edge in twenty
Speaker 1: minutes if you did not stop. But Thomas always stops.
Speaker 1: He stops to watch the waves. He stops to listen
Speaker 1: to the wind in the tall grass. He stops to
Speaker 1: look at the sky, which changes color every hour, from
Speaker 1: pale pink at dawn to deep blue at noon, to
Speaker 1: warm gult at sunset. The island is his whole world,
Speaker 1: and it is enough. The lighthouse is old and tall
Speaker 1: and painted white with a red band around the top.
Speaker 1: It stands at the highest point of the island, looking
Speaker 1: out over the ocean. Thomas has kept it for many years.
Speaker 1: He tends the light each evening, making sure the great
Speaker 1: beam turned steadily through the darkness, warding ships away from
Speaker 1: the rocks. It is quiet work, it is good work.
Speaker 1: Thomas likes quiet work. He has always been a quiet man,
Speaker 1: the kind who finds more comfort in the sound of
Speaker 1: the sea than in the sound of voices. He came
Speaker 1: to the island with a ginger cat named Marmalade. Marmalade
Speaker 1: was already old when Thomas brought him to the island.
Speaker 1: He was a round, slow, moving cat with bright green
Speaker 1: eyes and a tail that curled at the end like
Speaker 1: a question mark. He had been astray at the harbor,
Speaker 1: living on fish scraps, and when Thomas picked him up
Speaker 1: and carried him to the boat, Marmalade purred so loudly
Speaker 1: that Thomas could feel the vibration through his coat. That
Speaker 1: was two years ago. Now, Marmalade sits on the window
Speaker 1: sill every morning, watching the sun come up. He sleeps
Speaker 1: on Thomas's bed at night, curled against Thomas's legs. He
Speaker 1: follows Thomas on his walks, patting along the rocky path
Speaker 1: with the slow confidence of a creature who knows he
Speaker 1: is safe. They are companions, Thomas and Marmalade. They do
Speaker 1: not need any one else, or so Thomas thought. It
Speaker 1: was on a Tuesday evening, just as the sun was
Speaker 1: sinking into the sea, that Marmalade came home with a cat.
Speaker 1: Thomas heard the scratching at the door and opened it.
Speaker 1: There was Marmalade sitting on the step, and beside him
Speaker 1: was a small gray cat with white paws and wide,
Speaker 1: curious eyes. The gray cat looked up and meowed a soft,
Speaker 1: hopeful sound, as if to say I have heard about
Speaker 1: this place, and I would like to stay. Thomas looked
Speaker 1: at Marmalade. Marmalade looked at Thomas. There was something calm
Speaker 1: and satisfied in the cat's expression, something that said this
Speaker 1: one is good. Thomas knelt down and held out his hand,
Speaker 1: and the gray cat touched its nose to his fingers.
Speaker 1: Then it walked inside, as if it had lived there
Speaker 1: all along. Thomas set out a bowl of milk. The
Speaker 1: gray cat drank, then curled up on the armchair by
Speaker 1: the fire. Marmalade jumped up beside it, and the two
Speaker 1: sat together, grooming each other. Thomas made himself a cup
Speaker 1: of tea and sat down with his book. It felt right.
Speaker 1: The next evening, Marmalade came home with a black cat,
Speaker 1: sleek with golden eyes that gleamed in the lamplight. It
Speaker 1: moved like a shadow and sat on the doorstep, waiting
Speaker 1: to be invited in. Thomas invited it in. He set
Speaker 1: out another bowl of milk. The black cat found a
Speaker 1: spot on the rug near the fire and settled there,
Speaker 1: its tail wrapped around its paws. The evening after that,
Speaker 1: Marmalade brought a tabby, a big striped tabby with a loud,
Speaker 1: rumbling purr, then a small white cat with a crooked
Speaker 1: ear and a gentle face, then a Siamese with blue
Speaker 1: eyes and a quiet voice. Each evening Thomas opened the
Speaker 1: door and there was Marmalade with a new friend. Each evening,
Speaker 1: Thomas set out a bowl of milk and made a
Speaker 1: place by the fire. Thomas did not ask where Marmalade
Speaker 1: found them. Some things do not need explaining. The cats
Speaker 1: came because the lighthouse was warm. They came because the
Speaker 1: fire crackled, and the milk was sweet, and the man
Speaker 1: who lived there had a gentle voice. They came because
Speaker 1: Marmalade told them to, in whatever way cats tell each
Speaker 1: other things with a look or a slow blink in
Speaker 1: the moonlight. By Friday there were seven cats, seven cats,
Speaker 1: and a kitten. The kitten was tiny, in calico, with
Speaker 1: patches of orange and black and white, and it had
Speaker 1: been tucked inside the tabby's coat when they arrived. The
Speaker 1: kitten was too small to jump or climb, so it
Speaker 1: stayed in a box by the fire, wrapped in a
Speaker 1: soft blanket, sleeping and mewing. Thomas fed it warm milk
Speaker 1: from a tiny dish, holding it in his palm, and
Speaker 1: the kitten lapped at it with a tongue no bigger
Speaker 1: than a flower petal. The lighthouse changed. It had always
Speaker 1: been quiet, but now it was the kind of quiet
Speaker 1: full of small sounds, the purring of cats, the soft
Speaker 1: padding of paws on the stairs, the rustle of a
Speaker 1: cat turning in its sleep, the distant sound of the
Speaker 1: ocean against the rocks below. Thomas would sit in his chair, reading,
Speaker 1: and marmalade would be on the arm of the chair,
Speaker 1: the gray cat on the arm chair beside him, the
Speaker 1: black cat on the rug, and the others scattered around
Speaker 1: the room. The fire would crackle, the lamp would glow.
