Bedtime Story

[edwards]

Bear walked along the riverside, looking for that flash in the water, a silver dart of salmon, before it was time to sleep and escape the snow. He was hungry, and it seemed so long since he had tasted something so alive. Raiding the piles of leftovers beside the towering, glowing blocks the slim, pale creatures sheltered in was not the same at all.

From the corner of his eye, a flash. He turned, paws outstretched, but it was only the sun. Reflected by a small, black stone, it had fooled him. His tummy rumbled and ached.

Then again, faster - real. He dived forwards into the water, as it rushed over his ears and drowned out the noises of machines and nature. A strong tail smacks his nose, this is a good one; with one paw he catches, closing his mouth, and the fight goes from the fish as he looks up, gazing at his brothers in the sky and thanking them.

Shaking the river from his fur, he pads back , and spies the little black stone again. He gently takes it, and carries it back to the nest, unsure why.

As he settles, fat, but still hungry, he rolls the stone with his paw, and settles his cheek, heavy and furred, on it.

As the long sleep begins, the stone begins to sing...

"Get out!" screams the scrawny man. Pushka starts, her fur all on end, and leaps from the table with her scrap of pigeon. "Damn cat! That was my dinner!"

She flees the open window and an empty bottle flies past, smashing on the pavement. Later, she will go back, but for now she will sit, washing herself beside the bus stop and looking in people's bags hopefully.

Sure enough, when she scratches the shack door, it opens. She curls up beside the man and his meagre fire, and he strokes her ragged ears. A rattly purr betrays her heart, and deep snores, his.

And thus, time passes, until a child spies her sitting near the bins. Excitedly, the little one picks her up... "She's bones! Just bones!" She exclaims to her father. Pushka blinks, thinking to run as large hands covered in rings of gold feel her scrawny body. "She is... But she does not have fleas. Not even they like her it seems!”

He laughs, then turns to the child, "we can feed her, if you want. She looks hungry ". Pushka looks towards the shack, then to the fat, warm hands, and follows the girl.

Inside the apartment, the air no longer smells of dirt and vodka. Flowers and cooking meat fill her twitching nose, and warmth fills everything including her belly. Her ears twitch at the sound of the old man calling, but here, she is on a cushion of velvet. She pats the string dangled by the child, then rolls on her back, covering her nose with her paws

This round belly is my thanks, she purrs

The next day, she returns to the shack, but does not steal the old man's food. She winds around his feet and purrs. "Where have you been, pushka? You smell like those Moscow girls"

She bites his hand, and meows. He gets it, he follows.

Leading him to the bus stop, she waits. And here comes the girl, and fat hands, and she meows...

"Good god! Your cat! She is on a tramp" shouts the man. The girl runs towards them, but the ringed fingers close on her shoulder. Pushka looks, but they don't come near

Her little tummy remembers the warm food, and she looks at the old man drifting to sleep on the plastic chairs, then leaps down, tail held high

The girl picks her up, and together they go to the apartment again.

Summer comes, and the girl and fat hands begin to spend more time at home. Pushka, now fat and glossy, watches them pack clothes into cases, running around. She trips them up, and they shout.

Jumping down the balcony, she sees the shack. She wanders in, but it is empty, and the smells have faded. The empty bottle lies dusty, sideways, the chair cobwebbed.

When she returns to the apartment, it too is closed. She hadn't heard a call!

She ran and ran into the town. A familiar scent, but where… Bright lights, noises. Everything so bright. She finds the old man, sitting smaller than before, in a room full of old men

They call her, clacking toothless mouths, but she goes to him, and rubs on his face

His eyes don't see her, though. She meows, she paddles his leg , offers her still ragged ears, but he just sits, staring at space, at dust and windows pushka had long deserted

Hands around her, she is thrown into the night, and walks away

By the river, she'd sits, swinging her tail in the water, she remembers the sparks of the kindling fire, the hungry, empty tummy, scraps of pigeon, and her full heart and purrs when those old, feeble hands scratched between her ears

Her paws paddle a single black stone, claws scratching her frustration. She howls, and smacks the stone into the water, before leaping into the streets, stories yet to be told...