‘Old Thomas’ is a tale from Lucinda Sue Crosby, about a chivalrous cat with a sense of protective honour that would make Boots proud. I’d like a chap like this to look after me when I’m all grown up….

*****

They call me Old Thomas.
As a stripling, I was rescued from starvation by the Young Miss near 17 years ago, almost to the day. She was that kind to me, ever so tender, nursing me to hale and hearty and saving my life in the bargain.

I like to think I returned the favor.

Of course she’s a widow now. I’ve been with her through everything and will keep her safe and sound till one of us has passes on.

I remember the day that husband of hers first appeared, striding across the moor. Dressed like a Londoner yet he didn’t move like one, stepping lightly with no fear at all over the footbridge that crossed the chasm; he was that nimble. Never even touched the ancient hand rail or glanced down into the abyss, a drop that could make a mighty oak quiver.

He said he was hunting a rare butterfly but within a week, my take was he was hunting her fortune. He wooed her and won her easily. Even though of age, she was naïve and unworldly, what with losing her parents young. And once he had her, he was that cruel. I loathed the man.

He couldn’t abide me either. I was often banished to the barn with a kick to the backside. At first, Young Miss took up for me and bewailed my ill use. But each time that husband of hers slapped her hard once, twice and she shrank back. He dismissed her Nanny and the servants who’d been with her for years and brought in strangers with cold eyes and grasping palms. Soon her bloom faded and the light in her eyes, once joyful and sparking life in others, dimmed almost to nothing.

The husband walked into Highgate at least four evenings a week to imbibe deeply at the Crown and Thorn. I know; I followed him. At first, the shop keepers and neighboring farmers were wary of the newcomer. But he stood a round regular and was generous with a bit of a loan here and there that never had to be paid back and was always light hearted company. Eventual, the townsfolk admitted him to their circle and if they wondered about the state of Young Miss, they never mentioned it.

One dark and blustery spring night, after a bit too much ale, the husband was on his way back across the moor and slipped on the rise leading to the footbridge. That started me thinking.

Summer came and went. My Young Miss grew thinner and quieter. I kept close watch of the husband as he began spending secret time with a loud, overflowing woman in Highgate.

Lucinda Sue Crosby cinnutsoo@yahoo.com – “Old Thomas” cont’d

Alongside my normal duties, I started a small digging project and waited for a particular set of circumstances to fall into place.

It was late October. Rain fell steady for seven days. When it finally eased up, the husband strode out toward town in a hurry. He drank overmuch, spent an extra hour with his abundantly endowed dox and so started back much later than usual. There was a half moon creeping in and out of angry clouds and after the church bell rang twice, the rain poured down once again.

He got to the rise at the footbridge and fell on his nose. With a laugh, he stood up unsteadily and moved forward. Then he tripped over somthing unaccustomed on the path, shrieked in fright, groped for the hand rail and breathed relief as he clenched it. Then, with a little sigh of wood, the bridge gave way, taking the handrail and the husband with it to perdition.

The Young Miss was heavy despairing for a time. But with steady attention from me and her old beloved servants returned, she began to heal. For years now, she has been much like her old self except that she will never again be taken in by a handsome face and too pleasant ways.

I usually spend the morning and early evening comfortably curled upon her lap. She sings to me then and calls me her dear puss, a nickname over sentimental for my taste but I allow it.

They long ago repaired the footbridge that tragically gave way that fateful night. One police inspector said it looked just like an animal of some kind had got at the mooring.