A Little Help From A Friend

“Go on Stan.” My words came out through gritted teeth with more force than intended so my chin pressed hard into my knee. Desperate for warmth I wrapped my arms tighter around my shins and shifted my cold backside on the hard step. My new jeans were warm but I should have worn my fluffy coat like my Mom said. Still, I couldn’t leave him to defend his bowl on his own. He had lost one battle already today.

The black cat, the skinny one from two doors down, lifted another paw forward. Her green eyes lasered onto the bowl piled high with my leftover salmon. Wednesdays were salmon day - my worst day, Stan’s favourite. Just one more way that we fitted together so well. Rising, his hind legs quivered with effort, a horrible tremor took over and his behind hit the ground again. Gently, I wormed my hands under his furry hips, the backs of my hands scraping against the gravel and I hooched him up and nudged him forward.

“You got it, boy”. And he did. His wet nose buried itself in the small mountain of food and his pink tongue got to work. I wiped my bloody hands on my jeans. Over Stan’s shoulder, I watched the cat slink away and I felt the sweet swell of victory expand my ribs.

“Tomorrow is vet day Stannie,” I said, easing him down into a lying position. “You’ll be all fixed up.”

I kneeled down, my thigh pleasingly warm against his long back and leaned over him, burying my nose in the musty warm nook behind his ear.

“No one will steal your dinner after tomorrow. Mom says there are magic tablets for arthritis. It will be like the old days. Remember? No cat will dare enter your territory. Not ever.”

I didn’t know if this was true but I had to give him hope.