Ever since I moved to this house with my family, the neighbour in front was always the same. Soon enough I taught my kids to be kind to him. We would put some blankets on his doorstep. Whenever there were lights on, I would cook some soup and put it inside an airtight container. Whenever I would bake cookies, some would go to him. Whenever I would crochet for Christmas, I would make him a small scarf. When we realized he had a cat, we would leave food out for her.

I don't know if he ever knew it was me. We were all looking for miracles in those times. A warm helping hand could be from any hopeful soul... But even if he didn't know, I just felt good about it. After all, he always walked home late, in the same suit, a bit old and worn out, or so it seemed at night. When his lights were on, his house looked empty, the dining room at least. His kitchen had very few things, especially inside his fridge. We never saw him leaving in the morning and we did get up early. Yet, by 7am, he was already gone. He behaved like a man who lived on the streets... Oh dear. How do I put this? A man who asks for money, without a proper life or job.

I always thought that he felt trapped in that house, maybe something was holding him there, like a loved one who once lived there, or a family who had shut him out. I always imagined all sorts of things. Maybe he was lonely and only had his cat, maybe he was depressed and he felt better around people on the street.

I would get worried whenever he wouldn't come home for several nights. He never spent more than three months out, but by the second week, my heart was in my hands, racing... Thinking that he might not have made it through the night. The fear of death lingered in the streets. His cat must have known that since she always came scratching at my door, asking for food, or just lay near my fireplace. I would take her in for all the nights he was out. She was always welcome. The kids loved her, she was like an old friend already.

I don't think I am nosy, but my life at home started when I arrived after work, a few hours before he would come back. Our street always had a weird lamp that flickered, and stayed on or off as it pleased. The neighbourhood didn't object, there were worse things to complain about. So whenever he turned on the lights in his place, I would notice. I always thought good neighbours take care of each other, that's what I still say to myself today.

Now that I am retired, widowed and alone, I wonder if my neighbour would wish to have had a different life and a loving family to visit him. Even though my kids have moved to their respective homes, they still visit at weekends, bringing along my grandkids. I never saw anyone visiting him. I keep myself busy with my crochet, a few walks, cooking some cakes for locals to buy, a slower life, a retired life. My cat-man neighbour was old too, but still alive, so I kept an eye on him, doing the same as I always did. My kids would ask about him, passing down the tradition to my grandkids. It felt good to help and that passed on to them too.

One day, when I came home from the market, I opened my door and there was an envelope on the floor, likely slid underneath. Thankfully, my father was always hard on me about learning to read. The letter said:

That was a lovely letter, I was so relieved that he wasn't in trouble, he never was. I was most happy to meet my neighbour, I had met all of my other neighbours before. We would share food and spices, go on holidays together, we were all a very close neighbourhood. Everyone always warned me to stay away from this lonely neighbour just because no one could ever see him. I wanted to help, help doesn't need a face. Especially not in the times we were living in, so I did. And now at last I was going to meet him.

The time had come. I knocked on his door after decades. It had been a long while since anything had made me feel the way I felt as a kid with surprises. I could feel my own pulse all over my body. I was both giggly and shaky. He opened the door and the cat greeted me first. I picked her up and petted her as we introduced ourselves. He seemed taller than the hunched man I always saw coming home, he had the same wrinkled face as me and he was kind. He invited me in to a welcoming smell of dinner. My nerves cleared soon after, it seemed that we had always known one another, like this, visiting each others homes.

It was a lovely time, he explained to me that he was a "wanderer", he would go from town to town, country to country, to teach some big books to people in need, to fix a pipe or two, or a roof, or anything that could need fixing. In exchange, he would have a roof over his head and food. Hoping to wake up the next morning. He also explained to me that he had been offered work in our town library as a teacher and librarian, with a book deal to tell his stories across the world. Many people would like to know if our living hell was only here or everywhere. He hadn't accepted yet. "I am terrified of being in this home alone for too long... And I believe I am still needed, I just don't know if I can keep up this pace. I'm getting tired and old. At some point I have to accept the lonely life I have chosen," he said to me.

It was a long conversation, no wonder he was a teacher, he knew how to pick his words and make it interesting. However, his request was very simple: "Could you watch over my old lady? She never travelled with me and now she is too old to come. I never worried, since she had you, but she is leaving, I can feel it. If you could... I would be most grateful! I'll be out for a whole year, to visit a friend overseas who needs help mending his house." I accepted warmly, the same way I always opened my door or my window to her.

A year had passed. It was strange not seeing my neighbour, but at last the knock on my door came. He was back. He had a lot to talk about and finally he took the job at the library. My neighbour was back, but in a different way, now I had a friend. I think he always was some sort of friend to me. I always cared as if he was.

Every day now, we take our morning coffee together, the cat stays with me or with him, depending on where she falls asleep, and dinner is in each other's company too. The lonely house he was so afraid of turned into a lively place where letters from his students would come in every day.

The 3 of us were leaving, but we were living in a new world, the hourglass was draining out and it wasn't going to be turned again to start another run of life.