Sunday Night
It was just a regular Sunday evening. The kind that feels slow and comfortable, with the smell of dinner wafting from homes and the streets starting to quiet down.
I was heading out with my dad to grab some snacks — nothing fancy, just our little ritual of chips, biscuits, and maybe a fizzy drink or two. As I opened the front door, there she was — Whitey, my neighbour’s curious white cat, sitting on the steps and mewing softly, as if he’d been waiting for someone.
Actually, it wasn’t just someone. It was Max.
Max is my ginger kitten, just about a month old and full of energy, always darting around the house like a fuzzy orange firecracker. Lately, Max and Whitey had started forming this adorable little bond — chasing each other’s tails, napping under the bougainvillaea, or just staring at the birds from opposite ends of the fence.
Right then, my neighbour stepped out too. She smiled, brushing back a few strands of hair from her face, and said, “My daughter’s free today, so we’re heading to the park with Whitey.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” I said, instantly thinking,Max would love that.“I could bring Max along too.”
Dad, who was locking the gate behind us, chuckled. “We’re only going out for a bit. Let Max and Whitey play. But if Max gets too cheeky, just put him inside.”
Fair enough.
I nodded, let the two cats mingle, and hopped into the scooter with Dad. We weren’t gone long — just picked up some groceries and a few snacky things. But you know how time slips by when you’re chatting and strolling through the aisles. By the time we got back, nearly 30 minutes had passed. The sky had already begun to slip into twilight.
As we turned into our lane and reached our gate, something felt...off.
There was Max — sitting silently by the window, staring across at our neighbour’s house, his little face drooping in the most heartbreaking way. He didn’t even move when he saw me, which was very unlike him. Usually, he’d come charging at me, tripping over his own paws in excitement.
But not this time.
He looked... sad. Actually,depressed. As if the whole world had let him down.
I peeked across at our neighbour’s house — no sign of Whitey.
That’s when it clicked.
They had taken Whitey to the park. But they hadn’t taken Max. He must’ve seen them go. Must’ve waited, expecting his turn. But it never came.
It broke my heart a little.
I glanced at Dad. “I think we owe Max an outing.”
Dad smiled. “Go ahead. Get ready. I’ll heat the snacks.”
It was a Sunday, after all — no homework, no stress. Just the perfect day to fix what had been unintentionally broken.
I quickly changed, gave Max a little cuddle, and he clung to me like a baby koala. I rang my neighbour’s bell.
When she opened it, I asked with a hopeful smile, “Hey... would it be alright if Max joins you two at the park?”
