Di King
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The convulsions were getting more violent. Nobody was about and he didn’t know if he should go down. If it was ill what could he do? Was it a pet or just one of the many thin cats that survived on the streets? The cat was stiller now. Clearly it was dying or even dead. He stood watching, continually thinking it had died, until another convulsion shook it again. Now convinced that it was near death, Ash wished that it would happen quickly. He wondered momentarily why he continued to watch it. Perhaps because it was so alone. Just down the street there was bustle and noise but here, this sad little drama was taking place witnessed only by him. With a last convulsion the cat shook and was still. Ash knew this was the moment. Still nobody came. Absent for once were the man and woman who usually sat on chairs on the corner, their grandson playing at their feet.
Reluctantly Ash went inside, returning to the balcony every time he heard voices or noises outside, but each time the noise came from further down the street. He thought of Sasha’s cat, so lovingly held and buried in the shoebox in the garden. The care in preparing the box helping the sad little girl to deal with her pet’s death.
He heard voices, loud voices and a commotion. He moved to go and look but then returned inside, standing and staring unseeing into the shaded interior. There were more excited voices from the street and after a while the sound of water splashing and brushing noises. He was glad not to have seen the probable picking up of the cat by the tail, to be shoved into a bag and deposited with the rubbish. His heart stayed with the little creature. Hurt, dying and alone except for its passive witness.
He closed the shutters and took a last walk down to the café. The street was now washed and scrubbed and had a slight smell of chlorine. At the café he ordered a coffee and a Metaxa and sat watching the familiar scene. Perhaps it was time to go home.