When Your Priorities Shift
No one in our little English village called George Wilkinson anything but that grumpy old man. He used to be as ordinary as the rest of us, but after his wife passed away and he found himself alone, he seemed to lose the plot, as the locals put it. He had a knack for noticing every bit of disorder, and with a disposition both sharp and unyielding, George could really get under your skin. Meanwhile, his own home and garden were in complete disarray. Maybe thats why, or perhaps because of his age, he had no friends and most villagers preferred to give him a wide berth.
Every morning George would patrol the village, firmly believing he only wanted the best for everyone, convinced folks would lose their manners and sense of decency without his constant reminders.
Lizzie! hed bellow at his neighbour. Lizzie Thompsonwhats happened to your garden? All those nettles growing wild by your fence, the gates hanging offtoo lazy to fix that? Youve got gaps between your fence boards, and your chickens are parading in the road. Its a disgrace!
Oh, just shove off, George, Lizzie would snap back, worn out by a boozy husband, endless work, and a rambling home. When did you last cut your weeds? Your fence is more sideways than upright!
Thats not the point! George would insist, undeterred. Ive lived my life. Now I look out for you lot. Someones got to keep you in line, and if not me then who?
Honestly! Lizzie would mutter as she walked away, Hes a pain in the backside.
And George wouldnt stop there. Paul, mate, what are you playing at? hed scold our ageing tractor driver. Youve let all that oil drip from your tractorthink of the damage youre doing! Why not fix the leak? Dont make me report you!
Paul, sleepy and exhausted from four hours kip during planting season, would just wave him off. Weve got to get the seeds in while the weather holds, Ill fix it later.
The village shop was another spot George never skipped. It was the perfect place to find a crowd and chastise everyone at once for slack standards and failing to grasp the seriousness of the day. Even the shopkeeper, Sally, was not sparedhed rant about her selling things on account and charging higher prices than the supermarket in the next town. Sally, however, was a tough old girl herself, and more than once shed march him outside if he got too unruly. Nothing dampened Georges zeal for public order, though. With a dramatic flash of his eyes, hed just continue his route.
That morning, after visiting the shop, George headed off towards the parish council office, believing it was every bit as much a mess as old Harrys smallholdinga man infamous for both laziness and drinking. With his chin up and eyes blazing, George practised a fiery speech in his mind. He had it all perfectly prepared until something stopped him entirelya childs bitter sobbing.
Another shambles! George muttered, veering from his route.
A little lad of about five sat just past a front gate, on a bench, rubbing tears from his eyes with a fist, holding something tucked under his jumper.
Whose boy are you? George barked, putting on his sternest voice.
Mums, the boy replied without looking up.
Dear me, someones not very friendly today! What are you crying for, then?
The child sniffed, wiped tears again and, without a word, pulled a tiny kitten from inside his jumper. It couldnt have been a week oldeyes still closed, a dried blood scab on its back. The poor thing gave a tiny, hopeless squeak.
Whyd you take him from his mum, eh? He wont make it on his own! You put him straight back where you found himhes a living soul, not a toy!
The boys eyes glinted angrily, no more tears. Its not anyones kitten. I saved him! he shouted. A crow was pecking at him, nearly had him, but I chased it off with a stick!
Then why are you blubbering?
Mum said to take him back where I found him. But you just said itthats a living soul! I wanted to help him, feed him, but grown-ups dont care. No one does! About the kitten, or anything! He buried his face, sobbing again.
His outrage and the way he accused grown-ups hit George hard, catching him off-guard. He realized, for once, that the boy was righthe was part of the problem.
Ill tell you what, George shuffled awkwardly. Let me look after him. Ill see if he gets better
You wont trick me, will you? The boy eyed George with suspicion, but hope flickered in his gaze.
No trick. I promise, said George, smiling and taking the tiny kitten from him. And you can come round and visit him all you like. You know where I live?
The boy nodded eagerly.
Whats your name, then, hero of kittens?
They call me Jack, he answered gravely. Ill come tomorrow to check in, see how youre getting on
Back at home, the first thing George did was warm some milk on the hob, but the kitten didnt know how to drink from a saucer.
Well, this is a fine mess, George muttered and headed across to Lizzies.
She was pegging out laundry in her garden and, seeing George, nearly tried to hide, but he called out first.
Lizzie, have you got a baby bottle and teat anywhere?
I do but why in the world do you need that? she asked, puzzled.
Ive ended up with a little screecher. Needs feeding
Lizzie glanced at the mewling scrap, shook her head. Hes blind still The bottle wont work. Wait, Ill fetch you a syringe and a big pipette, you can feed him through that. And Ive got some hydrogen peroxide in the cupboardyou can treat that scab as well.
How often will he need feeding?
Whenever he pipes up, feed him, Lizzie replied with a gentle smile.
Every two hours the kitten would squeak for milk. The rest of the time it slept soundly in a cardboard box lined with a soft old wool jumper. George, grumbling but careful, changed the bedding regularly, cleaned the kitten up, and hardly slept, listening for its tiny cries. At each peep, he would fill the syringe, pop on the pipette, and feed the kitten until it finally fell back asleep.
When will you ever be full? George would whisper, gently wiping away the milk from the kittens face. The forgotten feeling of tenderness towards a helpless creature quietly returned to his heart, making him realize life still had some meaning.
The next morning, George skipped his usual patrolhe couldnt bear to leave the kitten alone. Instead, Jack came to see him, inspecting the little patient thoroughly.
Hes almost healed, sleeps snug and full. You know, George, youre not a liardespite what people say. You keep your word!
Who says that about me? George bristled.
Everyone, Jack shrugged, but dont listen to them. None of them get it. Not one adult wanted to help the kittenthey all act smart, but
A couple of weeks later, Sally the shopkeeper popped by.
Havent seen you around, George. I was starting to worryeverything all right?
Just too busy, Sally, George waved her off. Got a lodger now, hates being alone. Soon hell be tearing round the garden and Ill need to mend the fence to keep the dogs from bothering him, tidy the stove, give the place a lick of painthe likes a warm and spotless home, you see. Never a dull moment!
Well, arent you the doting parent! Sally laughed. Let me know if you need any groceries, Ill drop them round for you.
Actually, Ive got a list, George admitted. Just pass it to Jackyou know the lad. He stops by every day. If he cant carry everything in one go, hell manage it in two or three. Heres the money, and if its not enough, just put it on my tab til the pension comes in
A year later, youd find George and his cat sitting on the bench out front, chatting away.
Jackll be here soonhe promised, George assured the cat. He always keeps his word, but hes busy, what with school starting and all
Meow, agreed the cat with a little sigh.
Hows things, George? Paul waved from his tractor as he rattled past.
Doing just fine, mate. Actually, better than fine! George beamed.
Youve gone quiet, mate, stopped lecturing everyone. We almost miss your grumbles.
Had a change of heart, Paul. Theres enough people telling others what to do. But theres never enough people to just help out. George grinned.
Youve got that right! Paul agreed. If you ever need a hand in the garden, or a lift anywhere, just say the word! He drove on, smoke puffing from the exhaust.
And then, right on cue, Jack appeared round the bend, school bag bouncing on his back.
Meooow! screeched the cat with delight, racing off to greet his best mate.
