by Maxine Churchman
Warm milk and honey
During
the warmer months, after the leaves unfurl, I spend most of my time near the top
of my favourite tree. I like to climb up early, before too many people are
around, and I stay to watch the comings and goings of the neighbourhood below. I
stay really still, so no-one notices me – and sometimes I nap.
From
my vantage point, I have a good view of Mr Donovan’s garden and his bird feeder.
Every morning, he shuffles down his lumpy path, with his walking stick in one
hand and scraps for the birds in the other.
I
like Mr Donovan; he talks to me and sometimes gives me treats. He has a great
potting shed too, with lots of interesting nooks and crannies to explore, and
spiders to play with.
As
I watched, I saw his back door open. It was sometime before he emerged into the
sun light though. His stick preceded him and he edged through the door
awkwardly, shuffling sideways ,holding onto the frame until he was almost facing
the wrong way. He reached into the doorway, picked up the plate with the scraps
for the birds and did an odd shuffling dance until he was facing down the garden
again. He stood still for ages, so I lost interest and looked around for
something more interesting.
Two
old ladies came around the bend, walking slowly towards my tree. One was like a
sapling in the wind; tall, thin and bent over at the top. The other was heavy
and waddled like a duck. They were carrying shopping bags and I spent a few
minutes imaging what wonderful items they may have bought. I could see their
mouths moving, one starting to speak even before the other had finished, but
from that distance I couldn’t hear their words.
I
yawned from boredom and considered a quick nap, when my attention was caught by
a croaky shout followed by a soft thud. Mr Donovan was lying on his path face
down, with his stick wedged awkwardly under his hip. The plate was on the grass
surrounded by spilled scraps. I wondered if any of the scraps were worth getting
down for, but I wasn’t particularly hungry and it was a long way down. The women
were still quite a way off, but their voices were starting to reach me. I looked
around for something else to amuse me, but after a couple of cars passed by, it
was all quiet again.
Mr
Donovan hadn’t moved and I thought I could see blood near his head. I thought
perhaps I should take a closer look, so I climbed down carefully and squeezed
through the bars of his gate, noting that Mr Donovan was not visible from the
path outside.
After
walking around him a couple of times and checking out the scraps I wondered if I
should do something. There was certainly blood leaking from his head and his
breathing sounded raspy. The voices of the two women caught my attention as they
approached the gate. I squeezed back out onto the path and waited for them to
get closer.
“Follow
me, man down,” I yelled at them.
They
stopped and looked at me.
“Hello
kitty, you’re a friendly one aren’t you?” one crooned at me. I considered
rubbing up against her leg, but I was too annoyed with them to show such
pleasure.
“Ridiculous
people, I want you to follow me,” I yelled in frustration and walked towards the
gate. I looked back and they were just gawking at me, like the goldfish in
Mandy’s bedroom.
“I
don’t think he wants you to pet him Mary, he sounds angry. What a strange
cat.”
“It’s
almost like he wants us to follow him. Look at the way he is looking at us - so
expectantly.”
“Don’t
be ridiculous, Mary, let’s get home before it rains.”
They
walked past the gate, so I ran in front of them, almost tripping the
sapling.
“What
is wrong with you people? Follow me or I’ll bite your ankles.” I thought perhaps
they would respond better to a threat, but I don’t like biting ankles, it leaves
a bad taste in the mouth. I weaved back and forward in front of them, so they
couldn’t continue onward, then I pushed between them. “Now! You slow dogs,” I
shouted over my shoulder.
Thankfully
they followed me to the gate. I continued calling to them from the other
side.
“I
think there might be someone fallen over in the garden Iris. Come on let’s take
a closer look.”
I
climbed back up the tree and watched proceedings from my vantage point. At last
there was something worth watching, although I could have done without the
wailing sirens. There were several people fussing around Mr Donovan for ages.
Just before it became too boring, he was taken away in a van with blue flashing
lights.
When
everything was quiet again, I felt exhausted so I settled down for a good
nap.
About the author
Maxine Churchman is a mother and
grandmother from Essex UK. Her hobbies include reading, hiking, yoga and more
recently writing. So far she has concentrated on short stories, but hopes to
make progress on a Novel in 2020.
cccmaxine.blogspot.com
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