Barnaby
To Sam the cat.
Love your fellow Christians always. Do not neglect to show
hospitality, for in that way some have entertained angels
unawares.
Heb: 13,1
1.
Trees stood motionless against the blue sky. Sunlight
illuminated the branches, edged white with snow. Between the
trees, he saw flashes of motion. Chunks of gleam and color
blurred horizontally, disappearing from sight as a rumble and
rush of air subsided.
He moved forward, leg joints stiff in the cold, a cloud of
breath vapor rising through his gaze. Tree trunks parted to
either side, as a ribbon of gray and yellow became visible, just
ahead.
Above, in the branches, there was the sound of bird wings, and
he jerked his glance upward, in search of food. His hunger had
deepened, and it rose through a mind already numbed by the
winter. A crow's black beak shivered in the branches, and it
cawed mockingly at him.
The adrenaline rush from sighting the bird subsided, and he
continued forth, to the edge of the trees. Here, the snow had
drifted, forming a white, breaking wave. Blades of grass
extended from the snow. The wall of white curved gently
downward, ending on a flat terrain of black.
He padded down the drift, his feet occasionally breaking
through the ice crust from the previous night's freeze. His
legs felt cold as they penetrated the crust, and he hurried. He
stood on the smooth, black terrain, dotted with bits of rock and
gravel. It felt warm on his feet, and he smelled a strange odor.
Just inches away, he saw a white line, beyond which the ribbon
of gray stretched for many feet. A pair of yellow stripes
divided the ribbon in half. Beyond the far edge, he saw a house.
This house was like the countless he had seen before, since he
had been wandering the land, as far back as he could remember.
Parallel slats covered its exterior, punctuated by squares of
black. Usually, the houses occurred in rows. This one was
alone, however, surrounded by snow and trees.
A man was working in front of the house. He was picking up
pieces of tree, stacking them over his outstretched left arm.
As the man bent over, a strip of blue cloth dropped from his
neck into the snow, and he sounded agitated.
Just then, the sky became gray, blotting out the sun. Flakes
of white began to fall, and the man disappeared inside the home.
He was still visible, silently undoing his winter garments.
The onlooker knew that there was warmth there, and food as
well. His mouth watered, and his stomach wrenched as he began
his journey toward the man, still standing in the doorway.
Flakes tickled his eyes and nose as he trotted towards the twin
yellow lines. He felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet, and
he looked up suddenly.
A gigantic chunk of blue and silver, polished and partially
covered with snow, was bearing down on him. He heard a loud
roar, and then a screech froze him in his tracks. He crouched
low, bristling in terror as the screech deafened him.
In an instant, he decided to jump, away from the rumbling
mountain of calamity. As he sprang into the air, he saw the
flakes of white swirling chaotically, and then it struck him.
He had experienced pain in his life, but this was something
different. His head snapped to the side as the monster struck
his right hip. He spun in midair, the terrain and sky blurring
through his vision. The roaring monster continued on,
disappearing behind trees around a bend in the gray pathway.
After sailing through the air, he landed in a bank of snow, his
head buried in cold. Half his body was numb, but his back was
on fire as he heard his heartbeat thumping in his head.
He yowled in pain, struggling, with what little strength
remained, to pull his head from the snow. As he flexed his neck
muscles, pain snaked through his back, and his right hip
throbbed. He stopped for a moment, waiting for the pain to
subside. As it did, he pulled again, and his head came free of
the snow bank.
Laying it to the right caused more pain in his neck, and he
felt his tongue dangling from his mouth. With a push from his
front legs, he backed out of the snow drift, and he yowled
repeatedly as his hind end dragged backwards.
He tumbled to the side as he freed himself from the snow.
Again he saw the sky spin by himself, and he came to rest on his
right side. He saw the falling flakes with his left eye,
falling to the ground about him.
His body began to feel warm, and he strained his eye to the
left, seeing that snow was blanketing his body. Breathing was
painful, but his right hip, now nearly frozen against the drift
of snow, had become numb.
As his eyes closed, he didn't try to open them again. He slept.
2.
