— Benny! You little rascal! Get over here right now!!!
Grandma Agnes was sweeping up the floor where her favorite cup had shattered and continued scolding Benny, fully aware that he wouldn’t dare show his face until the next morning. In earlier years, when Benny was still young and foolish, he’d come running at her shouting. However, after a couple of times being swatted with a cloth and broom, he wised up. Nowadays, he could tell from her tone and volume just how annoyed she was. Sometimes it was safe to come back in the evening; other times, he knew to wait a couple of days.
This time, in his chase after a pesky mouse, he had knocked over the forgotten cup on the table. Another day, he had spilled a bag of oats, and there had been myriad other minor mishaps. It was always those troublesome mice. Yet Grandma Agnes persisted in blaming Benny, though in truth, he wasn’t really at fault; he was simply performing his duties diligently by presenting her with the mice, moles, and rats he’d caught during the night.
When morning came and she found yet another “present,” Grandma Agnes would cross herself and start her old complaint:
— Benny! You mooch! Why do you keep bringing me these into my bed? I’ll throw you out, you rascal!
And seeing the broken cup, her irritation only grew. Yet, to be fair, in public, she praised her cat, boasting that he was the best mouser, neat and affectionate. Benny made sure not to let her down, guarding her modest harvest with all his might. Without him, the mice might have devoured all her potatoes and carrots, and certainly wouldn’t have spared the oats.
Benny philosophically wrote off broken dishes and other mishaps as unavoidable losses.
That evening, Grandma Agnes poured a bit of milk into a saucer and called out for her cat, but he had hidden away, refusing to come out:
— Here, kitty, Benny, you little pest. Where have you gone? The milk’s gonna spoil. Oh, well, have it your way…
Grandma decided to fry up some potatoes for dinner. She opened the cellar door and, with a groan, descended the steps. Bending low and squinting in the dim light, she reached the section where she kept her potatoes. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Benny.
He was breathing heavily. His right front paw had swollen, twice the size of the left. Nearby, atop the potatoes, lay a large dead viper.
“Good heavens!” gasped Grandma Agnes, vividly imagining the venomous fangs sinking into her own hand. The mere thought made her blood pressure spike and her heart race unevenly. “Benny, my savior. You naughty thing, thinking of dying on me? Hold on, hold on. How would I manage without you?”
Gathering up the cat, Grandma Agnes made her way out of the cellar, grabbed her purse, and dashed off in her slippers to her neighbor’s house.
— Paul! Paul! I need your help! Quickly, take me to the town center.
— What’s happened, Agnes? What’s the rush at this hour?
— I need the vet. A viper bit Benny. Please, Paul, I’ll make it up to you later for the fuss and for petrol.
— Alright, Agnes. I’ll tell the wife and we’ll be off.
At the vet clinic, Grandma Agnes got out of the car. Huffing and puffing, she retrieved the limp, heavy-breathing cat and hurried into the reception area.
— Darling, — she addressed the on-duty vet. — Please, help me. Save Benny; he’s all I’ve got.
A quick glance at the unfortunate cat was enough for a swift diagnosis.
— A snake bite? How long ago?
— Today. I can’t say exactly when. I found him in the cellar and came straight here.
— We’ll get him on a drip right away.
They carried Benny away.
About twenty minutes later, the vet returned to the waiting area and spoke to Grandma Agnes:
— Let’s get the paperwork done. You’re the owner? What’s your name?
— Agnes Margaret. Johnson.
— And what’s the cat’s name? How old is he?
— Benny, he’s around six, I think. Please, do save him. We watch movies together, and in winter, he’s my warmth. Plus, where could I ever find another mouser like him? He even saved me from a snake.
Grandma Agnes began to cry.
— Calm yourself. We’ll do everything we can. He’ll need to stay here overnight. Come back tomorrow, and we should have more news.
— Dear, will it cost a lot?
— Don’t worry. Just pay for the medications. I’m confident he’ll pull through. Your cat’s a fighter!
— And what’s your name, dear?
— Vera Smith.
— God bless you, Vera.
In the car, Grandma Agnes asked Paul:
— Paul, could you take me here again tomorrow morning?
— Agnes, I leave for work at seven…
— I’ll go with you.
— The clinic opens at nine.
— It’s fine, I’ll wait.
— Alright. I’ll pick you up.
The next day, as Vera arrived at work, she saw the elderly lady from before sitting on a bench outside the clinic. The old woman eagerly stood to meet her:
— How’s my little rascal?
— Let’s go see.
Half an hour later, Grandma Agnes was making her way to the bus stop, Benny held snugly to her chest, stroking his head and muttering:
— Well, Benny, Vera said you’ll be as good as new in three days. I’ll get you some cream. Not the store kind, but homemade, and some sausage too. You’ve earned it. Just stick around longer, you rascal!
