Pet Stories: In Your Own Words
Right now, she is laying half on the wrist pillow below the keyboard and half on my lap. She likes when I use the computer and she seems especially happy as I'm writing this now, as if she knows it's about her. She's four months old and looking up at me with those big brown eyes. She is my saving grace. Her name is Caledonia Grace, Callie for short, and she is walking with me on my path to healing.
I was three years old when I picked out the little black and white runt of the litter. We named her Puss for "Puss 'n Boots" and we grew up as sisters for nineteen years. She was with me when, as a nine year old, I cried and cried on my bedroom floor because I couldn't find any meaning in life. She was with me when, as a twenty year old, I cried and cried because the meaning I had found had become lost. This past summer, however, I was able to work at a wonderful summer camp spreading creativity and spirituality. I was the most fulfilled I had been in ages. My mother called me up to tell me that Puss, having been ill for months, passed away at the age of 19. My knees felt like tissue paper and I fell to the floor, inconsolable.
Two months later, after returning to an empty house, empty of my life-long sister (and I have always been an only child) I couldn't bare the loss. I adopted this four month old tortoise-shell-colored calico kitten.
The first thing she did when we brought Callie home (once she came out of hiding) was jump up on the shelf that held the framed picture of Puss. She stared for a long time. Then she jumped into my arms and purred.
She would surely be my saving grace on this journey we call life.