After descending the slope towards the river, Michael assessed the cats chances of survival.
The river, wedged between steep cliffs, flowed with a steady, calming rhythm. The monotonous babble of the waves against the stony shore sounded like a whispered warning: *”Half an hour half an hour till the gates open”* Michael knew that signal well.
A kilometre upstream stood the local hydroelectric dam. The spring floods had overfilled the reservoir, and notices had been sent the day before to all the farms downstreamtheyd soon start releasing extra water, raising the river. No flooding was expectedthe banks were highbut the low-lying meadows would briefly disappear underwater. Michael figured it wouldnt hurt to check the pump station one last timejust in case any fittings had come loose.
Limping slightly, his prosthetic leg creaking softly, he made a thorough inspection. Everything was in order. Hed already reinforced the pipes and fencing the day before, but a second glance never hurt. He took off his flat cap, ran a hand through his short, greying hair, then spread a small rug over a rock and sat down, massaging his stump. His leg achedevery change in the weather reminded him. Lighting a cigarette, he settled in to wait.
He loved watching the sluice gates open. First, a distant rumble, then a foaming white wall of water, followed by a sudden deluge sweeping down, carrying branches, debris, last years leaves. The river seemed to wake up, shedding the old.
He removed his prosthetic, set it beside him, and squinted at a fallen tree drifting lazily in the currentwould it sink or not? Halfway, it snagged on a shoal. *”Stuck,”* Michael noted. In ten minutes, when the surge came, itd be swept away. But then he spotted something oddamong the branches, a tiny creature was flailing. Leaning closer, he realisedit was a cat. Grey, sodden, shivering, desperately trying to climb higher. Now perched on the topmost branch, about twenty metres from shore, its claws dug into the wood.
*”Poor little bugger,”* Michael thought. *”Ten more minutes, and theyll open the gatesit wont stand a chance.”* Quickly reattaching his prosthetic, he gauged the distance to the tree. 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 been a contract soldier. A sergeant at a “hot spot,” hed been patrolling with a young private, David. Theyd been climbing a narrow mountain trail when David rushed aheadonly to be struck in the knee by a snipers bullet. His leg shattered, he collapsed, howling in agony. Michael remembered that looka silent scream, the dawning realisation that any rescue attempt could cost them both their lives.
Without hesitation, Michael fired towards the snipers likely position as a diversion, then lunged for his comrade. Bullets whizzed pastone grazed his helmetbut he made it, dragging “Davey” behind cover as smoke grenades covered their retreat. That same night, he stepped on a landmine Now, both men lived with one leg missingone the right, the other the left.
Michael yanked off his quilted coat, snatched up the rug, and waded into the freezing water. The icy sting burned his skin, his breath caughtbut turning back wasnt an option. Teeth clenched to stop them chattering, he inched toward the tree. The shallows were bad enough. From above, the roar grewthe gates were opening.
“Come on, puss, dont be scared!” he gasped, reaching out.
The cat, as if understanding, leapt onto his shoulder, claws digging in. Pain seared through him, but he just hissed, “Hold tight.” Turning, he staggered back, fighting the current. The cold numbed him, his prosthetic dragged, his strength waned. The waters roar swelledthe surge was right behind them. His foot hit the bankone more stepthen he collapsed, blacking out. The last thing he saw: the cat darting onto dry land.
He woke by a fire. A kettle hissed merrily beside him, and the catnow drysat primly by the flames.
“Leave you alone for five minutes, and youre off on another adventure,” grumbled a familiar voice. It was Davidsame old Davey, just with greying temples. “Nearly had to drag you out by your collar.”
Michael sipped the hot tea, warming under his coat. The cat rubbed against his knee, purring.
“Stop nagging, Davey,” Michael chuckled. “Knew you wouldnt leave me. Like you didnt back then.” He stroked the cats back. “Now were stuck with hertwo cripples and a four-legged freeloader.”
“Right,” David nodded. “Shes yours for life now. Saved her, so shell cling to you. Cant shake her offsame as me.”
They both laughed. Then they stood and started back toward the pump stationone limping on his left leg, the other on his right. Between them, paws barely touching the damp earth, the cat trotted along, never straying far from her rescuer.
