Whispers of the Lighthouse

After his wife died, Arthur stopped speaking to the sea. He still kept the lighthouse burning.

Routine was easier than grief, but the beam felt hollow without her laughter echoing

off the walls. One gray morning, he found a stray cat curled on the doorstep.

Thin, salt-streaked, and eyes the color of fog. It meowed once,

then walked inside as if it belonged there. Arthur grumbled but set out a saucer

of milk. The next day, it returned. And the next. Soon,

it slept on his coat, followed him up the spiral stairs, and sat beside the

lantern while he worked. He started talking again. Softly at first,