Ever since Charlie lost what he cared about most, he hasnt set paw inside his kennel. Now, he sleeps right on the bare earth. He barely eats. He doesnt even respond to the only friend he has left, Thomas
Another November creeps in. Each day grows colder; a heavy slate sky looms above, and people hurry by in thick woollen coats and scarves. Theres a sense that winter is just around the corner, and Charlie knowssoon enough, the snow will fall.
I wonder when theyll fill up my kennel with warm straw, the old dog muses as he sprawls on the damp ground. Ive got enough fur to get by, but these nights cut right to the bone
Lazily, he watches the workmen dart about the yard, hauling boxes and loading them into lorries that belch their unpleasant fumes into the chilly air. Not a soul pays any mind to the old guard dog.
Oi, you! Just lying about, are you? barks the security guard, stepping from the cabin for a smoke. Youre here to guard the warehouse, not laze around like some pampered pup. Useless mutt!
He spits on the ground, scowling as he turns away. His name is Peterhes disliked Charlie since the dog was a tiny pup, for no reason at all.
Soon after, a dark green car pulls up near the warehouse. Instantly, Charlie leaps to his feet.
All right, old friend! A man in a flat cap with a stubbly jaw comes toward him. Come to make you cosy.
Its ThomasCharlies favourite guard. He always has a kind word for the dog, and something tasty too. Even on his day off, he doesnt forget: hes brought straw to keep Charlie warm.
Thomas stuffs the kennel with fresh straw, then brings out a bowl of hot porridge with bits of meat. He waits until Charlie has finished every last bite, takes the empty bowl to wash, and only then does he leave.
The old dog is alone again. Night is a comfort; in sleep, he doesnt have to feel the sting of loneliness quite so sharply.
When night falls, Charlie pads over to his kennel, ready to crawl in, but freezes.
Deep within the straw, two bright green circles gleam. Theres a menacing hiss.
Charlie gazes at the uninvited guest, unbothered by her warning. A skinny black cat sits before him, eyes wide and fierce. Her look says it all: Dont push your luck.
Despite her glare, Charlie feels a spark of joy. Its a tight squeeze, but theres room for two, he decides.
He takes a step forward, only for a tiny paw, claws sharp as knives, to flash through the air.
Hissssss! The cat isnt open to negotiation.
Thats fine Ill sleep outside, Charlie thinks, and curls up by the entrance to his own little house.
He wakes early, as always eager for breakfast. Peering into the kennel, Charlie sees the cat sleeping soundly.
How sweet she looks, he thinks.
A rumpled, surly Peter shuffles from the cabin and tosses some scraps Charlies way. Not that Peter ever bothers with proper foodthe rules say Charlie should get real meals, but Peter just throws whatevers handy. Charlie often ends up with a sore belly after, but theres no one to complain to.
Charlie sniffs the leftovers and catches another scent.
The cat! Unafraid, shes right beside him, gnawing on a sausage skin as if she owns the place.
Charlie is glad to shareespecially with one so thin.
Catching his gaze, the cat tenses, ready to defend herself. But Charlie calmly munches on his bread, eyeing her with curiosity.
Maybe she wants some bread too, he thinks, feeling a bit sheepish, and sets aside his piece.
All day, they size each other upthe cat, wary and bristling; Charlie, gently intrigued.
That evening, as his shift ends, Peter throws more scraps toward Charlie. The cat jumps at the food.
Whats this, then? Witch, are you? Off with you, you nasty thing! Peter snarls.
The cat darts behind Charlie. At first, Charlies startled, but quickly cottons on. He bares his teeth, fur bristling, eyes fierce.
Peter snorts with disdain and storms off; the new guard on the late shift doesnt look twice at the animals.
The cat glances gratefully at Charlie, just for a moment, and Charlie wonders:
Peter called her a Witch Is that her name, then? Seems as good as any.
He decides: the cat shall be called Witch.
Frost sets in before long. Witch settles in the straw again; Charlie, not wanting to disturb her, peeks inside.
She catches his guilty glance. She cant quite comprehend why a dog would be so gentle. Still, she shuffles over, making room for him.
That night, the two sleep pressed together, the deepest and most peaceful rest theyve ever had.
From then on, Charlie and Witch are inseparable. They share food, sleep together, and chatter in their animal way.
When Thomas sees Witch curled by Charlies side for the first time, he can hardly believe it; shes so tiny, so frailyet so bold beside the old dog.
But soon he understands: animals love, too. And love, as everyone knows, doesnt care about size or strength.
Thomas takes Witch under his wing: a visit to the vet, a good brush, an extra helping of food each day. Within a fortnight, shes already looking healthier.
