Spirit
The first time she saw him, it was cold and dark. Misery was in the air, and times were bad. Things were scary. Then, there was this fast moving white creature, coming from nowhere but another part of the night and disappearing under the house. He'd show up now and then, if she was out at the right time. He moved like a spirit on the wind. She thought he was a ghost cat. Surely he was. Maybe even the ghost of one she'd tragically lost.
Then on a sunny day weeks later, her friend who lived across the street said, "have you seen that pretty solid white cat? He only comes around at night, and he runs from you. I think he's scared of people"
"You mean he's REAL? I saw him, but I thought he might be a ghost."
Her friend smiled. "No he's real, he's big and fat and furry and solid white."
"Where did he come from?"
"You kmow how people are. He was probably someone's pet, all fat and happy on a pillow in front of a window, and they moved or whatever and just threw him out on his own. Or dumped him off."
"I hate that! " She moaned, and pointed behind her shabby little house. "He's been eating out of the bowl I leave out for Stray. I'll leave out extra in case he comes back." Stray was an ugly, scrawny brown and black tabby that had been stopping by for 3 years then.
Since she had thought he was a ghost, she called him Spirit. There had once been a slinky, mysterious black stray in the neighborhood and another neighbor, now gone, had called him Spectre. Spectre the shadowy mystery cat, and now Spirit, the fast moving flash in the night.
The long cold winter passed. Spirit would be seen from time to time, in one neighbor's yard or another, but only at night and always fleeing when a human came close. If he were under the house or in the shed when your footsteps passed, a loud scurring could be heard.
"There's no need to run from me" she whispered. "Don't be afraid, I know people have been mean, but I love kitties. You are welcome here anytime."
As the springtime days became longer, he was seen in the twilight more often. On the long hot summer days, he was seen just as the sun was releasing its hold on the day and the heat seethed from the pavement. He stalked in the summer moonlight, under the stars, staring down between the branches of the gum tree. Once, he was even seen laying on someone's front porch in braod daylight! It was no longer a surprise to see him. He began to come so frequently when a day or two, she worried about him. But he always returned. He was still frigtened of humans, and other animals, but he was warming up a little and didn't run quite so fast.
In September a big hurricane hit the area. It was the worst that had come inland in many years. The wind was worse than the rain. The trees bent, some broke, some uprooted and crushed homes. In her backyard, a tree snapped in half and fell close to the back porch. It almost blocked the opening the cats used to get under the house. As the storm cleared and the yard dried, she wondered what had happened to Spirit. Her own cats had rode the storm out inside, and she hoped Spirit had found a safe place too.
A few days after, she came out on the back porch and stepped into the yard. There was something in the old dead tree! It was light, and it was moving, she could see through the leaves. She pulled back some of the branches and looked in the crack. It was Spirit! There he was, fat and fluffy, on his haunches like any other cat. He was just sitting there, staring. She tried to pet him, but he bolted back. But he didn't run. She got him some food and put the bowl down on the ground. This was not the hard stuff she left out for the strays, but the good, wet food with gravy she fed the house cats. She hid behind the porch and watched him eat. He was a huge cat, kind of fat despite his nomad's existence and all that exercise. His white fur was tainted with a yellow tinge. He must have been beautufil once, before life had come so hard on him. Then he looked up. He had one blue eye, and one yellow eye! When he finished eating, he walked away. But he didn't leave.
The next morning he was back, hiding under the branches of the old dead tree. Maybe after the hurricane, he had decided it was time to stop roaming and settle down, and this was the place he had chosen as the safest. He almost trusted her, almost. She reached to pet his head. He shrunk back, but didn't run. It was then that she noticed something awful- his right eye wasn't yellow, it was gone! The yellow was the gaping hole in his face it had left. It didn't appear gross or dirty, it was just missing. The other eye was sky blue. If the other eye had been blue, it would mean he was deaf. Maybe that's why he was so apprehensive! But it was torn out, and she would never know. Had it happened in the hurricane? Was it like that before? Is it why his owners rejected him? Because no one knew his origins or had seen him up close before, these mysteries would remain unsolved.