Something itched. Then it tingled. Then it itched again. He
instinctively moved his right leg to scratch it, and he winced
in pain when the claw scraped his side.
Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a blanket of white. His
exhalations came back into his face. He knew that something was
covering him.
Struggling slowly to his feet, he noticed that neither rear leg
could move, so he braced himself upward with his front legs. As
he did so, his body rose from beneath a blanket of snow, which
cascaded from his head and back.
Shaking his head, his eyes focused. It was morning, and the
sun's rays made the forest of ice gleam magnificently. Turning
his head to the right, he felt intense pain. He nevertheless
struggled to crane his neck around to view his right hip. The
snow was melting from his fur, and he could see that his leg
hung from his body by only strands of pink and red. Blood had
clotted and then frozen in large patches on either side of the
severance.
He began to drag himself forward, and he felt the weight of his
useless leg slowing his progress. Ahead was a pile of dirty
snow. It was peppered with black, and, as he licked it, he
tasted salt.
His front legs felt healthy, and he possessed enough strength
to drag himself over the pile of snow. He rested on the ground,
beneath the branches of a fragrant tree, its branches of needles
dripping with water. He lapped the water from the ground, and
his parched throat felt relief.
For the rest of the day, he lay there, pangs of hunger rolling
through his stomach, and he began to feel dizzy. Closing his
eyes, he slept again.
3.
When he awoke next, he heard a dull rumbling sound. As his
eyes opened, he saw the man, climbing into a blue object, which
belched smoke from the rear. The creature's eyes glowed red,
then white, and it began to move.
He froze with fear, remembering the giant beast which had
nearly killed him. The monster was not heading towards him,
however, and he felt relief. When it had reached the stone
pathway behind the tree under which he rested, he heard it
receding into the distance.
His neck wasn't very sore today, and he easily swung his head
around to see his injured leg. He felt pleasure when he saw
that the leg was reattached, though he still couldn't move it.
Sensation had returned to the leg, and he could move it slightly.
As he lay there until sunset, he heard more of the beasts
roaring by him on the pathway, but none found him, as he was
hidden from view behind the snow bank.
That night, as he lay curled up in a tight ball under the tree,
he shivered in the wind. Bits of ice pelted his fur, and he
kept his eyes closed tightly. He couldn't sleep, especially
when new snow began falling. The flakes were small and dry, and
he moved farther underneath the tree, resting his back against
the trunk.
This afforded more protection from the storm. He was dozing
off to sleep when he began to feel tingling and itching
sensations in his injured leg. His hip soon felt the same.
When he flexed his leg, the tingling enveloped his entire leg,
and it felt cool.
Throughout the night, he bore with the strange sensations, and
he checked the hip and leg repeatedly, noticing that his skin
could feel the warmth of his tongue. He watched the moon rise
through the trees, and he saw something large and silent flying
around the house.
The storm subsided, and he watched the shadows of the trees
shorten, as the moon climbed higher into the sky. At last he
fell asleep.
4.
The beast stirred him from his slumber. He snapped to
attention, rising and then crouching again beneath the tree. As
before, the beast didn't see him, as it moved towards the house.
Soon, the creature fell silent, and a man emerged from within
it. He entered the house, closing a large panel resoundingly
behind himself.
To his surprise, he was able to climb onto his three good legs.
He limped from beneath the tree, his feet crunching softly
through the blanket of virgin snow. Turning around, he saw that
his right rear leg could move slightly, but it was painful to
place his weight onto it.
He hobbled through the snow, approaching the house with
caution. He saw the gray metal cans standing next to the home.
Hunger pangs wrenched his stomach as he approached them.
Many interesting smells came from the cans, and he was versed
in how to open them and investigate their contents. He stood
next to one, and he placed his front legs onto its side.
Rocking the can was difficult, since he had only his left rear
leg for leverage. He began to move the can. It wasn't very
full, and he toppled it easily.
It landed on its side with a thud, and he scurried off to hide
beneath a nearby tree. Watching the can, which slowly stopped
rocking in the snow, he saw no one approaching.
