A Little Treat

He was just a wet pink-black scrap when her son, Jason, found him on the side of the road. He'd told her all about it, so she knew the tale by heart, as if she'd been there herself.

Jason was visiting her with his partner, Sam, and their baby, Jesse. He pulled over on to the grass verge to investigate the cardboard box someone had left there.

"Don't!" Sam had said, "We have enough crap at home as it is!"

"I'm only going to look," Jason said mildly, but as awkward as he ever was. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and got out of the car.

The tale being told in tandem, Sam often stepped in at this point.

Sam watched Jason squat down and peer in the box, and then (typical!) he did not just walk away with a shrug, or a sheepish smile. No, he was reaching into the bloody box wasn't he...

He walked back to the car, opening the box out flat and folding it so it would fit neatly in the boot. Jason slid back into the drivers seat.

"Couldn't leave it there," he said, "That's littering."

Sam almost heaved a sigh of relief, except that the front of Jason's jacket was bulging in a suspicious way.

"Couldn't leave this there, either," he said, his grin sheepish.

There it was, blind, birth-damp, and scrawny, the pink little void of its mouth opening and closing.

"Here," Jason passed it over to Sam, "I can't hold it while I'm driving. Just try to keep it alive until we get to Mum's, alright?"

"Ummm." The poor little thing felt far too cold, and even though the destination wasn't far away, that seemed like a tall order.

"Is it... is it a kitten?" Sam asked, having never seen one so young before.

Jason, also concerned with how cold and weak the kitten seemed, put his foot down. "Yes," he said. "I think so."

+

When they arrived at Agnes' house, she picked up the thread of the story. How she kept the little thing warm, and sent Jason out for special formula milk to feed it with. How she wouldn't let Jason take it away with him.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, "You have the baby to care for, that's quite enough."

"I'll take it to a shelter, then," Jason said.

"Pfft!" his mother snorted. "The shelters are all full. They won't thank you. No, I can mind this little one. He'll be alright with me."

Nobody actually knew if he was a boy or not, but, they all agreed, they couldn't keep calling him it.

Agnes named him Clark, after the actor from Gone with the Wind,.

"Well," said Jason, thinking she meant Clark Kent, "he wasn't found with a red blanket, but I think it works."

Agnes had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn't arguing anymore, that was the main thing.

She fed the kitten around the clock, and, against Jason's and Sam's expectations, Clark didn't just survive. He thrived. He became like another grandbaby she could spoil. And she did spoil him, something fierce.

He grew stronger every day, and then he just grew.

"You're overfeeding him, Mum," Jason said on his next visit, while Jesse pulled all his toys out of the box again, just for fun.

"Am not," she said serenely, shaking the packet of treats. "He's a growing boy, and he needs to keep his strength up."

"Seriously, Mum," Jason said, "Look at the size of him. I'm surprised your floor doesn't crack when he puts his paws down. They're huge!"

"Nonsense!" Agnes retorted. "He's just my iddy biddy baby, aren't you Clark?"

+

"Mum," Jason said, "I think you should call the wildlife rescue. I don't think Clark is an ordinary cat."

"Of course he isn't!" beamed Agnes. "He's extra-ordinary. Aren't you, Clark?"

"No, mum," Jason tried again, "I think he's, like, a jaguar or something..."

"Silly boy! Jaguars are like leopards! Clark doesn't have spots."

Jason looked closer at Clark's coat. He did have some markings. They were black on black, so they were hard to see.

"Mum, I'm sorry, but you need to put Clark in another room when we come over. He's a wild animal, and he could really hurt Jesse."

+

As the weeks went by, Agnes couldn't deny it any longer. Clark was enormous, and when the sunshine caught his coat just right, even she could see the circular patterns on it.

Jason tried to get her to surrender him to a wildlife rescue, or to a zoo, but Agnes was having none of it.

"I won't have him in a cage!" she said.

"They don't put them in cages anymore, Mum," Jason pleaded. "He will have a great life, with people who really understand him and can take care of him properly..."

Agnes looked a little hurt.

"He has a great life," she countered, "I understand him and take care of him just fine! He's not meant for captivity. He'll be alright with me."

"But, Mum..." Jason pushed his glasses up his nose. "He's already living in captivity. Unless... Wait, you don't let him outside, do you?"

Agnes' cheeks went quite rosy, and her eyes flashed. She lifted her chin, and set her jaw.

"No!" she said, a bit too quickly. "Of course not!"

+

Jason's words had got Agnes thinking, and she started letting Clark out more and more. There were no other houses for miles around. No farms. Just one road, which worried her, but drivers were already encouraged to slow down for deer and so on, so maybe it would be OK. She encouraged Clark to roam out in the field out the back, which backed onto moorland, with forest to the east.

Every morning he would return, eat breakfast in the kitchen and then find a spot to snooze in. He was a ridiculous size by now. Agnes worried, thanks to Jason and his reasoned arguments, that she'd get into trouble with the authorities for having a wild animal without the proper paperwork.

Clark sometimes disappeared for a few days at a time. Agnes would fret at home, pacing the border of the field and calling him. Hikers found a deer disembowelled and partially eaten by "something gigantic, with tremendous claws". Agnes wrung her hands, hoping nobody would go out on the moors and catch Clark, or worse, shoot him.

Nobody did. They liked having a mysterious, nigh-on mythical Beast at a safe distance from their doorsteps.

Agnes is in her nineties now, and she still goes out for walks across the moors, or in the nearby woodland, shaking a box of treats. The people from the next town got wind of it, and thought she was just a crazy cat lady. Always out looking for this cat that is always running off. They thought maybe the cat didn't even exist, and the biddy was just mad. A few people worried that the Beast of the moors might get her, but not really.

Nobody connected the mythical Beast with the cat-lady, and that's just as well.

She's out there now, in her blue shawl and her wellies, calling him home for a little treat. The shadow will emerge from the forest and detach itself, slinking over the ground... When it gets close enough, yellow eyes shining in the grey light, she'll beam to see him. He'll trot up for his skritches and a little treat, and maybe he'll come indoors and stretch out on the rug for a nap.

+

Thank you for reading! See you tomorrow!