That evening, as the crickets and frogs sang in the still flooded ditches, he appeared again, in the same spot, waiting for his food. She gave it to him. He stood perfectly still. She petted his head. He didn't move. He finally trusted her and felt safe. He had found a place to stick around.
She had 3 other cats in the house, and she couldn't take him in. They would be upset and fight him, maybe hurt him, or he'd hurt the other cats. He still wouldn't let anyone pick him up anyway. But he was welcome to stay, he had the old dead tree as shade from the sun, and beneath the house if it rained. Her friend noticed him there. "Is that the white cat who's been hanging around?"
"Yes, that's him. I think he's going to stay with us."
Spirit did stay. He was an almost ever present fixture under the branches of the fallen tree beside the back steps. When the other trees felled by the hurricane were moved away, she didn't want that one moved, it was Spirit's home, and the only place he felt safe.
It was an Indian summer. It seemed winter, or even autumn, were going to forget them that year. The leaves didn't turn until after Thanksgiving and didn't fall until almost Christmastime. There would be a cold or chilly day here and there, but the warmth always came back. Everyone hoped it would be an easy winter.
When the leaves were finally gone from the old dead tree, Spirit didn't lay there as much. He moved to the grass beside the porch. He would always meet her in the morning and evening, waiting by an old board where he got his meals. In time, he even walked up on the porch! He was making himself at home. It should have been a happy story.
But at last the weather turned on them. It got cold and refused to let up that January. It was colder, and colder for longer periods of time, day and night without relief, than anyone could remember for that area. She worried about Spirit. His hole where his eye had been didn't look clean anymore. But he wouldn't let her touch it. He got friendlier in other ways too. He was a smart cat, she learned in time. When one of her own cats got outside, and she hollered for him, he would come running, stop, turn his head down and follow that motion into a roll with his belly up. Then she'd talk to the house cat in a sweet voice, and pick him up by the scruff of the neck like a mother cat and take him inside. Spirit, with his one good eye, noticed this. Soon she wasn't able to walk past him that he didn't step in front of her, meowing, and bending his head downward and stopping. He was trying to do the same rull her pets did! Okay, look at me, I'm cute now, pick me up and take me inside! He seemed to be saying. It was cute, funny and pitiful at the same time. Pitiful because she couldn't take him in. There were the other cats, who would cause a furious fight. What if he had diseases? What if he freaked out and tore her up and she had to get rabies shots? What about the kids? No, he couldn't come in. He was welcome to stay, but he'd have to live outside. He had food, safety and shelter and that was much more than most folks would have given him.
She did feel terribly guilty. He loved her now, and she wished she could help him more. She didn't have enough money to pay for all the care he'd need. The night the lottery was drawn, she promised him, if she won, she'd get him an operation and buy him a sapphire glass eye brighter and bluer than his real one. He'd live on a satin pillow the rest of his days. But she had no luck, and the lottery didn't come for her or him. She continued to struggle every day, and life was not good. It was worse than she'd ever want to say. Spirit caught a cold, and his nose was running. He was sneezing. His eye was watery. She felt so bad. She tried to keep him warm and dry and hoped he'd recover. She called animal rescue organizations, but they'd always say they had too much to handle or not return the messages on the answering machine. The pound was not an option. They'd kill him for sure. Life may not have been perfect, neither was hers. But he deserved better than that.
So the days went by. He was no better but no worse. Once a snowstorm came, and he was hidden under the house for 2 days. She fed him at the opening so he didn't have to come out in the snow. He had the heater ducts to lay on. He'd be warm. On the third day, the snow melted and he emerged, good as ever. He returned to his routine around the back door and on the porch, and he'd do his little stop and head duck thing. He was so precious. She'd always pet him, all down his back and tell him what a good boy he was. Now, he tried harder to get inside. For all the same reasons, this was the one thing he couldn't do. He had sure changed from the cat that had run so fast! He was sweeter and more intelligent than most animals. He deserved a good life, and she wished that for him. But she couldn't give him better than she did. She could do no better for herself. And she would always regret it.
