Wilson

By Tom Leventhal

Wilson sat on the rocks overlooking the water and watched the cat. It was a scrawny thing, skinny, jittery and full of fleas much like him. Wilson shook the last bit of sleep out of his eyes and waited. Sooner or later the lady would arrive. She always did.

Wilson inventoried the contents of his pockets as he waited: 35 cents in panhandled change, a small pocket knife and the Zippo lighter he bought in Saigon so long ago. The Zippo had been through it all with him- the Corps, his triumphant return, the failed marriage and too many jobs and drunken nights to remember. Wilson flicked the wheel and was heartened to see that it still lighted.

The cat jumped up on a rock and stared at him, its back slightly arched as though it knew of his intentions. Hissing, it backed away and hid under the rock pile with half a dozen others like it. All were waiting for the lady.

Wilson looked up at the bridge that spanned the waterway. Most of the traffic flowing across it was headed in the same direction. The bridge was his crude calendar. This much traffic meant that it was a weekday as the commuters headed for their jobs. On the weekend, the traffic was quieter in the morning and later the cars would be full of families on their way to the park, beach or whatever. Wilson was past caring where they went.

All of a sudden, the cries of a hundred cats could be heard as they flowed out of the rocks onto the pathway. They know, he thought. They know exactly when she arrives every day. They must be able to hear the car driving down the service road. Wilson looked up and saw the dust trail of the car headed toward the jetty. He moved back and took his position, sitting slightly away from the action as though he were studying the water or the boats that bobbed silently upon it. He ignored the wailing of the cats.

The lady’s car crunched to a halt, spewing gravel all along the road. Slowly, she got out and hobbled around the car to the trunk. The braver of the cats went piling towards her as she lifted the heavy bag of dry cat food out and carried it to the path.

“Here puss, puss, puss. It’s breakfast time” she called out as she poured the cat food on the pavement. “Here puss, puss, puss, Here puss, puss, puss”.

She stood there and watched them scramble to the pile and eat, while at the same time keeping a weary eye on Wilson. He studiously ignored the Cat Lady, as he had come to call her.

Sighing quietly, she looked past the pile of cat food to the rocks. Today, like always, the smallest of the felines were hanging back, afraid of the pack and the people.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” she cooed. “I have a special treat for you”. Wilson snuck a glance in her direction and, as quickly, turned away. It was best not to force his hand. The Cat Lady shuffled back to her car and bent over the trunk. Wilson could hear the turning of the old can opener as it laboriously completed its task. Slowly the Cat Lady moved towards the rocks.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Fresh Friskies Buffet today”. She bent over and placed the cans on the rocks and watched the smaller cats slowly approach. When they finally started nibbling on the food, she smiled and started back to her car. The trip seemed to take an eternity to Wilson. His head swiveled back and forth between the old lady’s progress and that of the kittens. Finally she made it back to her car and got in.

“Bye, bye, kitties,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow”. The car started up and reversed down the road. As soon as it was out of sight, Wilson jumped up and ran for the cans. Breakfast was served.