Dedicated to Felony, a friend of mine.

Balled up in a pile of blankets on the corner of my sister’s bed, he looked so peaceful. His white paws covered his nose; his soft, gray fur reflected light coming through the window across the room.

I stood at the door waiting for a familiar head to pop up, to give a yawn and then to stare with eyes longing for a chin scratch. But nothing. His chest neither rose nor fell. So I waited a few moments longer. Still nothing. Not a single breath. Then the heavy feeling set in, pulling me toward the ground. It weighed heaviest on my chest, but I stood standing. I knew the feeling: all those memories pulled out of the attic, now resting on me.

* * *
The castle walls, built of boots and shoes, nearly toppled as I opened the door leading from the garage to the house. The statue of a cat lay fortified inside those leather walls, nestled conveniently over the heater.

‘Is it real?’ I asked my father.

Before he could answer, my mother entered the kitchen and let out a scream that’d wake the dead. She spooked just like an elephant and almost backpedaled right through the bathroom door. The cat moved not a muscle.

‘What is it?’ she asked with a war-time urgency.

My dad rolled his eyes, ‘Whaddya think?’

‘A cat?’

‘What’s its name?’ I blurted out of turn.

‘She better not be staying!’

‘But Mommm?!?!’
‘Cats are nothing but trouble! We don’t need that right now.’

Then my dad stepped in and had a word or two with Mother ‘-‘ of course, she had her word or two with him as well, but in the end, whatever was said, we won … the cat got to stay.

As years passed, I grew accustomed to having a majestic white-chested and gray-backed lion watch over me from his perch on the living room windowsill as I walked home from the bus stop. And like clockwork, when I climbed the wooden stairs to my house, he’d cry out a long, piercing ‘meow’ heard right through the steel door.

Sure enough, I’d open it and who sat amongst the heaping pile of boots with beckoning eyes but the little devil himself. He always seemed to say, ‘All right, you’re home. Now come lay with me.’ So, I’d drop my book bag and follow him to his sunny spot in the living room where we’d nap the afternoon away.

Sometimes on cool summer evenings, we’d crawl through the uncut grass of our yard hunting for birds and rabbits to take home to Mother. Alone, he was a pro. With me as a sidekick, however, we never captured a single feather. But like my father, he always let me tag along ‘- for company, I ‘spose.

Often times to celebrate our (not so) successful hunt, we’d go spoonful for spoonful on a big bowl of vanilla ice cream drizzled in chocolate syrup: I being the garbage disposal, finished the big chunks; and he being the dishwasher, polished the spoon.

* * *
Now those memories swirled in my head, and still he lay motionless as I tip-toed closer. A lone tear welled up in my eye and ran down my cheek leaving a trail, but I couldn’t bring myself to wipe it away. With my left hand, I reached out to touch his velvety soft fur. Outside, snowflakes fell from the sky, sewing a new blanket to warm the world. On the neighbor’s apple trees, blossoms shone through encasing ice to give a glimpse of tomorrow’s harvest, golden and delicious.

I leaned closer to give him a final kiss — without warning, his chest jumped!’ Then it fell making a slight wheezing sound. Silently, I laughed. A warm smile crept across my face. The trail left by the tear dried on my cheek. I bent down and kissed his head right between the ears. ‘Goodbye, Trouble … I love you.’

Without a second thought, I stood up and left the room, tip-toeing, just as I had entered.

‘