Only Peter spoils their peace. He convinces himself the black cat brings bad luck, and decides to get rid of her.
Once, he even tries to poison her. But Charlie smells the bait and stops heralways on guard.
One especially bitter night, Charlie and Witch lie in the kennel as Charlie licks a fresh scratch on Witchs sideshes forever getting into trouble.
Suddenly, their noses twitch. A strange smell
Charlie bolts outside and barks with all his might. Fire! The warehouse is ablaze!
Peter bursts from the cabin, shouting and pacing before the burning building, patting his pockets franticallyhis mobiles missing.
Witch meows loudly. Peter turnsthere she is, right by the phone that had dropped in the rush.
Blasted witch! He roughly shoves her aside, grabs his phone, and rings the fire brigade.
Charlie dashes to his friends side. Witch limps away from the smoke, and the dog follows. Together, they wait out the blaze in a bush nearby.
When the flames are doused, Peter glowers with hatred at Witch as he leaves.
The next evening, Charlie hears voices at the gate:
Im telling you, shes nothing but trouble. Have you seen those eyes? She is a proper witch! Peter rants.
So, what do you suggest? someone replies, bored.
Take her to the woods and leave her, thats what.
Charlie freezes. His heart aches as he snuggles close to a sleeping Witch.
Youve lost the plot, mate! Shell die out there, says Thomas, sharply.
I couldnt care less! As if the fire wasnt enough?
Yeah, maybe black cats really do bring trouble someone mumbles.
No one is dumping her anywhere. Enough of this nonsense, Thomas says firmly, and leaves.
Morning comes. Charlie wakes, stretches, yawns, and, by habit, turns to nuzzle Witch.
But shes gone.
He noses through the strawnothing. Dashes outside, searching, whining softly.
A black shape flickers near the cabinCharlie runs over.
Its only a shopping bag, rustling in the breeze.
The door swings open.
What are you doing here? Looking for your little friend? Peter sneers. Shes gone. Shes causing trouble somewhere else now.
Charlie stares, desperate for another meaning in Peters words.
Though, who knows. Shell not last out there odds are, shes already dead.
Charlie doesnt make a sound. Not even a whimper escapes as the hurt lodges deep inside.
The first flakes of snow drift down. Large, cold snowflakes settle on the unmoving dog.
Ever since they took away what he cared for most, Charlie hasnt entered his kennel. He sleeps on the bare ground, barely eats, and doesnt respond even to his lone friend, Thomas.
Charlie, shes in a really good place now, believe me. Shes warm and safe. You trust me, dont you? Thomas quietly speaks, stroking Charlies head.
I want to be there too. I want to find my Witch Please, let me go to her
The day before, Charlie overheard strangers talking nearby. They spoke about him as if he were already gonea thing, not a living soul. Said he was old and useless, that the warehouse needs a new, younger dog. Time to let the old one go
How the conversation ended, Charlie doesnt rememberhe no longer cares about anything but one thing.
Snow continues to fall, blanketing his back, his face, his paws. Gradually, Charlies covered with a thick white quilt. He slowly closes his eyes.
Maybe I wont ever open them again I hope not, drifts through his weary mind.
The world falls quiet. Charlie can barely feel his body; the wind and scents fade. Then, in the darkness, a familiar voice breaks through:
Wake up, my friend. Come on, up you get! Youre coming with me.
The rest is a blur: the warmth of Thomass car, the soft seat, the bumpy drive, strange, new smells floating through the cracked window.
Charlies grief clings to him, making him weak and ill. Not long into the ride, he falls into a deep sleep, lullabied by gentle music from the radio
A few hours pass before they stop. Thomas helps Charlie out, supporting him as they walk up to a house.
Youll live with me now, mate.
Charlie hardly cares. Still, he makes an effort to appear happyclumsy and unconvincing, but Thomas understands without words.
There, there, once were inside, youll feel better, Thomas assures him, opening the door.
When they step inside, Charlie perks upthe scent! No smell is more precious or familiar.
Its just as he hopes.
A black bundle leaps gracefully from the windowsill and dashes to him. Even before the cat comes close, Charlie knowsits her. His Witch!
Told you she was somewhere safe, Thomas smiles. Did you really think Id let those lot dump your friend in the woods?
But Charlie and Witch have no time for himtheyve too much to say to each other.
When theyve talked as only animals can, and curl up side by side for a nap, Charlie ponders: what does witch really mean?
Hes about to ask Witch herselfbut thinks better of it. After all, it doesnt matter. Shes his friend. And thats more than enough.
