A week after wed been away the Thompsons pulled up in their little motor launch, the last to leave the cottage by the river. Theyd come back without their cat a huge, grey tom with one ear missing. All summer that beast had been a nuisance on our plot: stealing food off my plate, digging up the lettuce patch, the whole lot. Id grown used to his antics. So when I saw the couple return, looking puzzled at the empty cat flap, I felt a pang and asked my wife to go ask them straight off where the cat had gone.
It turned out just as badly as I feared. Theyd left the cat back at the cottage. I worried until dusk, then rang my boss and begged for a day off tomorrow. Emily let out a heavy sigh and warned, Take care. Ask them to ferry you over by boat.
The weather had been miserable from the first light. Leadgrey clouds drizzled a fine, irritating rain, and the wind drove the wilted, halffrozen leaves hard against the tarmac. I stalked the marina hoping someone might finally make the crossing for forgotten belongings.
No one turned up. At last a burly bloke in size45 boots appeared, tinkering with his engine and muttering. I told him Id forgotten some vital papers at the cottage and slipped him fifty pounds. He tucked the note into his pocket, grumbled about the cottagefolk who forget everything, and lowered the boat into the water.
The waves were respectable, hurling cold foam that threatened to overturn the little craft. After half an hour battling the water, we scraped ashore near our cottages, the surly fellow warning that a bit more cash would have bought us a smoother ride. The sky darkened further, the drizzle turning into icy hail.
Grey! Grey! Grey! I shouted at the top of my lungs, hoping the tom was still alive.
And there he was, shivering, pressed against my boots, whining pitifully. I snatched him up and bolted for the boat. As I leapt aboard, the gruff man stared wideeyed, about to open his mouth, when
Grey leapt out of the boat, tucked his lone left ear against his head, gave a meek meow and bolted back.
Hold on, hold on, where are you off to, you devil! I roared.
I chased after him, cursing the soggy ground and swearing I’d fling the whole lot into the mud. He darted ahead, I scrambled after, hands flailing, until he veered left and vanished into the hedgerows. I pushed aside the branches and saw Grey pressed against a tiny black kitten, both drenched, the kitten whimpering. Grey gave me a guilty look and meowed.
I dropped to the wet earth, reaching for both, when the ground shuddered. The burly man stomped his massive boots, spitting curses, then appeared behind me and fell silent. With an oddly calm, pleasant voice he said, Come on, hurry up. A snowstorms coming and itll bury us all.
I hoisted Grey and the little black kitten and we ran for the boat. How we got across the river I cant say perhaps Providence just liked a good story, because the world beyond was a white blur.
The surly fellow, over the roar of the motor, called out, You stubborn fool.
I stared, baffled.
Why stupid? I asked, eyeing the churned water.
He answered, So it goes you tricked me with documents and cash, then you set off to save the cat? You act like a proper man, yet Im some soulless spectre, huh? He paused, snorted, and we docked at the marina.
He fetched a box for the kitten and lined it with a warm towel. When I was about to leave, thanking him, he said, You see, nothing ever comes to one alone while the other gets nothing. He turned to Grey and said, Youre coming with me. I go fishing, youre a proper cat, a good lad. I didnt abandon the little one.
Grey looked at me, meowed apologetically, shuffled over to the gruff man and, on his hind legs, planted his front paws against the mans massive boots. The man lifted him, and the big grey tom wrapped his paws around the kittens neck, nudging him close.
The man turned away, his voice trembling for a full minute, Well, well, well Then, regaining composure, he faced me with a firm yet surprisingly gentle tone, Id like to invite you, lad, for a fishing trip next weekend. He winked.
When I got home and Emily tended to the black kitten, she found fifty pounds tucked under a fluffy towel.
Now we go fishing all the time, together with that kindly, sturdy curmudgeon. And yes, sometimes I turn up a little tipsy and without a fish, but fishings a simple, everyday thing, Id say.