The news told of a winter blast coming. It would bring snow and cold air and bitter wind. But the day it was predicted was sunny and mild. Maybe it wasn't coming after all! That afternoon, she went to the store. When she came outside, the car was covered in snow. The wind was bitter. It had come. By the time she drove slowly home, the storm had set in. She looked out by the back porch. Spirit was laying beside it, curled in a tight ball, under his yellow blanket she had put over him. He was almost covered in snow.
She felt the overwhelmoing urge to pick him up and carry him inside. But those same fears came again. She had to worry about her family and inside pets first. For days, it was like a voice had been telling her, he was too weak now, he couldn't survive the storm like last time. Do something! She felt this, but still hoped the storm would be brief and he'd be okay. She opened a can of food and emptied it in his bowl, in the crack under the house, near the now stark and bare branches of the old dead tree. He meowed, got up, shaking off snow and the blanket, and came to her. Safely under the house, he ate his food. She petted him. "I love you, Spirit. I really do. You take care now." The next time she looked outside, he wasn't there. He was surely under the house, snuggled among the leaves, by the warmth of the heater ducts. He'd be warm and protected there, right?
The next couple of days were no better. The cold would not let up and the ice would not melt. The wind was so biting it was hard even to walk to the car. It was the worst winter she had ever seen. Every day she put food under the house, and every time she checked, it was gone. But the nights got colder. She wondered how his cold was doing and hoped he'd come out so she could check on him. On the fourth day, the food was uneaten. That afternnon, the cold finally broke. The sun came out and melted the snow and ice. But he didn't come out. The next day, the ground on his favorite laying spots was so dry, she looked for him to come out and resume his ever present curled in a ball position in the yard where he had become as common a sight as the porch itself. When he didn't show, she felt as cold, sick and miserable as the night she'd first seen him. She knew why. She didn't want to but she did. She felt so guilty and the tears came instantly and stingly to her eyes and ran d own her face. She peeked in the crack under the house. "I LOVE YOU SPIRIT!" She sobbed. But it was too late, and not enough. Just like everything else with her, it never was, and and never would be.
Far beneath the house, among the leaves and junk, the ducts had not been quite so warm and he hadn't been quite so strong. He curled himself up in the tightest of balls, his nose in his tail. He gasped, and listened to the happy warm cats jumping in the house above him. He had no more strength. His sickness, maybe his open wound in his eye, and the cruel winter were too much. They say that in the end, those who freeze feel warm, and I hope it's so. Spirit had become a real spirit.
His fat fluffy body, with its darling personality and smart little mind, had stopped working. He was cold and hard. It was then the angel found him. Her name was Svetlana and she had been a pretty young Russian girl from the Ural mountains who had frozen to death during her country's brutal civil war. Since she adored animals, she was given the task of seeing to the ones like Spirit, when the time came. She floated in and touched him. She whispered to him. His spirit glowed and sailed up above his sad body. She took him with her, and together they floated away.
She carried him to the kingdom beyond. In Heaven, he was a special angel too. He didn't have to worry about his old body anymore, he was strong and beautiful again. Where his missing eye had been, a bright beam of light shone out and sparkled all around. Svetlana told him, she had so much to do, and she needed someone to help her. He was just the one she had chosen and he was perfect for his job in the next world. He got his wings, and he joined his companion. Together they flew in the night, looking for sad and lonely and broken animals, and touching them gently to follow when their time came. Spirit's glowing eye searched the world and along with the warm spirits left by the warm hearts he and Svetlana had had in life could always lead the way to where they were needed most.
Time passes differently in the other realm, and after many such journeys, Svetlana told Spirit he was ready to set out on his own and share her duties. No, he begged, don't leave me alone and cold again! Fear not, she said, she'd always be around for him, they would share eternity. But sometimes they'd make seperate trips into the night to find the most creatures who needed them.
