After descending the slope toward the water, Michael assessed the cat’s chances of survival.

After descending the slope toward the waters edge, Michael sized up the cats chances of survival. The steady flow of the river, hemmed in by steep cliffs, carried an air of quiet calm. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the stony shore sounded almost like a warning: “Half an hour half an hour till they open the gates” Michael knew that signal all too well.

A kilometre upstream stood the local hydroelectric dam. Spring floods had overfilled the reservoir, and notices had been sent the day before to every farm downstreamsoon, theyd start releasing extra water, raising the rivers level. No full-blown flooding was expectedthe banks were steepbut the lower meadows would be briefly submerged. Michael figured it wouldnt hurt to check the pump station one last time, just in case a bolt had come loose somewhere.

Limping slightly, the faint creak of his prosthetic leg accompanying each step, he inspected the area thoroughly. Everything was in order. Hed already reinforced the pipes and fencing the day before, but another look never hurt. He tugged off his flat cap, ran a hand through his short, greying hair, spread a small rug on a rock, and sat, massaging his stump. His leg achedweather changes always reminded him of it. Michael lit a cigarette and settled in to wait. He loved watching the sluice gates open. First, a distant rumble, then a foamy white wall surging forth, followed by a sudden torrent sweeping down branches, trash, last years leaves. The river sprang to life, flushing out the old.

He removed the prosthetic, set it beside him, and squinted as a fallen tree drifted lazily downstreamwould it sink or float? It snagged on a rock halfway. “Stuck,” Michael muttered. Ten minutes from now, when the flood hit, itd be swept away. But then he noticed something odda tiny creature flailing among the branches. Leaning closer, he recognised ita cat. Grey, sodden, shivering, desperately trying to climb higher. Now perched on the topmost branch, about twenty metres from shore, it clung with its claws.

“Poor thing,” Michael thought. “Ten minutes till they open the gatesit wont make it.” Quickly reattaching his prosthetic, he gauged the distance to the tree. The odds of a rescue were slim, but he couldnt walk away. That lookterrified yet hopefulhad stared back at him once before.

Nearly thirty years ago, Michael had served as a contract soldier. A sergeant at a “hot spot,” hed patrolled with a young private, David. Climbing a narrow mountain trail, David had rushed ahead only to be hit by a snipers bullethis knee shattered. Collapsed, howling in pain, his eyes held that same silent scream, the grim understanding that any rescue would risk both their lives.

Without thinking, Michael fired toward the snipers likely position, then sprinted for his comrade. Bullets whizzed past; one grazed his helmet. But he made itdragging Davey behind cover while smoke grenades gave them a smokescreen. Later that night, hed stepped on a mine himself Now they both lived without legsone missing the left, the other the right.

Michael yanked off his quilted coat, grabbed the rug, and stepped into the icy water. The cold burned his skin, his breath caught, but turning back wasnt an option. He waded toward the tree, teeth clenched to keep from chattering. The shallows gave way to deeper water. From above, the roar grew loudertheyd opened the gates.

“Come on, kitty, dont be scared!” he rasped, reaching out.

The cat, as if understanding, leapt onto his shoulder, claws digging in. Pain shot through him, but he gritted, “Hang on.” Turning, he fought the current, legs heavy, strength fading. The icy numbness spread; the prosthetic dragged. The waters thunder swelled behind themthe surge was almost there. Feeling the bank underfoot, he took one last step before collapsing into darkness. The last thing he sawthe cat leaping to safety.

He woke by a fire. A kettle hissed merrily, and the catnow drysat by the flames.

“Leave you alone for five minutes, and youre off on another adventure,” grumbled a familiar voice. It was Davidsame old Davey, just greyer at the temples. “Barely fished you out by your collar.”

Michael sipped the steaming tea, warming under his coat. The cat pressed silently against his knee.

“Quit nagging, Davey,” he chuckled. “Knew you wouldnt leave me. Like back then.” He stroked the cats back. “Now theres three of ustwo cripples and a four-legged.”

“Right,” David nodded. “That ones yours for life now. Once you save em, they stick. Like meyoure stuck with me too.”

They both laughed. Then they stoodone limping on his left leg, the other on his rightand started back toward the pump station. Between them, barely touching the damp ground, trotted the cat, never straying far from the man whod pulled it from the flood.