The Cat

The Cat

"…and that's how she lost her eye." Jimmy snuggles the cat closer in under his overly large plaid shirt, threadbare jeans cover his legs. The older man laughs his cackling turning into a dry cough towards the end. Jimmy grimaces, his hands run through the cat’s fur from head to tail, his actions monotonous, familiar.

The man looks at them again shaking his head a smile still twinkling on his ruddy face. “You’re a good boy, kid. Get some sleep.”

Jimmy smiles back at him, it’s thin but it’s real. The man shuffles off towards town. Jimmy knows he’s got a bed in the shelter, a sweeping job in the morning. Jimmy watches the man’s back until his silhouette turns the corner then he lets his eyes slide closed. His mind’s in a small room with a soft bed, a chair with a green blanket, and trucks strewn across the floor.

"Get into your pyjamas, and you can have some milk before brushing your teeth."

The blue pyjamas are fluffy and soft. A grey bunny, long-legged and thread-bare is tucked in beside him then on to the stories.

"Pick one for tonight, and we'll do the other tomorrow."

"But I want both of them!" His hands close tight around the books their covers solid in his hands.

What he wouldn’t give to do his teeth on the regular, to wear soft blue pyjamas, to hear just-one-story again. His eyes open. His hair is stringy and limp on his shoulders. He snuggles the purring cat closer. She doesn't have a name. Not out here, at least. Maybe she did have one though, once.

"Put yourself to bed this time, Jimmy."

"Yeah, you're old enough now, kid. You don't need mummy to coddle you anymore. You're too soft as it is."

Everything changes his grandma had said. He’d nodded sagely but he hadn’t realised then how fast things can change. How quickly things can disappear leaving cavernous spaces. No more soft pyjamas. No more stories. He didn't even have to do his teeth anymore. He gets himself ready now. Chooses an oversize T-shirt. Does his teeth if he wants to. Reads as many stories as he liked. Just as long as he keeps the door closed. As long as he doesn’t interfere. Later, he'd turn a podcast on. Using the volume to block out the shouting.

Under the overpass the light drops fast and the cold sets in. The others have left looking for a corner, or a doorstep, or an open window. Jimmy stands, clutching the cat closer, making sure she doesn't slip. He likes the dusk. He likes the quiet.

Cat secure, they start their walk across the carpark. The flickering streetlights look like stars if you squint. Against the building, the pile of cardboard boxes is lit from above by the fluorescent grocery store sign. He drops the cat on the footpath.

"You walk from here. I carry the beds." A familiar refrain. Still, it makes him smile. The cat mrrows but keeps up. Reaching the pile first, the cat sniffs at the garage door, then moves back, giving Jimmy room to pull a few flattened boxes free before rubbing her head against his ankle.

"Come on. Let’s get some bread from the tray around the other side. Maybe you’ll see a mouse, eh? A good dinner before bed will help you sleep."

He drags the boxes with him, tucks the bread in under his shirt where the cat used to be. They trudge back across the carpark in silence. The cat knows the way, her good eye trained on the horizon. As they reach the ramp leading to the walkway a gull shrieks overhead. The cat blanches like always. Jimmy laughs like always. Hair on end, the cat shakes her body, does her aggrieved stomping dance before lifting her head again, continuing their well-worn path. The asphalt is smooth here. The pathway relatively new built to take advantage of the riverside. In the daylight, bikes speed through, walkers bring dogs to sniff at the gardens and romp through the grass. The cat shivers eyes alert for predators. No dogs out tonight though. They turn off just before the skatepark. Despite the flood lights, the shallow concrete bowl is silent. It's too late to career across the bumps, too cold to hang out tonight. The others will find their way here later. Boxes of beer or casks of wine. Jimmy picks up their trash each morning. It’s his rent for being allowed to stay.

Left, over the footbridge, the river low underneath them. High tide's around 11 pm. That's why the gulls are shrieking. Just a little further. The cat skits ahead, then turns back, waiting among the shrubs, knowing Jimmy takes longer. The large cardboard sheets are ungainly and hard to carry. One last corner and the underpass is back in sight. Jimmy smiles. The ca-thud, ca-thud, ca-thud overhead is a comforting tune. The strafing lights hypnotic against the darkening sky.

"Hang on, let me get right in against the wall." Jimmy shunts the cat back as he lays the cardboard down in the regular pattern; the large boxes are set three deep, covering the dirt two small boxes for a pillow. He crawls against the concrete pillar, its graffitied face is still warm from the day's sun. Behind him, the cat picks her way gingerly across the boxes until she reaches her usual spot under his chin. His hand sneaks around her tucking his plaid shirt tight against her back. He shuffles a bit, finds a comfortable divot in the cardboard. Satisfied, he relaxes into the makeshift nest. The cat takes her turn. Shuffling around, her claws tenderising the cardboard or his chest, whichever is within reach. Jimmy draws a rush of air in through clenched teeth. He shifts her down further into the warming hollow of his shirt, away from his bare skin. Her fur tickles his chin as he leans in.

"The moon climbs high in the glittering sky. The city's all asleep." His voice is soft, his hand returning to her fur, stroking a familiar rhythm. "Under blankets warm and dry, the children safely keep."