In the quiet, disciplined rows of an army cantonment in Devlali in Maharashtra, life usually followed a predictable rhythm. That was until a scrawny, scrappy kitten decided to rewrite our story.One of his earlier pictures in Devlali. Photo: Author providedThe neighbourhood kids called him “Whacko”, claiming he was a bit “mad”. But as I watched from my porch, all I saw was fearlessness, resilience and feral instincts. Once, he chased a cobra out of our backyard! Maybe the kids were right, you have to be a bit mad to be that brave. He was a lone warrior fighting impossible odds.Every day, a pack of five-six older cats used to bully him away from the communal food bowl I would keep in our backyard, but this tiny one stood his ground. So, I began secretly feeding him in a separate bowl when the others weren’t looking. Soon enough, he claimed us. He transitioned from the backyard to our front porch; he’d hop onto our laps during morning tea. He didn’t ask for love; he commanded it. We quickly ditched his old nickname and named him ‘Billy’.When the pandemic hit and the world slowed down, Billy became our anchor. As lockdown settled over the cantonment, with anxiety and uncertainty all around, our home was alive with his energy. He became my sous-chef, watching me cook from his perch on the kitchen shelf.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyHe would join us on evening walks, though he still kept his guard up whenever his old rivals appeared. I would scoop him up into my arms, but he remained his own boss – venturing out at will and sprinting back home at the sound of our whistle.When the time came for us to move to Delhi, I faced a heart-wrenching dilemma. Should he stay in his “natural habitat” or come with us? My husband insisted that he join us.And since then, Billy has become quite the globetrotter. From the chilly heights of Kasauli to the ruins of Hampi, and the fields of Punjab, he has been our constant companion. He traded his old life as a stray, for the comfort of a windowsill, though his “wild” instincts remained. Occasionally, he’d insist on gifting me a lizard by my bedside.Sometimes, I guiltily wonder if we did the right thing by domesticating a spirit so fierce. Was he happier under the open sky of Devlali?But then I look at him, safe and snoozing, and I realise that while I may have “saved” him from the bullies in the backyard, he was the one who saved us from the isolation of the pandemic. He kept us busy, kept us laughing and taught us a thing or two about parenthood. Billy isn’t just a cat we brought along; he is the very heart of our home. He has moved through eight houses with us so far. Any cat parent knows that a cat’s world is their territory, and changing it is never easy. I hope he doesn’t mind it much, and I think now he understands when it’s time to move again. For us, as long as Billy is sitting by the windowsill, we know we are home.Aadrita Hazarika is a former academician-turned content writer. She writes on food, travel and all things good.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.