On his first night alone, he was drawn to those who had been as he was, and worse. He found and took with him a little kitten on a dark city street who had passed away cold and alone in the night. He found a pup who had been tied to a tree far from the owners' house. While they were watching the Super Bowl, the cold wind howled, and he got his chain wrapped around a tree and was unable to reach the shelter of his doghouse. He was frozen before dawn. There was a seagull with a broken wing, and unable to follow the others he hopped on his legs until they were frostbitten before falling over and becoming covered in ice. Spirit flew with his wings as big and white as he, his big bright eye beam shining across the land and sky. He took the kitten, the puppy and the seagull up and into the night with him. They didn't feel the cold and agony anymore, only warmth and peace. He led them farther, farther away, to a place where they'd never have to feel those things again, and love reigns forever.
There are still times when, passing by, the lady in the shabby little house gets a glimpse of something white, and takes a second look. She remembers Spirit. Is it him? Has he come back? Even for a minute to visit, to lower his head and beg for love again? I don't think so. Why would he? He's in a better place now, as bright and special as he was always meant to be. His brilliant eye is better than any earthly sapphire could have been, a treasure for all eternity.
I love you Spirit. You take care now.
Footnote: This is a dramatization based on a true story. This was written as a tribute to him when I thought he had died. But I want to add, Spirit didn't really pass away under the house in the snowstorm. He showed back up, mysteriously again, healthy and bright, a couple weeks after the storm was over. He was slow to make friends again, but finally did. He stayed about two months, outside the back door, doing his little tricks, laying under the old tree. Then one Sunday morning he wasn't there, and didn't show for dinner either. He had mysteriously disappeared and moved on once again. I hope he's okay wherever he is. Knowing him, any day now, he might just be there again, under the old dead tree.
The first time she saw him, it was cold and dark. Misery was in the air, and times were bad. Things were scary. Then, there was this fast moving white creature, coming from nowhere but another part of the night and disappearing under the house. He'd show up now and then, if she was out at the right time. He moved like a spirit on the wind. She thought he was a ghost cat. Surely he was. Maybe even the ghost of one she'd tragically lost.
Then on a sunny day weeks later, her friend who lived across the street said, "have you seen that pretty solid white cat? He only comes around at night, and he runs from you. I think he's scared of people"
"You mean he's REAL? I saw him, but I thought he might be a ghost."
Her friend smiled. "No he's real, he's big and fat and furry and solid white."
"Where did he come from?"
"You kmow how people are. He was probably someone's pet, all fat and happy on a pillow in front of a window, and they moved or whatever and just threw him out on his own. Or dumped him off."
"I hate that! " She moaned, and pointed behind her shabby little house. "He's been eating out of the bowl I leave out for Stray. I'll leave out extra in case he comes back." Stray was an ugly, scrawny brown and black tabby that had been stopping by for 3 years then.
Since she had thought he was a ghost, she called him Spirit. There had once been a slinky, mysterious black stray in the neighborhood and another neighbor, now gone, had called him Spectre. Spectre the shadowy mystery cat, and now Spirit, the fast moving flash in the night.
The long cold winter passed. Spirit would be seen from time to time, in one neighbor's yard or another, but only at night and always fleeing when a human came close. If he were under the house or in the shed when your footsteps passed, a loud scurring could be heard.
"There's no need to run from me" she whispered. "Don't be afraid, I know people have been mean, but I love kitties. You are welcome here anytime."
As the springtime days became longer, he was seen in the twilight more often. On the long hot summer days, he was seen just as the sun was releasing its hold on the day and the heat seethed from the pavement. He stalked in the summer moonlight, under the stars, staring down between the branches of the gum tree. Once, he was even seen laying on someone's front porch in braod daylight! It was no longer a surprise to see him. He began to come so frequently when a day or two, she worried about him. But he always returned. He was still frigtened of humans, and other animals, but he was warming up a little and didn't run quite so fast.