Slinking from beneath the tree, he walked to the top of the
can. The lid had been knocked free during the fall, and it lay
just in front of the giant, gray cylinder. He walked inside the
can, where he found mouthfuls of meat scraps. As he gnawed them
from the bones, the meat thawed and tasted good.
So he ate, for the first time in almost a week. The scraps of
food relieved his hunger. When he emerged from the can, he
retreated again to the tree. Once lying beneath its branches,
he cleaned his paws and then his fur, ridding himself of the
stink from within the can.
He spent the remainder of the day beneath the tree. That
night, he withstood the cold weather. The meal had rejuvenated
his body, meager though it was, and he felt alive again.
Near dawn, as the moon arced in the sky toward the west, he
finally decided to leave the safety of the tree. He ventured
forth, walking several times around the house. He avoided the
sleeping monster by a wide margin, skirting many yards around it
as he moved toward the front of the house.
He smelled an odor in the air, and his instincts told him it
was fire. Looking up into the night sky, he saw smoke ascending
from one spot at the top of the house. It rose into the sky and
was blown away on the wind.
For a moment he remembered the injury in his right leg.
Inspecting his hip, he found it healthy, except for a region
which contained a long, angry scar, still absent of fur. He
also remembered the monsters, which traveled on the path just
beyond the man and his home.
Deciding to avoid any further confrontations with the giant
beasts, he set off on a new journey, into the trees which grew
behind the house. Soon the sun would rise
5.
In an old neighborhood on the outskirts of town, a group of
humble stone homes stood, along a straight road that separated
them from a forest. The homes had been built over half a
century ago, and they had all withstood the test of time.
A dozen houses faced the trees. The homes had natural stone
exteriors, colored with pale shades of brown and gray, and their
slate roofs were covered now with the winter's snow. Most of
them had front porches with roofs, under which the wooden front
doors were visible.
Smoke rose from their chimneys this morning. The sky was
dotted with clouds, and wind was blowing from the south,
bringing warm, moist air across the region.
Birds dotted the snow covered landscape, searching for scraps
tossed out by the residents of the neighborhood. All of the
sidewalks leading from the street to the homes were shoveled and
salted, with one exception.
One home seemed to ignore the snow, its occupant gazing with
wonder upon the carpet of white that swaddled the yard and lined
the porch railings. Her face appeared in the window. She
basked in a ray of light that dodged the clouds. Her eyes
scrutinized a thermometer from behind thick glasses.
She smiled when she saw that the temperature was rising, well
above freezing already, and she left the window, letting the
drapes drift shut.
Nobody else was visible on the outskirts of the neighborhood.
Cars were parked in front of the homes and in the driveways.
The birds were flocking in the old woman's yard, and, when the
side door opened with a loud creak, the flock took to the air
and entered the trees of the forest, which extended from beyond
the street.
The woman was garbed in a long, quilted coat, a hood pulled
over her head. She carried a plastic container in her gloved
hands. When she rounded the house and reached the front yard,
she reached into the container and began tossing scraps of bread
onto the snow. After emptying the contents, she stood back and
watched the birds return.
They feasted noisily on the scraps as she watched them, her
arms crossed. She returned into the house, only to reappear,
this time with a snow shovel in hand.
She began clearing the walks. At first, the birds flew from
her yard when they heard the noise of the shovel scraping the
cement. Their hunger soon won them over, however, and they
returned. They continued to eat, keeping a watchful eye on her
and the shovel.
The woman heard water dripping from the roof of the house. She
raised her glance to the roof gutter. Large icicles hung from
the roof, some of them a couple feet long. Water dripped from
their tips, and it fell to the porch roof and sidewalk below.
She whistled at the birds, who looked at her quizzically as
they ate. Turning to her neighbor's home, she saw that no one
was visible in the front window.
The shoveling was easy at first, since the snow was dry and
powdery. As she neared the sidewalk surface, however, she found
a layer of ice and wet snow, which she began chiseling with the
front corner of the shovel blade.
The birds were tweeting loudly as they squabbled over the last
few pieces of bread. A pigeon was digging deep with its beak,
trying to find a morsel which had been pushed below the surface.
