I never imagined my career could be jeopardized over something so small—literally. Yet, there I was, sitting stiffly in my boss’s office, my future hanging in the balance.
It all started a few weeks ago. I was taking the metro to work as usual, my mind already preoccupied with the upcoming lectures. The morning crowd was thick, people rushing in and out, lost in their own world. As the train approached, a faint, desperate sound reached my ears—a soft, almost imperceptible cry. I looked around, trying to locate the source, and that’s when I saw it. A tiny, trembling kitten, no bigger than my hand, was huddled on the metro tracks.

There was no time to think. I barely registered my own movements as I jumped onto the tracks, scooped the kitten into my hands, and scrambled back onto the platform just as the train thundered past. My heart pounded in my chest, but I had no regrets. The little creature was shaking, its fur matted and dirty, but it was alive. I wrapped it in my scarf and held it close as I boarded the train

By the time I reached the university, it was clear I had a problem. I had back-to-back lectures and no time to take the kitten to a vet or find someone to care for it. I made a quick decision—I would keep it in my bag, safe and warm, and feed it between classes. A discreet online order for cat formula was placed, to be delivered directly to my office.
That first day, I bottle-fed the kitten during my short breaks. It barely made a sound, only letting out tiny, sleepy meows when it was hungry. Most of my students noticed, and to my surprise, many of them found it endearing. A few even offered to help hold or feed it between lessons. But, of course, not everyone was amused.

Among my students was a particular group—the privileged, entitled type who believed their wealth granted them immunity from rules and effort. They rarely paid attention, disrupted classes with their loud whispers, and expected to pass without lifting a finger. Over the years, I had refused their bribes in the form of extravagant gifts or promises of “favors” from their influential parents. They didn’t like me, and I didn’t care.
When they saw me feeding the kitten, I knew it was only a matter of time before they turned it into a weapon against me.
A week later, I was summoned to the principal’s office. He sat behind his imposing mahogany desk, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

I hesitated. Should I tell him the truth? Would it even make a difference? Just as I was about to answer, a small noise broke the silence—a soft, unmistakable “meow” coming from my bag.
My heart stopped. I slowly unzipped my bag, revealing a tiny, sleepy ball of fur nestled inside. The kitten stretched lazily before letting out another small sound. The principal’s eyes widened, his stern expression faltering.
“What… is that?”
I sighed. “This is Geronimo. I rescued him from the metro tracks two weeks ago. I didn’t have the heart to leave him, and I had no one to care for him. I bottle-feed him between lectures, but I never let it interfere with my teaching.”
There was a long silence. Then, to my absolute shock, the principal’s face softened.
“You named him Geronimo?”
I nodded. “It felt appropriate, given how I found him.”
To my utter disbelief, the principal smiled. A real, genuine smile.
“You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I have five cats at home.”
I blinked. “You do?”
He nodded. “Rescued all of them. Strays, mostly. This little guy reminds me of one of them.” He looked at Geronimo, who was now nuzzling into the warmth of my scarf. “The students who complained… I assume they’re the ones who already had an issue with you?”
I hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”
The principal sighed again, but this time, it was different. “Look, officially, I should reprimand you. But honestly? You’re one of the best professors here. If this was really interfering with your work, I’d have dozens of complaints, not just a few from a group of spoiled kids who don’t appreciate discipline.”
Relief washed over me. “So… what now?”
He smiled. “Take care of Geronimo for now. But find him a proper home soon. And keep doing what you do best—teaching.”
I left his office with my head held high, Geronimo purring softly in my bag. The entitled students never mentioned their complaints again, especially after the rest of the class turned against them for trying to get me fired over something so ridiculous.
A week later, I found a loving home for Geronimo with one of my students, a kind-hearted girl who had grown particularly attached to him. And as for me? I continued teaching, more determined than ever. Because at the end of the day, doing what’s right will always be worth the fight.
Have you ever stood your ground against unfair treatment? Share your thoughts and like this post if you believe in standing up for what’s right!