After descending the slope leading to the water, Michael assessed the cats chances of survival.
The steady rush of the river, hemmed in by steep cliffs, cast an eerie calm. The monotonous lapping of waves against the stony shore sounded like a whispered warning: *”Half an hour half an hour till the floodgates open”* Michael knew this sign well.
A kilometre upstream stood the local power plants dam. The spring overflow had swelled the reservoir, and the day before, every farm downstream had been warnedsoon, the controlled release would begin, and the river would rise. No full flood was expectedthe banks were highbut the low-lying meadows would be swallowed for a while. Michael reckoned it wouldnt hurt to check the pumping station once morejust in case a fitting had come loose.
Limping, the quiet creak of his prosthetic leg marking each step, he walked the perimeter. Everything was in order. Hed secured the pipes and fence the day before, but another look never hurt. He removed his flat cap, ran a hand through his short, greying hair, then spread a small rug over a rock and sat, massaging his stump. His leg achedevery shift in the weather reminded him. Lighting a cigarette, he settled in to wait. He liked watching the sluice gates openfirst a distant rumble, then a foaming wall of white, then the sudden rush of water, sweeping away branches, debris, last years dead leaves. The river seemed to wake, shedding its old self.
He removed the prosthetic, set it beside him, and squinted as a fallen tree drifted slowly downstreamwould it sink or not? Halfway, it caught on a sandbar. *”Stuck,”* Michael muttered. In ten minutes, when the flood came, it would be torn loose. But then he saw something strangea small creature scrambling in the branches. Leaning closer, he recognised ita cat. Grey, sodden, trembling, desperately clawing its way higher. Now it perched on the topmost branch, twenty metres from shore, clinging with needle-sharp claws.
*”Poor thing,”* Michael thought. *”Ten minutes till the gates openit wont survive.”* He fastened his prosthetic quickly, gauging the distance to the tree. The rescue was nearly impossible, but he couldnt walk away. That lookterrified, yet hopefulhad stared back at him once before.
Nearly thirty years ago, Michael had served as a contract soldier. A sergeant on a “hot” assignment, hed patrolled with a young private named David. Theyd climbed a narrow mountain trail when David rushed aheadthen a snipers bullet shattered his knee. He collapsed, howling. Michael remembered his facesilent pleading, the dawning knowledge that any rescue might kill them both.
Without thinking, he fired toward the snipers position to draw fire, then lunged for David. Bullets hissed past; one grazed his helmet. But he made itdragged Davy behind a rock while smoke grenades covered them. That same night, Michael stepped on a mine Since then, theyd both lived missing a leghis left, Davids right.
Michael yanked off his quilted coat, snatched the rug, and waded into the icy water. The cold burned his skin, stole his breath, but it was too late to turn back. He inched toward the tree, teeth clenched against chattering. The shallows were behind him now. From above, the noise grewthe gates were opening.
*”Come on, puss, dont be scared!”* he growled, reaching out.
The cat, as if understanding, leapt onto his shoulder, claws digging deep. Pain lanced through him, but he only hissed, *”Hold on.”* He turned, trudging back, legs heavy. The cold numbed him; the prosthetic dragged. The waters roar swelledthe wave was coming. He felt the bank, took one last step, then collapsed into blackness. The last thing he sawthe cat darting onto dry land.
He woke by a fire. A kettle hissed merrily beside him, and the catnow drysat primly by the flames.
*”There you are. Leave you alone for five minutes, and youre off on another adventure,”* grumbled a familiar voice. Davidthe same old Davy, just with greying templesstood over him. *”Barely fished you out by the scruff.”*
Michael sipped scalding tea, warming under his coat. The cat pressed silently against his knee.
*”Quit nagging, Davy,”* he smiled. *”Knew you wouldnt leave me. Like you didnt back then.”* He stroked the cats back. *”Now theres three of ustwo cripples and a four-legged freeloader.”*
*”Aye,”* David nodded. *”That ones yours for life now. Saved ititll stick to you like glue. Wont shake it off, same as me.”*
They both laughed. Then they stood and started back toward the pumping stationone limping on his left leg, the other on his right. Between them, barely touching the damp earth with its paws, the cat trotted, never straying far from its rescuer.