She stopped when she heard a strange sound. At first she
thought a new bird had arrived in search of food. As she
resumed her work, she heard the sound again. Turning back to
the house, she thought that the wind was whistling through the
bushes surrounding the porch.
Some of the birds rose into the air, as they had picked the
snow clean of crumbs. She saw that some remained, still
searching for more food.
The woman began to dig away at the ice covered sidewalk, when
she noticed motion from the upper part of her vision. Looking
up, she was startled to see a splotch of black and brown,
silhouetted against the snow.
She fumbled in her coat pocket. Soon, her gloved hand produced
a pair of glasses. She perched them atop her nose and looked
again to the dark patch on the ground.
A cat was crouching in the snow. Black fur covered its back
and the top of its head. Brown fur edged parts of its face, and
its chest and chin were white. It was watching her calmly, its
green eyes squinting during gusts of wind.
Soon, it lost interest in watching her, and it began to lick
the fur on its front legs. Its tail suddenly flicked into the
air, and it rose to its feet. The cat stretched and began
walking slowly towards the woman.
She smiled and stooped down on the sidewalk. The woman left
the shovel in the snow. The cat approached her carefully, puffs
of vapor coming from its nose as it breathed. It stopped about
a yard in front of her, sniffing the air.
"Oh, poor little kitty. It's so cold outside."
The cat meowed when it heard her soft, friendly voice. The
woman realized that she had been hearing its meows earlier.
She reached out to the cat, and it moved towards her, rubbing
its left cheek against her glove and purring loudly.
"What a beautiful cat you are, especially to be freezing out
here in the winter!"
She pet the animal with both hands, and it rolled over in
the snow. When it climbed to its feet again, it shook its head
free of snow. Flakes outlined its whiskers, and long hairs,
looking like antennae which extended from above its eyes, were
tipped with snowflakes. The antennae moved comically as the cat
blinked in the snow, which had begun to fall again.
The woman climbed to her feet with a groan, and she rubbed her
knees through her coat. Picking up the shovel, she looked down
at the cat.
"I have to finish shoveling the walks. Then, if you're a good
little kitty, I'll give you a bowl of milk."
The cat meowed and stood between her legs, rubbing itself
against her coat. She stepped forward, and the cat moved off to
the side. It sat down in the snow and observed.
The woman completed shoveling the sidewalk, out to the
crumbling curb and the street. Turning, she walked towards the
house. As she neared the front porch, the cat jumped to its
feet and trotted over the snow, closing in on her.
It skidded to a halt only several feet away from her, and it
crouched, its tail flicking back and forth, its eyes large and
black as it watched the blade of the shovel.
She was shoveling the walk that connected the longer sidewalk
to her front porch. Here, the ice was thick and the snow wet,
because of the water dripping from the roof.
Small bits of ice were striking the ground that she was
shoveling. The cat noticed the shattering shards of ice, and it
looked upward.
A huge icicle was hanging directly over the woman. The top of
the icicle was thick and glistening, formed from the water that
overflowed from the gutter at the corner of the roof.
From its thick base, formed from the melding of several smaller
icicles, a single spear of ice had grown to over two feet in
length. Water dripped from its sharp point.
The cat saw that the ice around the base of the icicle was
shattering and falling to the ground. The cat meowed painfully
and walked towards the woman.
"Oh, poor hungry kitty. I'll be done in just a minute."
As the cat looked up again, it saw the entire icicle come free
of the roof and gutter. It reared up on its hind legs, hissing
and yowling at the woman. She fell backwards, a look of
complete surprise on her face.
She landed with a thud on her back, and she heard a loud
crunch, followed by a tinkling sound, as bits of ice scattered
about her in all directions.
Raising herself onto her elbows, she blinked her eyes. The cat
was lying motionless on its side, blood pooling about its body.
The woman screamed when she saw the spike of ice which extended
from the cat's midsection.
The woman covered her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
"It saved my life!" she said in a loud whisper, as a tear
dropped from the bottom of her eye and streaked her face.
She raised herself to a kneeling position, next to the cat.
Lowering her ear to its side, she heard its small heartbeat.
