The Rescue Kitten...

They told me to tell you what happened, in my own words, but not to waffle. Well, I thought, easy enough. To be certain, I spent a moment to gather my thoughts. The blow to the head earlier made this not especially productive, and it struck me I should describe what I can see before the eye closed up completely. Where they propped me up meant my field of vision was limited to the front and left, the right being out of the equation by virtue of the enthusiastic bandaging the girl who appeared out of nowhere had done on the pavement. Impinging on my sight was a purplish yellow mist which I realised was not so much out there as in here. Worryingly, it was becoming bigger and I was attempting to look out under it. It was hopeless. All I could see was a bloody limb, which I realised was my forearm, so I decided to have a quick nap. It seemed this was a bad idea, as all their efforts were directed an keeping me awake, as I was now, so to speak, conscious. Someone raised the top quarter of the stretcher so I could now try to sleep sitting up, and someone else gave me a coffee and a straw. It is all very fine to ask me to jot down what happened, but as I saw it from my perspective, and I have to presume it is my perspective they want. It is somewhat embarrassing as, as it turned out. I was nowhere near as quick or effective as I was in my mental run-throughs of this sort of event. Luck was on my side, if being stuck like this could be described as luck. And the chap on the bike was furious, as they mostly are. I was walking down a familiar road as I often do, thinking about a coffee and free-wheeling through life. Things seemed to be good, which is perhaps the best we can get. I had handed in my final dissertation, the on/off girlfriend agreed to join me on a holiday and I was on my way to meet her to firm up details. I was outside the Caffé Nero when I saw a small crowd of people shouting and pointing. They were pointing at a kitten, perhaps nine weeks old, sitting as if transfixed in the path of an on-coming dumper truck. The driver was driving moderately slowly because whomsoever it was he was arguing with had him quite het up on the phone, and oblivious of the kitten. Everything happened fast. No one was moved to do more than point and shout. I felt obliged to jump in, if you understand me. In my mind, I quickly made out a plan of action. I would scoop up the kitten in one hand and with the other, parkour myself up and away from the truck. I didn’t work it out in detail. The driver at the last-minute saw me, if not the kitten, and I think swerved wildly in an attempt to avoid running me over. As he mounted the pavement, the dynamic had changed and my grip, if such it can be called, on the windscreen, faltered. Kitten and I were swept sideways and into to path of head down ‘take no prisoners’ cyclist. It seems his carbon fibre is irreparably banjaxed as he explained to me in expletive-rich terms as I passed out. I am told the kitten jumped off my prone body and ran off down an alleyway, unharmed. I’m sure it thought I was trying to murder him/her. The truck took out the window of the café. People inside were surprised. They were still a bit shocked when I came to. Of course, the aftermath was a crash scene, and also of course, no kitten. To all intents and purposes, I had jumped out in front of a truck and crashed onto a cyclist. When the police turned up, they assumed as much, and as I came round a second time, I heard mention of psychological assessment. Things were no longer looking quite so rosy. I was given some oxycodone which made me hallucinate, so they stopped it. Pity. They dropped down to ordinary morphine and I kept my mumblings as quiet as I could, but they stopped the morphine too. Intravenous paracetamol is no fun at all, but does take the edge off the pain. Anyway, I was getting all healed up by then. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Over those few days, the police made it clear: they saw me as the perp. and were waiting for me to be discharged. One bit of good luck; some kids in the café recorded the events on their phones, as is their wont. Of itself, this did not amount to a hill of beans, but a day or so later one of them put it up on her Facebook page hoping the ‘hero’ who saved the kitten was OK. It showed me with one hand on the front of the truck, in the act of sweeping up the kitten with the other, and the huge tyre inches from the kitten’s head. Things got lively then. First the girlfriend, now on holiday with her other on/off boyfriend had at least the good grace to hope I was OK and to say she forgave me for not turning up. This on Facebook if you don’t mind. She did get some flak. Then the visitors started. Someone in the comments said I was in this hospital and the following day someone said which ward and for a few days I was popular. The kid who initiated the Facebook avalanche seemed to have adopted my cause, and photographed me bandaged up in the hospital bed, posting within minutes. Then the local newspaper turned up, journalist and photographer. The hospital people were getting a bit iffy, so I made it quick and gave then some soundbites. The truck driver was shouting at someone on his phone and not watching the road. The cyclist was travelling too fast if he was not going to look up, and so on. They seemed happy with what I said. When they wrote it up, the local TV crew got in on the act. It was amusing how it happened. The girl who had bandaged me up at the scene of the accident had come in for the second time and had been adjusting my pillows for me. I turned my head and looked at her from little more than the distance of our two noses and we both sank into a kiss as the TV people barged in. My new friend did not jump back straight away, as would many others, but pulled the other pillow straight and stood back, saying with a laugh “I’ll come back tomorrow and we can discuss this further.” And she left. The reporter smelled a story. So hoped I.

