A week later the neighbors finally drifted back on their last rowboat from the cottage down by the river. They came without their cat the huge, grey tom with the missing right ear. All summer wed been at odds with that beast: hed pilfered food from my table, hed dig through the garden beds, and in the end Id grown accustomed to his mischief. So when the couple returned, their grey fellow gone, a cold dread settled in me and I begged my wife to walk over and, without any small talk, ask where their cat had vanished.
It turned out exactly as I feared. The cat had been left behind at the cottage. I agonised all afternoon, pacing the mudslicked lane until dusk. At last I dialled the foremans number and begged for a day off tomorrow. Blythe let out a weary sigh and warned, Be careful out there. Ask them to ferry you over by boat.
From the moment the sun rose, the sky was a slab of lead. Heavy clouds drummed a relentless drizzle, and the wind drove the damp, frostbitten leaves against the asphalt like old news. I stalked the boatyard, hoping someone would finally take the forgotten cargo across the water. No one appeared. At last a sturdy man in size45 boots thumped over, his hands deep in a sputtering engine, muttering to himself. I explained that Id left crucial documents at the cottage and slipped him a £40 note. He pocketed the cash, grumbled about the city folk who forget their heads at home, and lowered the launch into the river.
The water was fierce, hissing with cold foam that threatened to overturn the little craft. After a halfhour of battling the elements, we scraped ashore beside the cottage, the sky darkening as the drizzle turned to icy sleet.
Grey! Grey! Grey! I bellowed, my voice cracking, praying the tom was still alive.
At last Grey staggered into view, shivering, pressed against my boots, his one ear drooping. I scooped him up and sprinted back to the boat, leapt aboard and settled him beside me. The grizzled boatman stared, mouth open, but then
Greywithout warningleapt from the boat, nudged his solitary left ear against his head, and let out a plaintive, almost embarrassed meow. He twisted and bolted backward.
Stop! Stop! Where do you think youre going? I roared.
I lunged after him, ignoring the curses and the swearing that rose from the waters roar. He sprinted ahead, I chased, arms flailing, until he darted left into a thicket. I shoved aside the branches and saw Grey pressed against a tiny black kitten, the youngster drenched and whimpering. Grey gave me a guilty look and mewed softly.
I dropped to the soggy ground, reaching for both, when the earth shuddered beneath me. The grizzled mans massive boots pounded the mud, spitting a torrent of profanity. He appeared behind me, then fell silent. In a surprisingly calm, almost kindly tone he said, Hurry, lad, the blizzards coming. Itll bury everything in snow.
I hoisted Grey and the black kitten, and we fled toward the boat. How we managed to cross the river Ill never knowperhaps the heavens simply allowed it, for the world beyond was a white blur. The boatman, his engine howling, shouted over the roar, Youre a right scoundrel.
I stared at him, baffled.
Why a scoundrel? I asked, eyes flicking to the churning water.
He growled, So whats the story? You tricked me for the papers and the cash, yet you came back to rescue the cat? You call yourself a man, but Im left here like a wraith, cursed and all alone.
I was afraid youd refuse and there was no one else to save him, I replied. He fell silent, snorted, and we docked at the boatyard.
He rummaged for a box, lined it with a warm towel, and when I turned to leave, he said, Never think youre the only one who gets everything while another gets nothing. He then crouched beside Grey and said, You, my lad, come live with me. I go fishing often. Youre a fine cat, a proper one. I didnt abandon the little one.
Grey looked at me, mewed apologetically, and shuffled toward the boatman, planting his front paws on the mans massive boots. The man lifted him, and the big grey tom wrapped his paws around his neck, purring against the gruffs chest.
The man turned away, his voice trembling for a full minute, Well, well, well
When he steadied himself, he faced me with a firm yet unexpectedly gentle voice, Ill invite you, sir, for a fishing weekend next month, and winked.
Back at home, Blythe and I tended to the black kitten, and she discovered a £40 note tucked beneath the towel. Since then weve been going fishing together with our newfound, goodnatured curmudgeon. And yes, sometimes I arrive a little tipsy and emptyhanded, but fishing, you see, is lifes simple pleasure.
