The roads were slick with wet summer rain that sent up in the air the faint sweetness of it that was mixed inexplicably with the scent of shaven grass. Tugging up the collar of his coat, he shrank into the warmth of it before extending a cool hand to his son who was bobbing along beside him, splashing his feet in the puddles that had formed in between the jutting cobble stones. Finley slid his hand into his father’s but continued to bounce along, half pulling his father along, half keeping him back so he could bob in and out of the puddles.
Peter Howard couldn’t find it within himself to mind it, either. He watched as the little tendrils of hair peeking out from underneath his hat began to curl. For a moment, Peter was reminded of his brother, who had for the longest time greeted the world in a similar expressive, quiet wonder. Of course, time altered that fate for him but Peter found himself wishing that there would be a little less of that slight punishment in the life of his son who he wanted so desperately to stay happy, small and bouncing in puddles forever if it meant that he could avoid some of the pain that seemed to stalk their family in the shadows.
“Daddy look!” Finley exclaimed, throwing himself forward, their arms picking up the slack all of a sudden so he stopped, half-suspended in the air. He bent his knees, his other arm shooting out happily and he turned his head, looking at his father with a bright, optimistic expression as Peter, his lips curling into a faint expression of reluctance and disbelief looked at the kitten – he was sure there was some Kneazle in it – sat drenched on the pavement across the road. He didn’t look as though he had an owner either and as Finley looked from his father to the cat, Peter had a sinking feeling that his house would gain an animal.
“Can we call him Boots?” Finley asked as Peter released him, allowing him to hurry across the road towards the kitten. He was a good looking cat, as much as it upset Peter. He watched, sidling between the two cars parked there, as Finley scooped the kitten up into his arms, cuddling it into his coat. The cat mewed pitifully and licked at Finley’s fingers. The boy gasped, his smile insatiable and rising on his features. Peter sighed, a wry smile of his own lighting across his face.
“Boots it is, then,” Peter decided, extending his hand to the boy once more. “C’mon, let’s go to the Leaky and get you and Boots dried off, shall we?”
Finley nodded, deciding that this was the best idea and so the boys and Boots made their way down the road, finishing off their journey to the pub that they had made a habit of going to every couple of weeks. It had been something of a ritual for Peter and Sarah when she’d been still alive and the strange irony was not lost on him at the fact that Finley had now filled his mother’s boots on that front. The boy didn’t drink – thank goodness – and instead enjoyed an iced tea with a bright blue umbrella and a stripy straw in it. Peter, himself, had gone off of drinking lately but he was not quite at the iced tea level of sadness so he kept with a glass of white wine – somewhat more civilised than a pint of lager.
When the three entered, Peter divested Finley and himself of their coats and hats, hanging them up on the hooks before following after Finley who immediately headed to the bar with Boots in his arms. Just as the boy reached the stools, Peter reached him and his hands went up underneath Finley’s arms to lift him onto the stool. He exclaimed his thanks and set Boots down in his lap before looking to the bartender who, having set down another glass of iced tea a little way down the bar, roused a chuckle at the boy who he’d gotten to know quite well.
“How are you today, little man?” He asked, wiping the bar in front of them before setting down two coasters.
“I’m good thank you, Noah,” he replied politely. “How are you?”
Noah chuckled, “I’m great. Truly great. So, what’s it tonight, then?”
“Iced tea, please!” Finley grinned. “But can my umbrella be green please?” He asked.
Noah nodded, pulling a glass up from under the bar before turning an eye on Peter who merely smiled and nodded, asking for a glass of wine. Noah returned after a moment, first with the wine and then with the iced tea before setting a bowl of milk down on the bar also. Finley brightened immediately – as though his green umbrella wasn’t great enough – and he lifted Boots onto the top, the cat eagerly beginning to drink.
“He’s so pretty, isn’t he?” Finley asked, running his little hand down Boots’ back.
Peter chuckled after swallowing his sip of wine. To him, the cat looked like a drowned rat. Nevertheless, he was glad his son was happy – even if it was a somewhat dubious thing to bring home. But at least, he supposed, it was a good way to teach Finley some responsibility.
by 
