After descending the slope leading to the water, Michael assessed the cats chances of survival. The river, squeezed between steep cliffs, flowed with a steady, calming rhythm. The monotonous lapping of the waves against the stony shore sounded like a warning: “Half an hour half an hour till the release” Michael knew this sign well.
A kilometre upstream stood the local power stations dam. The spring floods had overfilled the reservoir, and the day before, notices had been sent to all farms downstreamsoon, they would begin releasing excess water, causing the river to rise. No flooding was expectedthe banks were steepbut the lower fields would briefly be submerged. Michael knew it wouldnt hurt to check the pumping station once more, just in case any fittings had loosened.
Limping slightly, the quiet creak of his prosthetic leg accompanying him, he inspected the area thoroughly. Everything was in order. He had already reinforced the pipes and fencing the day before, but another check never hurt. He removed his flat cap, ran a hand through his short, greying hair, spread a small rug over a rock, and sat down, massaging his stump. His leg achedthe changing weather always reminded him. Michael lit a cigarette and waited. He loved watching the sluice gates openfirst, a distant rumble, then a foaming wall of water, followed by a surge sweeping away branches, debris, and last years leaves. The river seemed to come alive, shedding what it no longer needed.
He removed his prosthetic, set it beside him, and squinted as a fallen tree drifted slowly downstreamwould it sink or not? Midway, it snagged on a sandbar. “Stuck,” Michael muttered. In ten minutes, when the floodgates opened, the current would carry it away. But then he noticed something strangeamong the branches, a small creature was struggling. Leaning closer, he recognised ita cat. Grey, sodden, shivering, desperately trying to climb higher. Now perched on the topmost branch, twenty metres from shore, it clung with its claws.
“Poor thing,” Michael thought. “In ten minutes, theyll open the gatesit wont survive.” Quickly reattaching his prosthetic, he gauged the distance to the tree. The odds of rescue were slim, but he couldnt walk away. That lookterrified yet hopefulhad stared back at him once before.
Nearly thirty years earlier, Michael had been a contract soldier, a sergeant patrolling a volatile region with a young private, David. Climbing a narrow mountain path, David had rushed ahead when a snipers bullet shattered his knee. He collapsed, howling in pain. Michael remembered that gazesilent pleading, the realisation that any rescue attempt might cost them both their lives.
Without hesitation, he fired toward the snipers suspected position as a distraction, then sprinted to his comrade. Bullets whistled past; one grazed his helmet. But he made itdragging Davey behind cover while their squad laid down smoke. That same night, Michael stepped on a mine. Since then, theyd both lived without legsone missing the right, the other the left.
Michael swiftly shed his padded coat, grabbed the rug, and waded into the icy water. The cold burned his skin, his breath caught, but turning back wasnt an option. He inched toward the tree, teeth clenched against the chattering. The shallows were behind him now. The roar from upstream grew louderthe gates were opening.
“Come on, kitty, dont be scared!” he rasped, stretching out an arm.
The cat, as if understanding, leaped onto his shoulder, claws digging in. Pain shot through him, but he only grunted, “Hold on.” Turning, he struggled back, limbs numb, the prosthetic hindering him. The waters roar swelledthe surge was nearly upon them. His foot found the bank. One more stepthen darkness. The last thing he saw was the cat leaping ashore.
He awoke by a fire. A kettle hissed merrily beside him, and the catnow drysat warming itself by the flames.
“Well, leave you alone for five minutes, and youre in trouble,” grumbled a familiar voice. It was Davidthe same Davey, though grey at the temples now. “Barely fished you out by your collar.”
Michael sipped the hot tea, warming under his coat. The cat rubbed silently against his knee.
“Quit nagging, Davey,” he smiled. “Knew you wouldnt leave me. Like back then.” He stroked the cats back. “Now theres three of ustwo cripples and a four-legged one.”
“Aye,” David nodded. “This ones yours for life. Saved itnow its stuck to you. Like me.”
They both laughed. Then they stood and started back toward the pumping stationone limping on his left leg, the other on his right. Between them, barely touching the damp ground with its paws, the cat trotted, never straying far from the man whod saved it.
Some bonds, once formed, cannot be brokenwhether by choice, by fate, or by the simple act of reaching out when another soul is drowning.
