A Black Cat Is Still Somebody’s Little Somebody

A black cat does not know it is supposed to be mysterious.

It knows where the afternoon sunshine falls across the floor.

A black cat does not know it is supposed to be unlucky.

It knows the sound of a familiar voice, the whereabouts of a favorite toy, and which chair someone was foolish enough to leave unattended.

And somewhere beneath that dark little coat is a creature with ordinary wishes.

A warm place.

A gentle hand.

Fresh water and a good meal.

Someone kind to curl up beside.

With Halloween approaching, black cats are appearing on decorations, greeting cards, and front windows again. There they are beside the pumpkins, backs arched, tails curled, looking as though they have been placed in charge of something suspicious and ready to pounce.

Perhaps we ought to give them a different assignment this year.

Being loved would be a good one.

 

 

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Life Without Supervision

The Continuing Adventures of a Very Small Warden


A few weeks ago, I said goodbye to my little Chihuahua, Allie.

At fourteen years old, she had been my writing companion, supervisor, schedule keeper, occasional employer, and friend for a very long time.

Like many good dogs, she occupied far more space in a life than her small size would ever suggest.

As with many small dogs, Allie seemed to have 120 pounds of heart, adventure, and spirit all crammed into a little 12 pound body. It is always amazing how a creature so small can leave such a large space behind and oversized hole in your heart.

It has taken me a few days to come back to this.

Not out of reluctance . . . . but out of respect, I think.

Some things do not ask to be written right away.
They ask to be sat with first — quietly — until the edges soften just enough to be held without breaking.

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