The pulse was slow and regular. The cat's fur felt warm on her
face, and she felt the rise and fall from its breathing.
"Oh, please don't die! Please don't die kitty!"
She touched the icicle. The wide end of the ice shaft extended
from the middle of its back, just to the right of the spine.
Blood trickled from the cat's belly, where the broken, narrow
end of the icicle protruded.
The woman was amazed that the cat was still living. She picked
it up gently, laying the cat on the blade of the snow shovel.
She struggled painfully to her feet. Her back was covered with
snow and slush.
Picking up the shovel on either side of the blade, she carried
the injured animal on this makeshift pallet. She clumsily
opened the side storm door with one hand. As she swiveled the
shovel around to allow the cat to pass inside, the handle
smacked the window of the storm door.
She looked back for a second, glad that the window had not
broken. The woman continued inside, and she sat the shovel
blade on the counter, next to the kitchen sink.
Hastily undoing her winter garments, she locked the door and
switched on the kitchen ceiling light. The fluorescent bulb
buzzed and clicked to life, bathing the kitchen in a harsh glow.
She spread a towel out on the counter, and she moved the
unconscious animal onto the soft fabric. Removing the shovel
from the counter, she propped it behind the door, and she
returned to the task at hand.
The icicle was melting, and the cat's fur was wet with water.
Suddenly, she heard ice breaking, and the front point of the
icicle slid down a groove in the counter and into the sink. The
icicle had broken off, since the warmth of the cat's body had
melted the internally lodged ice.
She stepped back, expecting a gush of blood from the wound, but
none occurred. The opposite end of the icicle also cracked off,
and the ice fell to the floor, where it shattered further.
Inspecting the wound as the cat lay on its side, she felt a
hard, crusty patch, where its blood had clotted. The same had
occurred on its back. The cat's eyes were opened partially, and
she closed them with her fingers.
For the next four hours, she prayed to God that the cat would
live, listening every couple minutes to its breathing and
heartbeat, amazed that the animal was still alive. She went
into her bedroom and found a small blanket, which she used to
cover the cat and keep it warm.
She realized that no veterinarian offices would be open this
late, especially since it was a Sunday evening. She had a car,
but she was afraid to drive it in the snow. Looking through the
window, she saw that the snowfall was heavy.
At times like this, she prayed and called her niece on the
phone. Looking at the clock which hung above the sink, she saw
that it would be too late to call her niece, who lived two time
zones away. She was in bed by now, since she had to wake up
early for work on Monday morning.
And so the woman prayed. She found her book about the life of
St. Francis, and she read the chapter on his miraculous way with
animals. After every few pages, she would again listen to the
cat's pulse. She realized, by inspecting his underside, that it
was a male.
The cat had no tag or collar, and she felt its front and rear
paws, finding that the cat was fully clawed.
"I pray for him, Lord" she said, tears again in her eyes. "Let
this animal live. He saved my life."
For the rest of the evening she watched and prayed, until, a
little after midnight, she found herself falling asleep standing
up. She kissed the cat gently on the cheek, and she slept on
the couch, since it was very close to the kitchen.
6.
The next morning, she woke up to a strange sound. As she
fought off the cobwebs of sleep, she realized finally that the
cat was making noise.
She climbed out of bed, donning her robe and slippers. By the
time she reached the kitchen, she realized that the cat was
vomiting. A pool, appearing like black sludge, lay around his
quivering mouth. His eyes were open, but they didn't seem alert.
"Oh, you poor thing. At least you're still alive."
The cat reacted to her words, turning his gaze to focus on her
wrinkled face. She wet a paper towel and gingerly cleaned the
vomit from around its mouth. She cleaned the counter also.
"Thank you for saving my life" she said, only inches from the
cat's ear. She stroked him with two fingers, slowly and gently.
She perceived that the animal was in pain, and her touch seemed
soothing.
The region of the cat's belly surrounding the wound was deep
purple and black, and it began heaving again. The deep,
guttural sound made her cry, as another sticky mouthful of
digested blood flowed onto the counter. She stayed with him.