Speaker 1: The light above would turn and turn, sending its beam
Speaker 1: into the dark. Thomas had never felt less alone. He
Speaker 1: did not think of himself as some one who had
Speaker 1: been lonely. He liked his quiet life. But now, sitting
Speaker 1: in the warm glow with seven cats and a kitten
Speaker 1: sleeping around him, he understood the difference between being alone
Speaker 1: and being at peace. He had been at peace for
Speaker 1: a long time, but now he was at peace and
Speaker 1: surrounded by soft, warm, living things that trusted him. That
Speaker 1: was a kind of home he had not known he
Speaker 1: was missing. Each evening, after he tended the light, Thomas
Speaker 1: would sit in his chair and the cats would gather.
Speaker 1: They came slowly, one by one, finding their places, as
Speaker 1: if there were a ritual to it. The gray cat
Speaker 1: always took the armchair, The black cat always took the rug.
Speaker 1: The white cat liked the window sill. The Siamese like
Speaker 1: the top of the bookshelf, looking down with cool blue eyes.
Speaker 1: Marmalade always sat closest to Thomas. Thomas would read to them,
Speaker 1: sometimes out loud, in his quiet voice. He did not
Speaker 1: know if they understood. What mattered was the sound, the
Speaker 1: sound of a voice in the warm room, filling the
Speaker 1: spaces between the fire and the ocean and the turning
Speaker 1: light above. On the last evening of the week, Thomas
Speaker 1: sat in his chair and looked around the room. The
Speaker 1: fire was low and soft. The cats were all asleep,
Speaker 1: each in their place, breathing in the slow, peaceful rhythm
Speaker 1: of cats. Marmalade was in his lap, his warm weight
Speaker 1: pressing down, his purr vibrating through Thomas's whole body. The
Speaker 1: kitten was in its box, a tiny bundle of calico fur,
Speaker 1: its small chest rising and falling like a wave on
Speaker 1: a calm shore. Thomas set his book down, He leaned
Speaker 1: his head back and closed his eyes. He could hear
Speaker 1: the ocean outside, a low, steady rhythm, like breathing. He
Speaker 1: could hear the cats purring, a chorus of contentment. He
Speaker 1: could hear the wind in the grass on the hill,
Speaker 1: a soft whispering sound, and above it all, the slow
Speaker 1: turning of the light, a sound so familiar that Thomas
Speaker 1: no longer heard it, the way you no longer hear
Speaker 1: your own heart beat. He smiled. It was a small smile,
Speaker 1: the kind that comes not from a joke, but from
Speaker 1: a deep knowing that everything is exactly as it should be.
Speaker 1: The lighthouse was warm, the cats were sleeping, the ocean
Speaker 1: was whispering, and Thomas, who had come to this island alone,
Speaker 1: was alone no more. He did not need a crowd.
Speaker 1: He needed this, this chair, these cats, this light, this sea,
Speaker 1: this island in the dark, with its circle of golden warmth.
Speaker 1: He needed to know that small, soft things could find
Speaker 1: their way to him, could cross the water in the dark,
Speaker 1: could follow a ginger cat up the rocky path and
Speaker 1: find a door that was always open. The fire crackled,
Speaker 1: the cats purred, the ocean whispered, the light turned, and
Speaker 1: Thomas sat in the middle of it, all warm and
Speaker 1: full and safe, and let sleep come the way the
Speaker 1: cats had come to him, slowly, gently, without any effort
Speaker 1: at all. He slept, and the lighthouse watched over him,
Speaker 1: and the sea held the island in its arms, and
Speaker 1: the cats kept watch through the night, their eyes glowing
Speaker 1: softly in the dark, keeping Thomas safe until morning.