The tiniest cat

'The city looks so different from up here,' I think.  

I can barely make out the dirty cream stripes of the Micra taxis. I left my glasses at home today. I  guess I didn't want to see how it would end. I'm too much of a coward to see it.  

Sitting up here, my feet dangling over the edge, I feel grateful that I can't see. I at least have one  thing to be grateful for before the end.  

I heard it then, a soft note. I ignored it as I thought about how the wind would blow in my face,  how I'd hear the shrill, and then nothing at all. I only decided to pay attention because the cry got  louder.  

There, two-arm spans to my left, I see it. I wonder how I'd missed it, to begin with, but there it  was. The tiniest cat I had ever seen, its bright green eyes staring right at me.  

It was something about that look, almost knowing, almost pleading. It walked to me then, with  steady and confident strides. I felt its touch before I heard its purr, and for some reason, I noticed  again that I couldn't see. This time it had nothing to do with the glasses and everything to do with  the tears clouding my vision as I broke down and held the cat tight to my chest. All thoughts of  jumping gone, and in its place only the warmth from the tiniest cat spreading through me.

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