Looking from the kitchen window, she saw that at least another
half foot of snow had fallen during the night. The nearest vet
was about ten miles away, and she knew she wouldn't make it.
Then, to her complete amazement, the cat slowly climbed to his
feet. He yowled with pain as muscles pulled on the healing
wounds on his back and abdomen.
"No, lay down! You have to rest!"
The cat looked at her skeptically, and then he yawned.
"Come here! Lay back down!"
She urged him back down onto the towel. The woman was amazed
that, not only was the cat still alive this morning, but he was
in much better condition as well. His eyes stayed open, and,
throughout the day, they became more lucid.
The woman stayed with him, leaving the kitchen only to go to
the bathroom. By nightfall, the cat was meowing when she pulled
a jug of milk from the refrigerator. She produced a small bowl
from a cabinet, filling it with cold milk.
Setting the bowl in front of the cat, she helped him to his
feet. He stood and drank every drop, his small pink tongue
flicking in and out until it swept over the clean interior of
the bowl.
All day, she had been thinking of names to give her new friend,
but she was afraid to name him. With a name, he would be hers,
and then she would not be able to watch him die, if he were to
succumb to his injuries.
That evening, before she went to bed, she found that the cat
had jumped down from the counter. He was ambling slowly around
the kitchen, finally settling to a rest near the heating
register. She folded the towel and placed it into the laundry
hamper. She petted him for a while longer.
"You are ..." She paused for a moment as she made her final
decision on a name. "You are my little baby. I'll call you
Barnaby."
She sat on the floor next to him, as he lay his head down onto
his paws before falling asleep.
"Goodnight, Barnaby" she whispered, whereupon she retired to
her bedroom for the night.
7.
Over the next few days, the cat recovered more fully, and, when
the snow had finally melted, she no longer felt the need to take
him to the vet. She wanted to keep Barnaby as her friend and
pet, and she knew he needed a checkup and shots.
Barnaby was growing stronger by the day, and he cleaned his fur
until it was free of all dirt and stains. His coat gleamed, and
it was fluffy soft to her touch. Fur grew over the scars on his
belly, back, and rear leg within the next week, and soon, the
old woman could find no hint that Barnaby had been near death.
His nearly mortal injury was now just a memory.
She watched the cat play by himself in the corner of her living
room. He loved tearing up newspapers, and the woman noticed
that Barnaby would only attack those parts of the paper that she
had already read. He ate anything and everything that she gave
him, which made it difficult for her to decide on the best brand
of cat food.
Barnaby was special, and the woman knew this. She heard his
meows and purrs through her hearing aid, and she watched him at
play through her thick glasses. Though her senses were dulled
by age, and though her limbs were tired and stiff, the woman
never tired at watching Barnaby.
He watched her do everything, from cleaning dishes and cooking
meals, to doing laundry in the basement. This was his favorite
place, since the old home had all sorts of interesting nooks and
crannies downstairs. When the woman was sleeping or watching
television, Barnaby would sometimes go there and play in the
dark.
Then, one cold winter day, as Barnaby sat on the front
windowsill, licking his fur and realizing how fortunate a cat he
was, he saw someone walking up the sidewalk, towards the front
porch. He bounded to the plush carpet and trotted over to the
couch, on which the old woman was sitting, as she watched her
favorite soap opera.
He stood on her lap, buzzing and purring until she looked down
at him. Then, he jumped down from the couch and ran towards the
kitchen. Just then, the doorbell sounded, and the woman stood,
making her way slowly into the kitchen. When she arrived at the
door, she parted the curtain.
Her face lit up as she saw the other woman, waving at her. The
visitor was also very old, and wisps of gray hair stuck from
beneath her red, knit cap. The woman opened the door to allow
her visitor to enter. Barnaby sat on the floor and watched them
curiously.
"Lynn, it's so good to see you. Thanks for coming by."
"Oh, this snow has been keeping me away. I told myself, Lynn,
when this weather breaks, the first thing you have to do is
visit Betty."
The two women hugged, and Lynn walked into the kitchen. Betty
closed and locked the door.