In September a big hurricane hit the area. It was the worst that had come inland in many years. The wind was worse than the rain. The trees bent, some broke, some uprooted and crushed homes. In her backyard, a tree snapped in half and fell close to the back porch. It almost blocked the opening the cats used to get under the house. As the storm cleared and the yard dried, she wondered what had happened to Spirit. Her own cats had rode the storm out inside, and she hoped Spirit had found a safe place too.
A few days after, she came out on the back porch and stepped into the yard. There was something in the old dead tree! It was light, and it was moving, she could see through the leaves. She pulled back some of the branches and looked in the crack. It was Spirit! There he was, fat and fluffy, on his haunches like any other cat. He was just sitting there, staring. She tried to pet him, but he bolted back. But he didn't run. She got him some food and put the bowl down on the ground. This was not the hard stuff she left out for the strays, but the good, wet food with gravy she fed the house cats. She hid behind the porch and watched him eat. He was a huge cat, kind of fat despite his nomad's existence and all that exercise. His white fur was tainted with a yellow tinge. He must have been beautufil once, before life had come so hard on him. Then he looked up. He had one blue eye, and one yellow eye! When he finished eating, he walked away. But he didn't leave.
The next morning he was back, hiding under the branches of the old dead tree. Maybe after the hurricane, he had decided it was time to stop roaming and settle down, and this was the place he had chosen as the safest. He almost trusted her, almost. She reached to pet his head. He shrunk back, but didn't run. It was then that she noticed something awful- his right eye wasn't yellow, it was gone! The yellow was the gaping hole in his face it had left. It didn't appear gross or dirty, it was just missing. The other eye was sky blue. If the other eye had been blue, it would mean he was deaf. Maybe that's why he was so apprehensive! But it was torn out, and she would never know. Had it happened in the hurricane? Was it like that before? Is it why his owners rejected him? Because no one knew his origins or had seen him up close before, these mysteries would remain unsolved.
That evening, as the crickets and frogs sang in the still flooded ditches, he appeared again, in the same spot, waiting for his food. She gave it to him. He stood perfectly still. She petted his head. He didn't move. He finally trusted her and felt safe. He had found a place to stick around.
She had 3 other cats in the house, and she couldn't take him in. They would be upset and fight him, maybe hurt him, or he'd hurt the other cats. He still wouldn't let anyone pick him up anyway. But he was welcome to stay, he had the old dead tree as shade from the sun, and beneath the house if it rained. Her friend noticed him there. "Is that the white cat who's been hanging around?"
"Yes, that's him. I think he's going to stay with us."
Spirit did stay. He was an almost ever present fixture under the branches of the fallen tree beside the back steps. When the other trees felled by the hurricane were moved away, she didn't want that one moved, it was Spirit's home, and the only place he felt safe.
It was an Indian summer. It seemed winter, or even autumn, were going to forget them that year. The leaves didn't turn until after Thanksgiving and didn't fall until almost Christmastime. There would be a cold or chilly day here and there, but the warmth always came back. Everyone hoped it would be an easy winter.
When the leaves were finally gone from the old dead tree, Spirit didn't lay there as much. He moved to the grass beside the porch. He would always meet her in the morning and evening, waiting by an old board where he got his meals. In time, he even walked up on the porch! He was making himself at home. It should have been a happy story.
