The Unfamiliar

I awoke shivering with cold, still tired and hungry. I had no idea where I was but estimated that I was at least three hours from home with no alternative other than to walk back. Solitude felt a lot less appealling. The moon was only shining intermittently now as clouds scudded across the sky. I heard an occasional distant engine and the familiar rush of air being displaced by the passage of a car. By contrast the sounds of the local wildlife were mysterious and immediate. This night was a different creature from those that I knew from late walks through town. A new call began: a high keening that pierced the midnight cacophony like a knife. Probably a fox, I told myself but I was spooked enough to start moving in the opposite direction as best as I could. It came again, closer now and, it seemed, in front of me again. I turned to retrace my steps but my movements were clumsy and ponderous as I stumbled around in the flickering moonlight. The call...

You must think that I am hopelessly mundane. You are probably right but my decisions at that time were coloured by recent and semi distant events. In similar circumstances the previous weekend, I had decided to go for a walk. No such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing, I told myself as I put on my waterproof coat and a hat. I had locked up the house, determined which way the wind was blowing and set off walking in that direction. To begin with, I walked through streets nearly indistinguishable from my own. The rain had smeared the ink on a cardboard sign that read "Free to a good home" as it sagged against a saturated armchair on the pavement on the next estate. The houses became sparser and larger as I reached the outskirts of town. A dog walker hunched against the rain, willing her pet to answer the call of nature so that she could get back to the dry. I made an expression that I hoped would say a friendly "we must be mad!...

I slept in late the next morning so I was relieved to remember that it was the weekend. As it turned out, I needed to have my wits about me as I emerged from the bedroom. Dog had been lying in ambush, concealed by the doorway of the bathroom. She charged out, pounced on a patch of carpet just in front of my foot and waved a curled paw twice in quick succession as a warning shot. She darted away almost as fast, stopped and fell to her side near the top of the stairs, paws raised, the embodiment of fluffy menace. "Hello, Ninja cat," I said. She watched with indignant scorn as I went downstairs without meeting her challenge to combat. "You win this time, but I will have my revenge!" I called back to her as I went. I enjoyed these encounters so I didn't want her to lose interest. I intended to make the most of the weekend. After breakfast, I sorted the laundry before visiting the supermarket to stock up ready for next week. Then I ...

That night, after what felt like a long day, I settled down in front of the TV. I had been planning to watch the film Interstellar that evening but I considered for a moment whether a comedy would be more appropriate given how weary I felt. I decided to give it a go anyway. After about five minutes Dog sauntered in and jumped up onto the sofa before curling up in my lap for a sleep.  I felt my eyelids droop. I drew my thoughts back from where they had begun to wander and watched with renewed focus. After what seemed like a blink, I blearily emarged from slumber to see a character being played by Michael Caine, stood presenting a board full of mathematical equations. I smiled to see that Dog had also woken and seemed to be watching the film too. When I next woke to the sound of excitable commentary, I watched a few moments of American Football and tried to piece together the fragments before realising that the film had finished. Dog had lost interest...

I was basking in warm sunshine, sat all but alone on the golden sands of an unknown beach as the glittering, blue sea gently lapped over my toes. "I got your ice-cream," said the voice that I knew better than any other. "I couldn't remember if you wanted a Flake so I got four just in case." Something tapped my nose. The scene faded to black, tinged with orangey-red. There were another two taps. I prised open an eye and saw my cat readying her paw to tap me again. "Morning Dog," I said, to let her know that I was awake. She tapped me again anyway. Her name was one of those jokes that seemed hilarious at the time but became less funny each time that I said it. I reached out to scritch her ear and she brushed her whiskers against my hand appreciatively. A small rumbling sound told me that she was purring. Then she tapped me twice more. "Alright, alright, I get the message," I said, reluctantly pulli...