"And now I can formally introduce you two. Lynn, this is my
new friend, Barnaby. Barnaby, here is our friend, Lynn."
The cat stood and walked up to Lynn. He purred and rubbed his
head against her legs.
"Oh, he's so cute! He's just like you described him!"
She bent over and petted the cat, who was loving all the
attention.
"Thank you for saving Betty's life" Lynn said, scratching the
cat under his chin.
"Come on in" Betty said, slowly making her way to the living
room.
The two women visited, and Barnaby curled up on the couch
between them, allowing both of them to pet him. He fell asleep
for a while, the words of the two women receding into the
distance. A vibration awakened him, and he saw Lynn standing
up.
She walked to a closet in the corner of the living room.
Finding her coat, she hugged Betty good bye.
"How about bingo, this week?" Betty asked.
"Sounds good. I'll drive this time. Give me a ring sometime
tomorrow."
"Okay, I'll call after lunch."
The two women walked into the kitchen, and Lynn turned to wish
Barnaby farewell.
"It was nice meeting you, Barnaby. Be a good little boy."
The cat buzzed innocently, and Lynn walked through the door.
She pulled her coat tightly around her neck as protection from
the wind. Betty closed the door behind her, and she watched her
friend walking along the sidewalk, towards her own house several
blocks away.
That evening, Betty made fish for dinner, which drove the cat
insane. Barnaby meowed and pawed at her as she prepared the
food at the counter. When she removed the fish fillet from the
oven, she reserved a third of it to the side. Before sitting
down to eat, she placed the fish into his food bowl and broke it
up.
"Here you go, Barnaby. Enjoy your dinner treat."
The cat gobbled the food down, and she heard him burp. Barnaby
lay down at her feet for the remainder of dinner. There, he
cleaned his fur and purred against her leg.
After dinner, they sat on the couch, and Betty watched an old
movie on television She picked up a picture from an end table
and looked calmly at the smiling faces of herself and her
deceased husband.
Barnaby noticed what she was doing, and he sat up, gazing into
the frame with her.
"He was the most wonderful man in the world" she said, pointing
at the picture of the young man, dressed in a black tuxedo. He
had all the promise in the world in his eyes. She was in her
twenties, the delicate white veil pulled back from her face, a
broad smile on her face.
"His name was Hugh. We knew each other since we were in high
school."
The cat pawed softly against the picture.
"I miss him so much, even though it's been ten years since he
passed away. He would've loved you as much as I do."
She returned the picture to the table, and soon she retired for
the evening. As she pulled the blankets up to her chin, she
heard Barnaby jump onto the foot of the bed. There, he circled
several times and fell asleep. She watched him with a smile.
He was a ball of fur, inflating and then deflating as he
breathed. Switching off the lamp, she fell asleep.
Later that week, Betty joined her friend Lynn for bingo at the
local church. While they were gone, Barnaby played with the
newspaper and with the catnip toys that his mother had brought
home for him. Soon, sated with catnip, he fell asleep on the
couch. He never heard her return that evening.
When he awoke the next morning, he found her sound asleep in
bed. Soon, Betty woke up and made her and the cat breakfast.
After that, she played hide-and-seek with Barnaby. She would
tell him to sit down on the couch. When he did so, which didn't
require much coaxing, she would slowly wander off and hide.
When she whistled, Barnaby would then set off in search of her.
Usually he found her within seconds, standing behind a door to
one of the bedrooms. Other times, however, she would elude him,
once hiding in a closet amid a bunch of coats and dresses.
Barnaby had been unable to smell her there, since all the
clothing surrounding her contained her scent.
When the cat finally discovered her hiding place, he would meow
and stand up, bracing his front paws against her leg while she
petted him.
8.
Over time, Barnaby and Betty became best friends. Barnaby
never gave her a reason to be angry. He was neat with his
litter box, and he ate only what she set in front of him, never
begging for her food at the table. Barnaby was patient in the
morning, never awakening her for the purpose of preparing his
breakfast.
Betty pampered him as well, always serving him delicious food.
She always had the time to play with him, whether it was
hide-and-seek, playing with his catnip toys, or attacking the
newspaper.
