The other night, as I entered the Main Street Skytrain station, I saw a small old man hunkered down just outside the fare gates.<\/p>\n
“Spare some money for a bed tonight?” He had a trimmed white beard and a ball cap.<\/p>\n
I stepped up to him and reached into my back pocket for my streetfolk money.<\/p>\n
“How are you doin’ sir?”<\/p>\n
“Okay, I guess.” He sounded tired, and his expression was worried.<\/p>\n
I noticed something in his lap swaddled in a blanket. A little head peeked out between his clasped hands. At first I thought it was a stuffed toy, but it was a cat. Two little white ears angled amidst white, brown, and black patches. The little thing was hunkered down too.<\/p>\n
“What’s your cat’s name?”<\/p>\n
“Cameron O’Malley. Lotsa shelters won’t take cats.”<\/p>\n
Cameron O’Malley sat there, bundled up like a precious cargo, the man’s little baby.<\/p>\n
“Aw, he looks lovely.” I dug into my other pocket to give them a few more bucks. I had no idea what a shelter bed cost anymore.<\/p>\n
“Aw, well I hope you and Cameron find a good place tonight.”<\/p>\n
It’s impossible to know who provided the other more comfort, the small homeless calico cat who needed security on a cold city night, or the homeless man who held warm, furry unconditional love in his cold hands.<\/p>\n
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