started breakfast.
There weren’t any eggs in the house, so he went outside and walked to the back. A small trail led through the brambles and into a wide-open space where his grandfather grew a variety of beans, squash, turnips, and other vegetables. The chicken coop was at the far end, farthest from the house, though still within the defensive, thorny barrier. Idly, he wondered how deer managed to get in, since there was a small gate to prevent them from entering through what he assumed was the only opening.
He managed to collect a handful of eggs with only minor injuries from the offended hens, then went back to make breakfast. His grandfather was waiting on him. “You left the candle behind.”
“I just went to get eggs,” explained Will.
“Leave it behind again and I’ll cook dinner without letting you have any,” warned the old man.
“Fine with me,” said Will sullenly. “You never cook anyway.”
“It wouldn’t be a punishment if I cooked it,” said the hermit dryly. “Speaking of which, why isn’t breakfast ready?”
“I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
The old man scowled. “If you have that much trouble rising, you can start sleeping on the porch. The sun will wake you up that way.”
Will stared at him, trying to decide if his grandfather was joking or not. Knowing how mean the old bastard is, he probably does mean it, he reasoned. The candle flame burned violently.
“Stop cussing me and get busy,” said the old man.
Will glared at the flame, realizing it had betrayed his emotions. “Stupid candle.” He got busy, heating an iron skillet and cutting the bread into rough slices.
“Have you never handled a knife before?” The old man’s tone was belligerent, as usual.
Will gave him a blank stare. The old geezer had watched him cutting turnips up just the day before.
His grandfather stepped closer and took the knife from his hand. “Gently. Don’t cut bread like you’re trying to chop through a carrot. Use a light touch and pull.” Under his skillful touch, a perfect slice emerged from the loaf of bread.
The old man never ceased to surprise him. Will was about to say something when he felt a sudden movement against his leg. Looking down, he saw a large, grey cat. “What’s this?” he asked.
His grandfather glanced down. “Oh, him. That’s the goddamned cat.”
“You never mentioned having a pet.”
“Pet? Hell no,” protested the hermit. Cracking one of the eggs into a small wooden bowl, the old man placed it on the ground, whereupon the cat began to eat.
“If he isn’t your cat, why are you feeding him?” asked Will, puzzled. “If you feed strays, they won’t leave.”
“Who says I’m feeding him?” quipped the hermit. “I’m just paying rent. And don’t call him a stray; you’ll piss him off.”
He really is crazy, thought Will. Reaching down, he tried to pet the grey feline, but it hissed and bared its teeth at him.
“See?” said his grandfather smugly. Cracking the rest of the eggs one by one, he began frying them in the pan.
“You just called him the ‘goddamned cat,’” argued Will. “How is that any better than ‘stray’?”
“He’s got his pride,” said the hermit.
“Is he your familiar?” The cat looked up at Will’s words and hissed at him. If he didn’t know better, he might have believed the creature understood him.
His grandfather slid the eggs from the pan to a waiting plate with a smooth, practiced motion and then used his other hand to swat the back of Will’s head. “Don’t be a jackass!” Then he addressed the cat, “Don’t mind him. He’s a charity case I picked up. He’ll learn better manners.”
The stray blinked once, slowly, then returned to eating the raw egg.
The old man split the eggs between two plates and then arranged the toast beside them and began spreading butter on the slices on his own plate. He pointed the knife at Will. “No butter for you.”
Will was very sure his grandfather didn’t have a cow. “Where did you get butter?”
Predictably, the old man replied, “None of your damn business.” Then he lifted a knob of butter on the end of the knife and offered it to the cat, who had just finished his raw egg. “Want any?”
The cat turned its head away and began cleaning one paw.
“Suit yourself,” said Will’s grandfather. Turning back to his grandson, he added, “Let’s get one thing straight. The goddamn cat owns this place. We’re his tenants, so mind yourself when he’s around.”
Will wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.