In the old part of town stood a clock tower that had been causing trouble for months. Every night, at exactly 3:07, the clock stopped, and every morning Mr. Varga, the clockmaker, had to climb two hundred steps to start it again. He had checked the gears, oiled the springs and replaced the weights, but nothing helped. The mayor, who hated being late for anything, complained to everyone who crossed the square.
Nina, a curious ten-year-old, was convinced that the clock was not broken at all. If something happened at the same minute every night, she reasoned, then something must be making it happen. One cold evening she packed a flashlight and a flask of cocoa and hid behind the fountain, determined to stay awake.
For hours nothing moved. Then, shortly after 3:06, she heard a soft scraping above her. A thin gray cat was slipping through a broken window in the tower. It crossed the machinery as if it knew the way and curled up on the heavy pendulum weight. A moment later the clock fell silent.
Nina did not shout or run to chase the cat away. In the morning she simply asked Mr. Varga for a basket. They mended the window together and placed a cushioned bed beside the pendulum, and from that day on the clock kept perfect time. The town named the cat Minute.