At night, Barnaby would curl up at the foot of the bed, keeping
watch over his foster mother. There they would sleep, each
dreaming their own dreams.
9.
The months went on, and the warm Spring breezes returned to the
neighborhood. Betty began working in the backyard, and she
found that she could leave Barnaby outside without him running
off or crossing onto the neighbor's property. He would pace
around the perimeter of her yard, which wasn't divided by a
hedge or fence from the neighbor's. When Betty was ready to
come inside, Barnaby followed her cheerfully inside, thankful
that she had let him enjoy the outdoors for a while.
As the Summer brought hot weather to their home, she switched
on two air conditioners. The first was in the dining room
window, the second in her bedroom.
Betty came to know that Barnaby was the most wonderful cat she
had ever known. When her lady friends made her impatient or
angry, Betty always knew that Barnaby was there for her, to be
her unerring and faithful friend. He had replaced the void of
loneliness left by the passing of her beloved husband. She
thanked God for Barnaby, and sometimes she thought that her
husband's soul, in some way, had sent Barnaby to her.
Several years went by, as Betty aged further. She became
slower, and soon she had to abandon the yard work entirely,
hiring out a boy who lived down the street to do the cutting and
trimming around the house. Some days, she no longer had the
energy to play hide-and-seek with Barnaby, so they would sit
together and watch TV, or watch the sunset together from the
front porch.
10.
It was almost five years to the day from when Barnaby and Betty
found each other, that the old woman passed away. It was a
snowy morning when it happened.
Barnaby woke up, and he sensed something was wrong. Walking up
to her, covered in her blanket, he sniffed her shoulder. Her
warmth was already gone, and a peaceful look was on her face.
How fortunate she was to have died without pain, after leading a
long, full life.
The cat meowed and sighed, lying down over her deceased form,
mourning the loss of his best friend and master. She had cared
for him for half a decade, never once regretting the company of
her ever faithful cat.
The next day, after the phone had rung many times, both day and
night, policemen showed up with Lynn, who had a reserve set of
keys for the house. They rang the doorbell and knocked on the
door several times. Barnaby heard them but stayed with Betty.
When they finally entered the bedroom, Lynn wept, realizing by
the coldness, the pallid complexion on her face, that Betty was
gone.
Soon, an ambulance arrived, and medics carried the corpse to
the idling vehicle. Lynn began looking for Barnaby, but he was
nowhere to be found. The medics swore that they hadn't left the
cat outside. After calling Barnaby's name throughout the house
and searching in every nook and cranny for him, Lynn gave up,
assuming that he had somehow run off into the neighborhood.
She placed a message in the newspaper, hoping that someone had
found Barnaby and could return him to her. No one ever replied.
11.
The sun was setting as Zefran's shuttle alighted on the landing
pad, a square of gray in his backyard with red lights blinking
in all four corners.
After shutting down the engine, he exited the vehicle and
locked the door. His humble home stood before him, beyond which
a beautiful forest stretched as far as the eye could see.
He felt faint for a minute. As the feeling subsided, he
remembered what his surgeon had said about his new heart.
Occasional sensations such as this could be expected, as the
intelligent processor onboard the artificial organ learned to
compensate for his body's needs.
Walking into the house, Zefran switched on the video screen,
and an entire wall of his living room came to life with sound
and motion. He turned on the Indianapolis 500, already
completed and now being aired for the general populace.
After the hundredth lap of the race, the man grew bored, and he
switched off the screen, his house suddenly becoming silent.
He went out onto the back porch and sat on his chair. The
orange disk of the sun was sinking below a line of trees.
Zefran remembered his wife and his friends, now all passed away.
He felt most lonely during these quiet times, times he used to
share with others in years past. Now, as he watched the light
of day fading on the horizon, he felt a tear in his eye.
As the droplet of water fell onto his cheek and traced a thin
path towards his beard, he heard a strange sound. Looking
about, he saw something moving on the back lawn. Standing up
from his chair, he approached the creature. It moved towards
him silently.
"A cat!" the old man exclaimed.
In another five minutes, Barnaby and Zefran were friends.
