Humphrey

Chloe Elson

When she left him this morning his bones creaked and cracked underneath him. Buds had lined the trees eight times since it had begun. Whatever she gave him no longer worked and the pain had become a sharp, uncomfortable heat under his skin. He wasn’t young anymore-and he knew that. Curling up in their bed he whined. His skin twitched as he repositioned, lying next to her to keep her from getting colder.

He could hear the couple next door arguing again. Their stomping travelled up the walls and made the light shake in its fitting. His grey wiry hair looked dull in the morning sun and his mouth was dry- but he didn’t feel thirsty. Before she left she told him she loved him- but didn’t wait for his reply as she already knew he loved her, more than anyone else. She was still vulnerable, fragile. He could sense it. Every night he would come into her room to find her lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She always told him she was following the cracks to see where they met, but the only cracks he saw were in her voice. It was at that point he would curl up and use her body heat to help him fall asleep.

The sycamore tree outside the window looked almost naked- the rough brown skin stayed the same as a few amber leaves covered over some of its multiple bare spots. He tried to remember the last time they went out on a walk- was it two or three days ago? Since the leaves fell last, she would get up and walk by herself. He would try and get her attention by pulling at her nightdress, but she would carry on, talking to her husband- who left when the tree had finished dropping its seeds. He vaguely remembered it, when his body was still new- but not undamaged. She set her grief aside to wake up during the night to give him his medicine, and soothe him when he cried.

More leaves fell, dancing in the wind as he stared down at the steaming pile of moist, pale biscuits soaked in their own juice. Gulping, he was worried she would be mad at him if she saw it, but she would never shout at him- unlike his last owners, but that was a long time ago. He would have fetched a blanket to cover it, but felt as if his legs were frozen- too tired and stiff to move. Looking at the picture on the bedside table he identified the child. Then a young girl, smiling into the camera with him. His mistress would kiss the child’s cheek every night before she slept, as a ritual. He liked seeing his younger self; it reminded him of a time where he couldn’t feel himself slowly dying.

The acidic taste of the biscuits he once loved now tasted sour and burned the back of his tongue. The afterburn. He licked his lips and whined as the wind tore more umber shards off the tree. They whipped the glass and flew off with the birds. He looked up and watched them as they disappeared- the birds weaving in and out of them. His chest rose and fell heavily, as his heart tapped under his ribs. He shivered once more as the tree shook off its last crisp leaves. He watched them fall out of sight. His body shuddered as he curled up further into the rosebud quilt. He licked his lips, not wanting her to be alone. The last leaf was blown away by the wind and lay flat up against the window, before it too fell. That was when the knocking started.

‘Hey mum, I brought that wool you asked for on the phone yesterday.’ The keys scraped as she pulled the key out of lock. ‘I don’t see why it couldn’t be acrylic- it would be cheaper and I’m sure Humphrey wouldn’t notice.’ The bag rustled as she laid it down on the floor. ‘Mum?’ His throat warbled as he managed to croak out a bark. ‘Humphrey?’ He tried to moisten his sore throat as they were left in silence. The clunk of her heels echoed down the hallway. ‘Where are you, Humphrey? Where’s mum?’ The branches banged outside the window. ‘Mum!’

The door knob rattled as it turned, and the door opened at the foot of the bed- revealing a thirty-something year old woman. His little mistress, all grown up. His ears pricked up and he barked as her face fell and her eyes grew red. ‘Mum, are you ok? Mum?’ She came to the side of the bed and felt her mother’s cool cheek with the back of her hand. She let it hang uselessly at her side. He winced as he dragged himself to be closer to her and licked it- trying to warm it up again. ‘Please wake up mum, please.’ She lay face up on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with closed eyes. His mistress’s white hair lay around her and shone with an ethereal light- matching the dull greyish white of her face and hands.

The sycamore tree didn’t move for a while, as strange men in bright clothes took her away from him. He growled and snapped at them whenever they tried to move her. The little mistress had to hold him back by his collar. ‘Good boy, Humphrey. She’s with the Lord in Heaven now.’ He didn’t want her to be with the lord, he wanted her, here, with him.

One day, after snow had graced the land- when he could barely lift his head, he was taken to the men in white coats. He hated it there, but no longer could be bothered to try and get away. He breathed in the artificial scent of the room, and it burned his lungs. He didn’t even wriggle to escape the man’s grasp. The man pinched between his shoulders and he soon felt sleepy. As he rested his head on his paws, he remembered what she had said to him when his mistress left. ‘She’s with the Lord in Heaven now.’ He tried to imagine her as an angel, but only saw her as he had always done. The little mistress cried and rubbed behind his ear, as he started to close his heavy eyes. He hoped he would go to heaven and be with her and the master again.

He awoke to the call of his name. ‘Humphrey.’ Her voice sang in the wind. ‘Come to me Humphrey.’ The master bellowed next to her. He padded up to both of them in the soft grass and sat at their feet. ‘Good boy.’ She stroked down the grey wires on his head; the master scratched behind his ear, as his tail thumped in the moss. ‘I’m so sorry I left you.’ He licked her hand, as the white blossom floated down around them and landed around them- rolling along at their feet. ‘Now we have forever.’