But at last the weather turned on them. It got cold and refused to let up that January. It was colder, and colder for longer periods of time, day and night without relief, than anyone could remember for that area. She worried about Spirit. His hole where his eye had been didn't look clean anymore. But he wouldn't let her touch it. He got friendlier in other ways too. He was a smart cat, she learned in time. When one of her own cats got outside, and she hollered for him, he would come running, stop, turn his head down and follow that motion into a roll with his belly up. Then she'd talk to the house cat in a sweet voice, and pick him up by the scruff of the neck like a mother cat and take him inside. Spirit, with his one good eye, noticed this. Soon she wasn't able to walk past him that he didn't step in front of her, meowing, and bending his head downward and stopping. He was trying to do the same rull her pets did! Okay, look at me, I'm cute now, pick me up and take me inside! He seemed to be saying. It was cute, funny and pitiful at the same time. Pitiful because she couldn't take him in. There were the other cats, who would cause a furious fight. What if he had diseases? What if he freaked out and tore her up and she had to get rabies shots? What about the kids? No, he couldn't come in. He was welcome to stay, but he'd have to live outside. He had food, safety and shelter and that was much more than most folks would have given him.
She did feel terribly guilty. He loved her now, and she wished she could help him more. She didn't have enough money to pay for all the care he'd need. The night the lottery was drawn, she promised him, if she won, she'd get him an operation and buy him a sapphire glass eye brighter and bluer than his real one. He'd live on a satin pillow the rest of his days. But she had no luck, and the lottery didn't come for her or him. She continued to struggle every day, and life was not good. It was worse than she'd ever want to say. Spirit caught a cold, and his nose was running. He was sneezing. His eye was watery. She felt so bad. She tried to keep him warm and dry and hoped he'd recover. She called animal rescue organizations, but they'd always say they had too much to handle or not return the messages on the answering machine. The pound was not an option. They'd kill him for sure. Life may not have been perfect, neither was hers. But he deserved better than that.
So the days went by. He was no better but no worse. Once a snowstorm came, and he was hidden under the house for 2 days. She fed him at the opening so he didn't have to come out in the snow. He had the heater ducts to lay on. He'd be warm. On the third day, the snow melted and he emerged, good as ever. He returned to his routine around the back door and on the porch, and he'd do his little stop and head duck thing. He was so precious. She'd always pet him, all down his back and tell him what a good boy he was. Now, he tried harder to get inside. For all the same reasons, this was the one thing he couldn't do. He had sure changed from the cat that had run so fast! He was sweeter and more intelligent than most animals. He deserved a good life, and she wished that for him. But she couldn't give him better than she did. She could do no better for herself. And she would always regret it.
The news told of a winter blast coming. It would bring snow and cold air and bitter wind. But the day it was predicted was sunny and mild. Maybe it wasn't coming after all! That afternoon, she went to the store. When she came outside, the car was covered in snow. The wind was bitter. It had come. By the time she drove slowly home, the storm had set in. She looked out by the back porch. Spirit was laying beside it, curled in a tight ball, under his yellow blanket she had put over him. He was almost covered in snow.
She felt the overwhelmoing urge to pick him up and carry him inside. But those same fears came again. She had to worry about her family and inside pets first. For days, it was like a voice had been telling her, he was too weak now, he couldn't survive the storm like last time. Do something! She felt this, but still hoped the storm would be brief and he'd be okay. She opened a can of food and emptied it in his bowl, in the crack under the house, near the now stark and bare branches of the old dead tree. He meowed, got up, shaking off snow and the blanket, and came to her. Safely under the house, he ate his food. She petted him. "I love you, Spirit. I really do. You take care now." The next time she looked outside, he wasn't there. He was surely under the house, snuggled among the leaves, by the warmth of the heater ducts. He'd be warm and protected there, right?
The next couple of days were no better. The cold would not let up and the ice would not melt. The wind was so biting it was hard even to walk to the car. It was the worst winter she had ever seen. Every day she put food under the house, and every time she checked, it was gone. But the nights got colder. She wondered how his cold was doing and hoped he'd come out so she could check on him. On the fourth day, the food was uneaten. That afternnon, the cold finally broke. The sun came out and melted the snow and ice. But he didn't come out. The next day, the ground on his favorite laying spots was so dry, she looked for him to come out and resume his ever present curled in a ball position in the yard where he had become as common a sight as the porch itself. When he didn't show, she felt as cold, sick and miserable as the night she'd first seen him. She knew why. She didn't want to but she did. She felt so guilty and the tears came instantly and stingly to her eyes and ran d own her face. She peeked in the crack under the house. "I LOVE YOU SPIRIT!" She sobbed. But it was too late, and not enough. Just like everything else with her, it never was, and and never would be.