The local police were not amused. They paid no attention to social media and progressed the case against me. To me they seemed hell bent on prosecution. I was discharged without ceremony the following morning and the police were pre-warned. As soon as I stepped onto the road, they pounced and I was taken to the station. I thought perhaps I needed a lawyer. I did not know any legal people and was wondering how to progress, when the girl who had bandaged me up came in and asked me if I would like her to represent me, if I had no one else in mind. I decided to accept. She was business-like and explained to the sergeant I should now be released as I had not been charged. There was a bit of a stalemate while they attempted to put a charge together, and failed. I followed her out into the sun and I looked at her. She looked straight back. “Do you think you could tell me your name?” I said. She pulled a card out of her phone cover and handed it to me. Lots of degrees and senior appointments. First name Alexandra. “Does everyone call you Alexandra?” She paused before answering. “My parents call me Alexandra, as do my colleagues at work.” I knew there was more. I turned to her and stood inches apart, looking straight into her eyes. She held my gaze. I said “What do your friends call you. I think we might be friends, so I need to know.” She burst out laughing and said “I think you might be right. My friends call me ‘Flash’ because I dash around so much and am always rushing.” “I’m more or less the opposite, I don’t often rush and am mostly happy where I am. Like here with you right now.” “What about rescuing stray kittens? That was a bit of a quick action.” “Didn’t think it through though, did I? I didn’t plan to end up in hospital. Or jail.” We had reached the corner and I felt there was a danger we would part and go our separate ways. I said “Would you care for a coffee, or a drink?” “No” she said “Thank you, but I have to get back to the office…” “I haven’t been home for a few days, but I am happy to cook dinner for both of us tonight if you are free.” “I’m afraid not…I have a boyfriend…” “Fair enough” I said “Will you send me a bill for today?” She looked in two minds. “My boyfriend has gone off on holiday with someone called Melanie. I am not sure he is my boyfriend any more…” she paused. “About our fees, forget about today. If you are charged, you have my card.”

“By any chance, is the Melanie Melanie Roper?” “Yes, how did you know?” “Well, when I got delayed over the kitten incident, my on/off girlfriend Melanie Roper got fed up because I was late again and went off on holiday with her other on/off boyfriend, who I suspect is your boyfriend.” “You mean she was dating both you and him?” “Yeah, I guess so. It was unspoken but loud, if you know what I mean.” “Were you happy, considering…?” “Not happy, as such. I was waiting to see how it would pan out, but it wasn’t looking good, not because I had a rival, but because she couldn’t see it was not an honourable way to proceed. Had she come out and said what she was doing I would have had a decision to make, but when it was all unsaid it coloured everything, so when she went off on holiday a deux, I lost interest. I guess my interest had been waning for some time and needed an excuse. Anyway, thank you for today, and for looking after me. Give me a ring if you feel like a chat sometime.” and I walked away. I never look back. It did strike me I had not given her my number, so let a few days elapse, rang her office and left my number with her secretary. Melanie returned from holiday and seemed keen to reconnect but I closed it down straight away. She had questions, but I was done. I said goodbye and wished her luck. She seemed miffed. I guess Alexandra’s boyfriend also returned home. I sort of expected a call. About five to midnight, I got a call from an unfamilliar number. I said a tentative “Yes” There was a silence and I was about to end the call when a trimerous voice said “It’s Flash. Can we talk?” “Of course. You don’t sound…happy?” “It has been a pretty terrible day, and yes, I am a bit upset…you wouldn’t come around, would you? I need someone to hold me and make me feel I exist, and I think you would be the ideal person.”

© Dave Cuffe 2025

2023