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The cat was perched under the broad leaves of a potted plant in front of the entrance to a fancy looking hotel - as much as anything in this city could be described as fancy any more. The shelter was less than effective, and rain water was dripping through, leaving the scrawny creature wet, cold, and miserable. The rain had washed the dust and dirt off its coat, which turned out to be white and orange and black.
It looked up when a figure stooped over it, covering the grey Parisian sky that had been pouring down for days, as if it was still crying over the millions of lives lost on its country's soil over the past few years. The cat didn't know the word armistice, but the humans kept saying it these past days. They seemed glad. Though still they cried.
The figure removed a wide-brimmed hat from their head and held it out to protect the cat from the rain. They looked at each other for a few moments, man and cat, brown eyes into bright green. With the hat gone, the rain started drenching the brown hair, rinsing dirt from it, leaving bright streaks of cleanliness on the lean young face.
"Where did you come from, poor thing?" the man said.
The cat didn't reply.
"You look starved", he said.
The cat stared. Judged. You're one to talk, said its eyes.
The man opened his beige uniform jacket and took a packet from the inside pocket. He opened it, shook it, and a single piece of beef jerky fell into his palm. He looked at it hungrily. Then he shook his head. "Next ration tonight ... hopefully." He put down the piece of jerky in front of the cat. It sniffed suspiciously.
Then it ate. The man watched, still holding out his hat, drenched, but cleaner maybe than at any point during the last two years.
"That's better, love, ain't it?" He put out a hand and after a moment of consideration, the cat rubbed its head against it. "Aren't you a beaut?", he cooed, and a smile cracked his dry lips.
"Ho! Qu'est-ce qui vous prend?"
The man looked up, flinching, like a panicked animal, at the approaching doorman of the hotel, and the cat ducked back as well. His hand twitched, moving as if to grab for something on his back, though of course there was nothing there, not anymore. "C'mon", he whispered hurriedly, donning his hat and reaching out his hand again towards the cat. It licked its mouth, then it stood and let itself be picked up.
The doorman said something, angrily, and the soldier raised his free hand defensively. "I'm leavin'", he said, "I'm leavin'."
The cat was embraced, sheltered under his coat, while he left the hotel behind. It nestled its head against his warm chest and purred, the taste of beef still fresh on its tongue.
The man walked, almost ran, through the rain, until he stopped, minutes later, in some back alley. He knelt down and gently put the cat down. It stopped purring and looked him in the eye accusingly. It had never been carried before, but it had decided that it didn't mind it, and would like to get used to it.
"I'm sorry", the man said. "I - I don't even know where to take you. I'm lost, y'know. There was some chaos when we left the front and I got separated from the others, and a nice young nurse took me to Paris in her ambulance, but she couldn't help me from there, so I've been looking, y'know, I've been looking for my unit ..."
The cat sat and looked him over, from the dented hat and the crumpled uniform jacket, which was missing a few buttons, to his naked feet, red from the cold. He followed its gaze and smiled painfully. "Some poor bugger stole them from me last night. Socks an' all. Don't even know how he got 'em off, crusty and nasty they were. I didn't even notice. Out cold, I was."
The cat judged silently.
"Look, it'll be fine. I'll find the blokes and ... it'll be fine."
The cat stood up, stretched its back - it was feeling quite refreshed after it had eaten and then been carried around - turned, and started walking.
The man slumped. "See ya, I guess", he mumbled. The cat stopped and gave him an annoyed glance over its shoulder. Pull yourself together, man, the look seemed to suggest.
So he did. He pulled himself together, and then up, and then he followed the cat down the alley, naked feet splatting on wet cobblestone.
Through the alleys they went again, the cat this time leading the way, unhesitating, like it knew exactly where it was going. And the man followed, thoroughly lost, dragging his feet more with every step, but glad to have a guide, wherever it was that it was guiding him.
It stopped raining after a while, but the cat continued, looking back once in a while as if to check that he was still following, and minutes stretched into hours in the exhausted soldier's mind.
The cat stopped short of exiting onto a wide market street where a nice fishmonger sometimes threw the cat some innards, but which lay quiet at this hour. The cat sat down, and looked back at the man expectantly. "This where I need to be?", he asked with a faint, desperate smile and leaned against the wall. Tired. Lost.
The cat didn't reply.
Then there were voices out on the street. The cat flicked its ears, but stayed where it was. The man leaned, eyes closed, only half conscious. The voices approached and then a group of men passed, clad in beige uniforms, drunkenly talking. "... that bloody bugger had it comin', he had it comin' I tell ya ..."
The cat watched them pass by.
They disappeared, all but one, who stopped and looked down at the cat, which stared back, green eyes into blue.
"What'cha lookin' at?", he grunted.
The cat blinked. The rude man shook his head, and turned. Stopped. Looked back. Saw the figure leaning against the wall in the dark. Recognised the shape of the hat, the uniform. Recognised even, after a few heartbeats, the face, washed almost clean by the rain.
"Cec?", he asked. Cautiously hopeful, but still scared. As if he thought that he was seeing a vision, or a hallucination.
The cat's friend raised his head and blinked. He, in turn, was sure that he was hallucinating. Because there was no way, he thought, no way that he would find them, here of all places, after he had followed a cat through Paris for who knew how long.
But then the man approached, put a hand on his shoulder, looked at him with wide eyes, and then hugged him like a long lost brother.
"We thought you was gone", he said.
"I was", mumbled a voice by his shoulder. "Lost the way."
"We thought you was gone, Cec. No one's seen you since the day of the armistice, where the fuck have you-"
"I found my own way, didn't I."
His friend held him by the shoulders, looked him up and down. Noticed the bare feet. "So you have. How?"
"The cat", said Cec, looking past him, pausing. Blinking. The cat was gone. It, too, a hallucination.
But no. No hallucinations. The hands on his shoulders were real. The incredulous smile on the face in front of him was real. Bert was real.
"There was a cat", Cec said. Bert put Cec's arm around his shoulders and dragged him towards the street, towards the voices calling his name. "It was a calico", Cec continued, his voice feverish. "One o' those pretty three-colored ones."
Bert snorted thoughtfully. "Met a sailor from Japan once, back on the docks. They keep those on their ships, apparently. For good luck."
He turned and looked back and for a moment he thought he saw a slim shadow jumping up onto a windowsill, then disappearing over the roof edge.
"Lucky, huh?", Cec slurred. He was leaning heavily on Bert now. Fading. Letting go, now that he was finally safe.
"Gotta be", Bert agreed. "C'mon. Let's get you warm."
From the rooftop, a shadow watched the two men, one half-carrying the other back to the group. It flicked its ears, one orange, one black, before turning and flitting off over the wet roofs of a city of strays. Sometimes, they passed each other by, recognising a familiar spirit. Sometimes, they found each other.