“Well look at you, little scrap.” Mr Mathews said to the ball of grey fluff sitting on the palm of his hand.

Gently he stroked the tiny long ears and peered at its quivering nose.  The baby hare seemed to know that the vet’s hand was a safe place to be, so it sat very still.

“And you say that Aunt Nelly found it?”  Mr Mathews turned to me.

“Yes, I got quite a surprise when I came home earlier.  I was making a cup of tea and chatting to Nelly.  When I looked over at her in her box, and in with all her tabby and black and white kittens was a little grey blob.”

“And you don’t know where it came from?”

“I’ve no idea.  But she seemed to want to look after it like her own. She was grooming it and swatting one of the kittens that thought it was something to play with.   Aunt Nelly’s such a protective cat.  Perhaps it’s an orphan.”

“I expect so.  But it’s very young and I doubt it’ll survive.  It needs its own mother’s milk and warmth.  Try it with some baby formula from a dropper, but don’t get your hopes up Mrs Pearson.”

Mr Mathews carefully put the hare in the hay-lined box and I took it back to Nelly’s brood. All my fingers and toes were crossed hoping that the little thing would survive.

Later I walked to the farm shop in the late summer sun.  As I wandered round with a basket on my arm I saw John the delivery boy.

“Hello John.  I’m buying some things for you to bring on your next round.”  There was no reply.  His round lop-sided face was pale and he looked like he was in an unhappy world of his own, all his cares on the young shoulders.

“John’s not himself, Mrs P.,” the girl at the checkout said quietly.  “His mum died a few weeks ago and he’s not managing well.”

I remembered then that old Dorothy Millage had died and the village had been concerned about what would become of her youngest.  He was a simple but cheery soul who needed help sometimes.  Everyone took turns to watch over him while his mum was in hospital and now she was gone…

John could almost look after himself.  The girls in the shop sometimes had to remind him to brush his hair and luckily Mrs Millage’s neighbour brought him a hot meal each evening and at lunchtime he had sandwiches and juice.  Someone else went in while he was at the shop to clean round the house, so he was well cared for.  The people who worried about him made sure he kept his independence.

But even with all this care he seemed to have lost his way now that his mum had gone.  It was as if he had no purpose, nothing to look forward to, no hope.

The next day the doorbell rang and John stood with my box of fruit and vegetables.  His eyes downcast he thrust them forward at me and turned to go without a word.  It looked as if John, who was usually a neat worker, had packed the box with the same sense of sadness that he was feeling.  The bags and boxes were carelessly dropped into it so that they looked lopsided and in danger of losing their contents.

“Thanks dear.” I said, “Would you like to come and see Aunt Nelly and her kittens?” He hesitated, “They’re only a few weeks old, so they’re very small.  She has 2 little tabby girls and 3 black and white boys.  And there’s an extra surprise too,” I added.

Still he hesitated, staring at the step and gently rocking back and forth in his indecision.  And then, without looking at me he stepped into the house and headed straight to the kitchen.  Nelly was asleep with the little hare suckling happily.  It seemed to have grown a bit stronger since the day before and the ears pricked up as we approached.

John squatted down and stared for a long time at the family by the boiler.  Then, just as he had come in, he stood up and left.  Not a word or a flicker that he had seen me.  Just a sad little boy in a young man’s body.

Nelly woke up and after feeding her kittens she came and wound herself round my legs.  She told me about her day as I made tea and I told her about mine.  She had missed John’s visit so I hoped he might come again.

It seemed that the hare had made itself quite at home with the feline family.  Nelly was less worried about it than she had been when she first found it, leaving it for longer periods while she took some exercise. As I watched I noticed that one of the tabbies was taking a close interest and making sure that it had a nipple next to her at feeding time.

When I congratulated Nelly on having such nice daughters, she looked up as if she was smiling at me, her tail shivering with pleasure.

“Yes, I know, aren’t I clever?”  She appeared to be saying.

As I sat down to drink my tea and nibble my favourite biscuit, the doorbell rang again.  There was John.  Silent still, but this time he had a carrot in his hand.  Probably one of the finest carrots, not one from the ‘past its best bin’ at the back of the farm shop.  And without waiting for an invitation he went on into the kitchen and peered at the kittens again. 

With a thick, clumsy forefinger carefully stretched out, he timidly stroked the grey rump.  The little ears popped up as he did and the small grey body turned to look at the owner of the finger.

They gazed at each other for a long time.  One orphan to another.  John put his head on one side and gently laid the carrot in the box next to the hare.  It was nearly twice as big as the little chap and I hadn’t the heart to break the magic between them by saying I thought it was a bit young for a carrot. 

As I watched them watching each other I could see John’s sad, moon-like face looking for a friend.

He came and went in this way quite often over the following weeks, and the kittens seemed to get more adventurous by the hour.  The big box that was their home grew too small and Nelly began to take them for trips around the kitchen, into the lounge and around my little house.  The hare lolloped on at the back of the little troop, sometimes going off on his own for a moment before realising that he was getting left behind.

The laundry basket was great fun for them and they got stuck in the smallest of places.  One day it was at the side of the boiler, another day saw me trying to fish them out from under the bookcase.  I even had a dread that they would end up on a spin cycle in the washing machine or swimming in the toilet.  So the door was closed and the lid stayed down, just in case.

When young John came to visit the little hare, the two would look at each other in quiet conversation.  Sometimes he would murmur to it as he stroked the tiny body and when he stopped it would go off to play. 

A few days later, Nelly sat on the boiler with her paws neatly tucked under herself.  She watched us all while John sat on the floor of my kitchen with his legs stretched out.  The hare made its way to him and for the first time stood up to put its tiny feet on his overall-ed legs.  He stiffened, making every effort not to frighten his tiny friend.  Then the back legs hopped and made a scrambling leap onto his lap.

My heart could have melted at the expression on his face, as it was the first time I had seen his eyes light up in all the time he had been visiting.  The hare reached up to John’s chest to fetch a crumb of the biscuit he had been eating.

The broad smile made his innocent face the face of an angel and for the first time he looked at me.

“My friend.” He said, stroking the grey fluff.  “My friend.” He said as he looked at me again.