Far beneath the house, among the leaves and junk, the ducts had not been quite so warm and he hadn't been quite so strong. He curled himself up in the tightest of balls, his nose in his tail. He gasped, and listened to the happy warm cats jumping in the house above him. He had no more strength. His sickness, maybe his open wound in his eye, and the cruel winter were too much. They say that in the end, those who freeze feel warm, and I hope it's so. Spirit had become a real spirit.
His fat fluffy body, with its darling personality and smart little mind, had stopped working. He was cold and hard. It was then the angel found him. Her name was Svetlana and she had been a pretty young Russian girl from the Ural mountains who had frozen to death during her country's brutal civil war. Since she adored animals, she was given the task of seeing to the ones like Spirit, when the time came. She floated in and touched him. She whispered to him. His spirit glowed and sailed up above his sad body. She took him with her, and together they floated away.
She carried him to the kingdom beyond. In Heaven, he was a special angel too. He didn't have to worry about his old body anymore, he was strong and beautiful again. Where his missing eye had been, a bright beam of light shone out and sparkled all around. Svetlana told him, she had so much to do, and she needed someone to help her. He was just the one she had chosen and he was perfect for his job in the next world. He got his wings, and he joined his companion. Together they flew in the night, looking for sad and lonely and broken animals, and touching them gently to follow when their time came. Spirit's glowing eye searched the world and along with the warm spirits left by the warm hearts he and Svetlana had had in life could always lead the way to where they were needed most.
Time passes differently in the other realm, and after many such journeys, Svetlana told Spirit he was ready to set out on his own and share her duties. No, he begged, don't leave me alone and cold again! Fear not, she said, she'd always be around for him, they would share eternity. But sometimes they'd make seperate trips into the night to find the most creatures who needed them.
On his first night alone, he was drawn to those who had been as he was, and worse. He found and took with him a little kitten on a dark city street who had passed away cold and alone in the night. He found a pup who had been tied to a tree far from the owners' house. While they were watching the Super Bowl, the cold wind howled, and he got his chain wrapped around a tree and was unable to reach the shelter of his doghouse. He was frozen before dawn. There was a seagull with a broken wing, and unable to follow the others he hopped on his legs until they were frostbitten before falling over and becoming covered in ice. Spirit flew with his wings as big and white as he, his big bright eye beam shining across the land and sky. He took the kitten, the puppy and the seagull up and into the night with him. They didn't feel the cold and agony anymore, only warmth and peace. He led them farther, farther away, to a place where they'd never have to feel those things again, and love reigns forever.
There are still times when, passing by, the lady in the shabby little house gets a glimpse of something white, and takes a second look. She remembers Spirit. Is it him? Has he come back? Even for a minute to visit, to lower his head and beg for love again? I don't think so. Why would he? He's in a better place now, as bright and special as he was always meant to be. His brilliant eye is better than any earthly sapphire could have been, a treasure for all eternity.
I love you Spirit. You take care now.
Footnote: This is a dramatization based on a true story. This was written as a tribute to him when I thought he had died. But I want to add, Spirit didn't really pass away under the house in the snowstorm. He showed back up, mysteriously again, healthy and bright, a couple weeks after the storm was over. He was slow to make friends again, but finally did. He stayed about two months, outside the back door, doing his little tricks, laying under the old tree. Then one Sunday morning he wasn't there, and didn't show for dinner either. He had mysteriously disappeared and moved on once again. I hope he's okay wherever he is. Knowing him, any day now, he might just be there again, under the old dead tree.
Cat's are amazing, aren't they? So resilient. I'm sure Spirit's out there somewhere, with someone taking care of him. He sounds like a real survivor!
I hope so.
