A New Friend
Aimée climbed the ladder, stepping carefully on each rung so her chequered red and white boots didn’t slip in the rain. The maneuver was compounded by the fact that she didn’t want to drop her froggy umbrella, but Aimée expertly navigated the obstacles, until she sat on top of the derelict van.
“Mr Fillmore, please meet my new friend, Mr Paws,” Aimée said. A black cat jumped on top of the van, and sat by the girl.
“Hello, Mr Paws,” the van said dreamily. “Your feet are so soft.”
“Hello, Mr Fillmore,” the cat said. “Thank you, but all cats have soft feet. We’re lucky, I guess.” Mr Paws’ whiskers twitched in the rain.
“I… I thought cats didn’t like the rain,” Mr Fillmore said.
“Mr Paws is not an ordinary cat,” Aimée told him. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone to add, “Mr Paws is… not really a cat.”
“Oh?” Fillmore said. “That sounds interesting. And what are you, Mr Paws?”
“He’s an alien,” Aimée answered before the cat could speak.
“An alien?” Fillmore repeated. “Oh, that is even more interesting, Aimée.”
“Yes,” Mr Paws said finally. “I’m an explorer. I don’t mind the rain; I have a force field that doesn’t let me get soaked,” he explained.
Aimée looked carefully. Indeed the cat’s fur was shiny and dry. Aimée whistled softly, something she had learned to do only last week.
“Oh, that’s very handy! Do you think I could use your… force field as well?” she asked.
“It’s unipersonal, I’m afraid,” the cat said. “And I think your umbrella wouldn’t really like it, don’t you think so?”
“Oh, you’re right. My umbrella likes it when he can do his work properly, like now.” Aimée stared at a droplet slithering down her yellow raincoat’s sleeve.
“You know you can always get inside me,” Mr Fillmore said.
“Thank you, Mr Fillmore, but I like the rain,” Aimée said. “It reminds me of mom. She liked it, too.”
“I remember,” the van said.
Aimée stared at the rain and smiled.
“Where’s your mom, Aimée?” the cat asked.
“Gone. Forever,” Aimée said. “But every time it rains, I get up here on top of Mr Fillmore and watch the rain, because she liked it. We used to do that…”
“Do what?” asked the cat.
“Watch it rain, in silence. Mom used to have a tea and she made me a cocoa. And she sang for me. I still listen to her songs in the rain.”
The cat tilted his head and listened carefully.
“You’re right, I can hear her,” he said.
Aimée started humming a song. Mr Fillmore joined in. Mr Paws remained silent, but rocked his head this way and that in rhythm. His tail moved of his own accord.
“Do you have kittens, Mr Paws?” Aimée asked suddenly.
“Two,” he said. “They’re back home.” And he looked up.
Aimée followed his gaze.
“You must feel lonely,” she said.
“We explorers lead a lonely life,” Mr Paws said.
“Do you miss them?” Aimée said.
The cat kept looking up and remained silent for some time.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I do.”
“I miss mom too,” Aimée said. “Tell you what, Mr Paws. Whenever you feel lonely, you can come visit me. I’ll keep you company.”
The cat looked at her.
“I could also stay here, if you want,” he said. “That way I will keep you company.”
Aimée smiled again.
“Would you? But… you’re an explorer. You cannot do much exploring if you stay with me all the time.”
“It will be enough, I think,” he said. “But I’ll look around from time to time, if you don’t mind. That way I’ll be able to send my reports home.”
“Good! That’s settled, then. Oh, if dad agrees, that’s it.”
“Ah,” Mr Paws said. “Do you think he’ll be a problem? I can solve that, if you want.”
“What?”
“I can use a mind-controlling device. He will agree to anything you say.”
Mr Fillmore gasped. To her credit, Aimée paused for less than a second.
“I don’t think that’s very adequate,” she said. “I wouldn’t like you to use it on myself, for example. Would you?”
The cat seemed to shrug.
“Aimée? Dinner’s ready!” a man’s voice said. “Are you out there in the rain? You’ll get a cold!”
“Coming, dad!” she said. “Come, Mr Paws!”
Aimée climbed down and entered the house.
“Aimée…” his father started.
“I had my raincoat and my umbrella, dad. And my boots. I’m dry,” she said. “This is Mr Paws. Can he stay with us, please?”
“A cat? I haven’t had a cat since I was your age,” he said. “Wait a second… he’s dry?”
~~~~
This is my entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: April 25–May 1, 2016 on the Writer’s Discussion Group in Google+.
When I sat down to write this week, I just zoned out and ended up with almost 800 words, instead of the 600 that the rules stipulate. I had to painfully edit the original down to comply with those rules. Luckily, here at medium I don’t need to: the version here is the full one, which is much better, in my invested opinion.
