ENTITLED STUDENTS TRIED TO GET ME FIRED—THEN MY BOSS FOUND OUT WHAT I WAS KEEPING IN MY BAG
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.
