He was often seen wandering the towns’ streets by day; and night would see him camped out under a bridge or in a deserted warehouse, anywhere really, as long as it was dry and out of the wind. His name, to all who knew him, was “Mr. Collingwood.” Mr. Collingwood for all his quirkiness was well known and liked throughout the township, and no-one ever had any reason to judge him or compel him to live any differently. He didn’t require or even want the attentions of any Government agencies, as he has been fending for himself for many years and always managed. He was a burden to no-one but himself, and as his staunch desire for independence would suggest, life was about living free and unrestrained.
Although he was homeless, he wasn’t helpless; he was never too proud to take a handout offered as a kindness. For him contentment was easy when there were no obligations to hold you down. It’s a lifestyle he preferred for its simplicity and honesty. He could come and go as he pleased, and see whomever he pleased. He was not weighed down by pretentiousness and did not care for the materialistic things that most people devote their ever more hectic and time poor lifestyles to. No, Mr. Collingwood only ever desired the necessities of life, food, shelter, a warm bed, clean water and the companionship of kind strangers. These were all the things that mattered to him in this world, nothing else. When he had these he was happy, he felt secure, and he felt complete.
Occasionally, when on one of his many daily walks, he would stop by a business or a factory in the area, where there was always someone that was prepared for a chat and a smile. For some reason most people made time for him whenever their paths crossed. He really enjoyed these interactions, as the workers would offer him food and a drink, being aware of his situation in life. He would sit amongst them relaxed and happy just to listen in on the everyday events, quietly eating and drinking, in the atmosphere of these people’s lives, which he knew through his own contemplative musings that he honestly had no desire to be a part of, but happy to listen to none the less. For the most part everyone was kind and understanding and he seldom if ever came across anyone that was unkind or nasty towards him during these encounters. Being a quiet country town, it’s practically a foreign concept to him.
Life was easy, he ate when he could; he drank when he could, and home was anywhere that met his less than fastidious requirements. He was master of his own domain, and it had no boundaries. On one particular fine summer’s day, he went for his usual walk, passing by all his usual haunts along the way looking for companionship, and the chance of a free meal and a drink along with the promise of the exchange of a few pleasantries from people he didn’t really know. He stopped by a factory, where he was well known to the employees. During their break, they usually offered him food and a drink, that is why this was one of his favourite places to hang out; even the boss was kind to him, as no one had any reason to think he was a danger or a nuisance, and he always left when the employees break was over. This particular day though was different. Unbeknown to Mr. Collingwood, there was a new employee, who was a particularly nasty and mean spirited individual. The other employees did not like him at all, as he seemed very easy to upset and was prone to explosive fits of rage. Upon meeting Mr. Collingwood for the first time, he seemed quite scornful, and he was quite prepared to outwardly show contempt and disdain, much to the chagrin of the other employees who voiced their disapprovals. Feeling angered, he felt it necessary to prove he was better than this free loading vagabond that seemed to have gained more acceptance amongst the other employees than him. He said to Mr. Collingwood, “If you’re hungry you can have this sandwich.” He then threw it on the ground just in front of Mr. Collingwood where the sandwich split apart ejecting the tasty seasoned chicken pieces to the pavement, waiting for Mr. Collingwood to lower himself down to get it. This gave this individual a perverse sense of superiority and power, and his contempt was palpable to the others that were present. They felt this guy was not right in the head somehow, and were quite concerned as to his level of sanity. Mr. Collingwood being a trusting soul and unfamiliar with the concept of evil incarnate, lowered himself down to retrieve the meagre ration. The violent and powerful kick came as a surprise to Mr. Collingwood and everyone else there. The steel capped boot connected with Mr. Collingwood’s stomach with such force that he almost lost consciousness. The other employees were mortified at this gutless attack on Mr. Collingwood, kicking him was a low act in their mind, especially when wearing steel cap boots. They all felt like beating the man responsible to a pulp, but were concerned for and their jobs and more importantly, Mr. Collingwood. When they tried to help him, he ran off staggering in pain, the circle of trust destroyed. He was quickly out of site and was not seen for some time after that. Some of the employees searched for Mr. Collingwood after work, concerned for his wellbeing. They looked around the area surrounding their factory, and in a few of his other well known haunts, asking others if they have seen him. It was to no avail, he was nowhere to be found, that is until they looked under a building not more than 200 metres from where he was kicked. There lay Mr. Collingwood, sprawled in an odd position and not moving. They climbed under the building to check Mr. Collingwood’s vitals, and it was obvious from the blood that had poured and dried from his mouth and nose that the news was not good, there was blood and vomit everywhere. Mr. Collingwood was dead. This was a sickening and cowardly attack on the gentle and trusting Mr. Collingwood, perpetrated by a coward who showed scant regard for the sanctity of life.
As it was later made known from the autopsy, Mr. Collingwood’s stomach had been severely ruptured, and it took at least three hours for him to die in insidious agony. Unable to move, and secreted away, help was not going to come. He died in anguish and alone, deprived of his life by a depraved and cowardly individual. All those that knew Mr. Collingwood mourned his passing and were all angered and sickened by this callous act perpetrated against the kind a gentle Mr. Collingwood.

The guilty person was not jailed for his crime; he did not lose his job. He is still at large in the Wodonga community. Mr. Collingwood the gentle cat is dead, but he won’t be forgotten.

Copyright © 2008 Kelvin Camm