Poor Mr. Peebles

There's an old man who lives near me. I don't know his name or anything about him, but every so often when I look out of the window, I see him shuffling by, on his way to the shops at the bottom of the road.

Thing is, just recently, I haven't seen him. Neighbourhood gossip reveals that he is really quite unwell with one of those nasty diseases that you get from 70 years of smoking. At first, the news was just that he had gone in to hospital. Some time later, turns out that he was still in hospital because there was nobody who could look after him. Some time later still, turns out that he has been sent to an old people's home - which explains why the local council was, with indecent haste, busily clearing out his existing home and pretty much unloading his life into a skip.

And while this is sad, it doesn't really affect me. No reason for it to do so, I guess. I didn't know him, never spoke to him. It is a shame, but nothing more.

Thing is.. at the weekend, I sighted our local neighbourhood black-and-white tabby cat, walking up and down the way, doing his regularly scheduled inspection of all nearby pavements, grass, and bushes, to ensure that everything was in order. I don't know what this cat is called either. I choose to name him 'Mr. Peebles', as it seems fitting somehow.

It reminded me that Mr Peebles would often show up when the old man was out for a walk. Mr Peebles would approach the old man, who would almost always respond with a considerate stroke or a friendly scratch behind the ear. They knew each other.

But this weekend, it seemed as if Mr Peebles was looking for something that just wasn't there any more. And it seems that this is where I find the sadness in the situation. That a black and white cat had noticed a lack of something that was once familiar - that it somehow had registered its absence, and that in some way, while searching, still hoping to once again see the kind old man, maybe Mr Peebles was resigned to the loss.

I'm surprised at how much that thought upsets me. The old man is, according to all neighbourhood sources and busybodies, still doing quite nicely and doubtless is attracting many fans at the old people's home. I weep not for him, but for those left behind. It seems somehow so much more poigniant and upsetting that Mr Peebles might be sad.

I can't help but feel that maybe this is back to front. But it interested me enough to write some words about it, anyway...