Is? I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
What do you mean is? What should I do?
First, get out of the car and see if its still alive.
I snapped awake. The courtyard was deserted, the night air thick with a metallic smelllike fear itself. I eased the door open, leaned forward without stepping out, and peered beneath the chassis. There it was: a little grey bundle, trembling, eyes wide open.
Its alive, Tom, I whispered. Its alive what now?
What now? I repeated. Take it to the vet. You were heading there anyway. Hurry!
I lifted the cat gentlyit didnt resist, merely lay there, breathing shallowly. I placed it on the back seat, tucked it into a battered shoe box that had been sitting on the floor, and drove off.
The clinic was supposed to be a halfhour away, as usual. That day, however, half an hour stretched into an eternity, the kind of day that lingers in memory forever.
In the boot, a stray dog already lay curled upa gaunt mix, the victim of a railway accident. The neighbours from the cottage Id been staying at had begged me to bring it in, Give it a humane end, dont let it suffer, theyd said. It was a stray, unwanted by anyone, yet we felt sorry for it. So I slipped it in too, almost on autopilot.
Now both the cat and the dog were my burden.
I raced down the lane like a man possessed, the thought looping in my mind: What a day this is, what a life this has become.
At the clinic, to my surprise, there was no queue. I burst through the doors, box in hand, as if escorting my wife to childbirth. The vet snatched it up and ushered me into the examination room.
Whats wrong with it? How is it? I stammered at the doorway.
Well do an Xray straight away, the assistant replied, nodding. It doesnt look serious, but well check.
Fifteen minutes dragged on like a lifetime. The clocks seemed to mock me, their hands frozen. I paced the corridors, stared at the ceiling, at the posters of British Shorthairs and Maine Coons, while a knot of shame and guilt tightened inside me. I hadnt noticed the dogs injury earlier; Id driven too fast, taken the wrong turn. The tiny, helpless creature had stepped onto the road a heartbeat later, and I was thinking about the clinics side entrance. A single secondone click of destinyhad left me holding my breath, pleading silently, Please, let it live. Let me fix this.
Finally the vet emerged.
It needs surgery.
And then it hit methe dog was still in the boot!
I turned back to the car. Silence. No whimper, no movement. I pressed the release; the boot creaked open.
Two terrified eyes stared up from the darkness. The dog was alive.
Hey, I whispered. Dont be angry well sort this out.
I sped back to the clinic, catching the veta stern woman with a dry staremidstep.
Theres another dog in the boot, I blurted. It was hit by a train, its hind legs
We were called to euthanise it, she said. They said it had no chance.
I stalled, words failing. Her expression stayed impassive. She lifted her coat, grabbed a coat from the rack, and followed me.
We opened the boot together. She glanced at the dog, then at me, her eyes cutting like an Xray.
Are you mad? Who told you it had to be put down? Yes, its legs wont heal, but it can live. Weve taken in cases like this before. Bring it in.
I nodded, unable to argue. The vets reassuranceIt will livewas enough.
That night I burst through the front door, and Mabel, my sister, turned from the stove, eyes wide.
Whats happened to you, Tom?
Without a word I disappeared into the bedroom, fetched the old ledger where Id hidden cash between the pages, a dream of a motorbike flashing through my mind. It no longer mattered.
Tom? Whats going on? Mabel pressed.
Theyll live! I shouted. Both of them!
Who? she laughed, halfmad. Explain later.
We kept them. The cat I named Molly; the dog, Baxter. We endured the infusions, sleepless nights, the long road to recovery together.
Mabels only reply was, If theyre ours now, well make it work. And she did. She fed Molly with love, bandaged Baxters wounds. We wept when Molly first stood on shaky legs, laughed when Baxter, now on a wheelchair, raced across the garden.
Five years later they were no longer mere pets. They were family.
When I finally returned home, the scent of fresh scones greeted me. Mabel wrapped me in a tight hug from behind, trembling.
Whats happening? I asked.
Well be prosperous, she whispered, hand on her belly.
At first I didnt understand, then it clicked.
Im forty now; shes thirtyseven. Wed tried for years, almost gave up, almost broken. Then a peculiar woman once told us, Youll have three children. Two are gifts of nature, one is a blessing of Godkindness, patience. The road will be hard, but it will be bright.
Molly curled up, asleep beside a plush rabbit on the windowsill. Baxter, his muzzle grey with age, shuffled over, rested his head on my leg, and let out a long sigh.
I didnt believe it then. Now I do.
Because once we said yes to life, and life answered back with a resounding yes.
