A loud meow made George open his eyes.
It was the sixth time this week, so he wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting it, despite trying to get another hour of sleep before the morning paper came.
The eighty-year-old man shifted and sat up in the bed. His bones creaked and popped. Grabbing his cane, he slipped his feet into some slippers and wobbled into the house.
The cat was definitely persistent.
He wrenched open the back door to find the orange tabby sitting there. The cat’s green eyes peered up at him.
“Meow,” it said in a simple tone. His tail flickered.
“Go on, shoo.” George waved his hand. The cat’s ear twitched and he licked his paw before continuing to stare.
Nope, it didn’t work the first time or the sixth one either. “Fine.” He grumbled the word, stepped back, and went into the kitchen.
The cat remained at the door.
Moments later, George hobbled to the porch and plopped the can of tuna in front of the cat.
He sniffed the meal, his whiskers quivering. A pink tongue lapped up the liquid first before he bit into the meaty bites. He cleaned the can, his face and paws.
George watched the little critter. “Go on now, you’ve had your meal.” He shooed him away.
The cat stood and entwined around George’s feet before he leapt off the porch and disappeared into the woods.
The old man smiled and shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Cat.”