It's Another One of Those Nights...

Rare nowadays to have the night to myself, I find it hard to say "good night" and to let go.

New Friend

I made a friend today.

I'd noticed his presence in my neighbourhood for the longest time; always a loner, he would appear every once in a while, presumably to patrol his territory. His battle-worn face was not the friendliest or prettiest of miens, so I only paid scant attention to him.

Lately, however, the black cat had been moping around the grass patch in front of my block, sleeping the days and nights away. Even if I wished to see his face, I wouldn't have been able to - not once in the many times I passed him did he lift his head from the ground.

But I knew he was still surviving, however frailly. He would take shelter when it rained, and in the hotter hours of the day, he would seek the shade from nearby bushes.

However, his general non-activity increasingly worried me, especially since I did not know how, when or where he got his sustenance from, or indeed if he still fed. It's always painful to see an life fade away, no matter how small.

So when I saw him again last night, I told myself if he were still here today, I would buy him something to eat. On my way home, I remembered this promise I made to myself-to him really-and wondered if he would even be in a condition to eat. I wondered if the money spent would be money wasted.

True enough, when I approached the grass patch, his dark body was there. This time, however, he was not in his usual spot in the middle of the patch, but at the edges of it, lying motionless. Fearing that he had breathed his last, I quickened my pace to approach him. This enabled me to see that he was not lying down, but in fact, crouching and drinking from a small pool of water in the grass. As I drew close, he looked up, and his eyes, wet with infection, met with mine.

And that did it for me. I knew he was still trying to take care of himself, so it was worth a shot. I went to the nearby mini-mart and got him a tin of catfood. As I neared the grass's edge, I opened the tin.

His ears pricked, and he turned to look at me.

I decided to pick a spot closer to him, and walked round the edge of the grass to the other side. He studied me, and watched keenly as I placed the meal on the raised concrete slab concealing a drain.

I walked off, worried that he would be fearful of me and run away if I came too near. But to my surprise, when I turned back, I realised that he had not headed towards the food, but to me. So I backtracked and led him to the tin of food, where he gingerly sniffed at it, then proceeded to rub his head against my legs.

This cat was either blind, lost his sense of smell, or just plain manja.

Eventually, I had to scoop out the food from the tin, and he would proceed to chow it down eagerly, yet with a neatness that is quintessential of a cat. A neatness that one would not expect of a cat like him. The disjoint images of his scar-lined face versus the earnesty of the leg rub, the etiquette of his table manners, made me view this cat in a different light.

After his meal, I took a last look at him before taking the lift back home. He was grooming himself now, the first time I had ever seen him do so, the sign of a satisfied meal (surely).

Hooray for the Old Guard!

As well as for common decency, honesty, and respect for proper discourse on matters of morality/ethics.