Childhood friend

He pulled the cat from his father’s shelf. It was a greyish colour, probably some sort of tan once. The glass eyes had a few scratches on them, one eye looking clouded. There was the barest sound of something inside of the stuffed animal that had once sounded like a purr, but whatever mechanism inside that made the noise when it moved had muffled into the barest sound, more like a very quiet grumble.

The boy clutched the toy to his chest and ran off to find where his father was doing laundry.

“That was mine when I was a kid,” his father said, folding the boy’s shorts. “Took it everywhere with me. She was the cat I never really had.”

The boy absently pet it while his father spoke, the muffled sound continuing with each motion.

“Want her? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to go around the block again.”

The boy beamed.

“Careful with her. Sassy’s not as spry as she used to be.”

The father watched with fondness as his son and Sassy ran off to play.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s