The man stepped into his home and gasped…

Half a year ago, he had been given a tiny kitten named Spark. His niece, who occasionally visited with her family, had found the little creature on the street. Handing him over, she had said,
“You live alone. Never seem to find a partner. Your job’s stressful—driving a bus all day. Come home, and here’s someone happy to see you. Cats bring comfort, you know… warmth and peace.”

Well, he had believed her. Why not? He’d thought, maybe it was true. After a day frayed by irritable passengers and reckless drivers refusing to yield, he’d return to find Spark curled on the sofa, purring, eager for strokes and cuddles.

But as you might guess, ladies and gentlemen, it was merely inexperience speaking. Spark failed to meet expectations. The obedient, affectionate kitten soon grew into a sprightly adolescent—no longer fond of laps or petting, but mischief? Oh, he was game!

Naïve as he was, the man had bought a fly swatter to dispatch the buzzing pests—nimble little ones or those fat, lumbering beasts some call horseflies. Spark watched intently as the man swung at them, absorbing every detail, gathering information. Then, one day, the cat decided to please his master. And please him he did…

Now, back to where we began.
***
The man stepped inside and froze. Nothing—absolutely nothing—remained untouched in his flat. The wreckage was so thorough, one might assume rival gangs had staged a brutal brawl there, wielding… cricket bats?

Chairs lay overturned. Vases, glasses—anything once resting on tables, windowsills, or cabinets—now littered the floor in shattered heaps of glass, ceramic, and plastic. The curtains hung in tatters, like the torn hem of a fashionable dress. The kitchen? A catastrophe. Ketchup bled into pickled tomatoes and jam. Neat mounds of salt, sugar, and pepper were strewn about. Forks and spoons lay in haphazard piles. The kitchen curtains, rods and all, had been torn down and sprawled amid the chaos. And atop the utterly barren dining table…

Sat an immensely pleased Spark, before whom rested a fly. Enormous, like a biplane. The cat gazed at his human with triumphant eyes, purring smugly.

*Any moment now*, he thought. *Any moment, he’ll praise me.*

All day, relentless and tireless, he’d chased that impudent fly. Exhausted, yes—but victorious! Now he could present his prize and claim his well-earned reward. The thrill of it made his paws knead the air.

The man righted a chair and sank onto it. Should he clean? Eat? Scold Spark? But pondering was cut short—the door rang. He rose, crossed the hall, and opened it. His shock deepened.

Three constables stood in the corridor, backed by a dozen neighbors. The officers’ hands hovered near their holsters.

“We received calls,” the first began.
“Many calls,” added the second. “Reports of… disturbances. Furniture crashing. Screams. May we enter to ensure all’s well? And you—for safety—hands atop your head, please. Step into the corner.”

The neighbors glared, fear and judgment in their eyes.

“Ah,” the man said slowly. “I see.” He complied, retreating to the corner as instructed.

The constables prowled the flat, surveying the devastation, searching room to room.

“What exactly are you looking for?” the man asked.

“A body,” one replied. “And your account of events.”

“Oh, a body! Right this way.”

The officers tensed, hands on their pistols. Moving carefully along the wall, the man led them to the kitchen. With a flourish, he gestured inside.

“Here’s your body.”

They shoved past him.

The “body” sat on the table, grinning shamelessly, basking in attention. Before it lay the fly.

Silence. Then—understanding dawned. The first constable chuckled. Then the others erupted.

They roared with laughter, helpless, while Spark preened, his look saying, *See? You’re all happy. Worth the effort, then.*

For half an hour, they posed for photos—Spark cradled in arms, the fly displayed, the wreckage as backdrop. Everyone left merry. Spark most of all. His hard work had been acknowledged.
***

Alone again, the man slumped onto the chair.

“I’ll help.”

He turned. A woman from the ground floor stood there.

“My day off,” she said, smiling. “You’d be at it till midnight. Together, we’ll manage quicker.”

“I hate to trouble you—”

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed. “I’ve nothing better to do. Just me and my mum nearby.” She nodded at Spark, now batting the fly across the table. “Will you punish that scoundrel? Or at least scold him?”

The man sighed. “Suppose I must.”

He scooped Spark up.

“You wretched little beast! Is this behavior acceptable? No. It is not.”

Spark paddled his paws—his father’s scolding was so warm, so gentle, he couldn’t resist. Stretching up, he licked the man’s cheek. The man kissed his nose.

“There. Lesson learned. No repeats.”

He set Spark down. The cat arched his tail, weaving around the woman’s ankles. She laughed.

“Some scolding that was,” she teased. “How’ve I never noticed you before?”

“Dunno,” he admitted. “Maybe I was just miserable before Spark. Happiness shows.”

He gestured at the wreckage.

She called a handyman friend. By morning, sturdy mesh covered every window, so Spark could lounge safely, watching birds and plump flies.

Together, they cleared the mess—sweeping shards, washing floors, bundling ruined curtains. Then off they went shopping for replacements.

By evening, they returned—snacks, a splendid cake, and champagne in tow. You understand, ladies and gentlemen: a housewarming. For the old flat. With her.

They sat at the kitchen table, eating, drinking, talking. Content. Spark, sprawled on the woman’s lap, schemed… his next act of *assistance*.
***

In the end, all turned out splendidly. Spark, naturally, remains tirelessly helpful—to both Father and the new mother. Who entered their lives for one reason: she’d found him, recognized him as her darling kitty.

Now, together, they tidy up after his *help*.

What else could one expect?

Really—how else could it be?