Sometimes the biggest blessings are the smallest things.
When my Scrappy died, I couldn't even think of getting another kitty, almost like I'd be betraying him.
Then a couple weeks ago, several unusual events happened that caused strangers to bring me a precious gift.
Sebastian just waltzed into my home and stole my heart. Now, I have a new best friend.

The Old Lady

The summer sun slipped behind the tall brown fence, taking away its warmth. The old lady looked off into the distance, wondering as she did every day at this time. Would the sun rise for her again tomorrow? If it did, what would it bring? More waiting? Waiting for someone to get her out of bed. Waiting to have done what she always did for herself. Waiting to eat. And begging. Begging drove her crazy. How had life come to this? Begging for a tissue to wipe her nose. Begging for a bit more sugar in her coffee. And begging to go outside, to one of her children’s homes. To hear the little ones scream with laughter, to watch the teenagers, shyly put their arms around each other.
She remembered her own first love and warmth flowed through her ancient, veins. Had it been that long? It seemed like yesterday. Her wedding, then the children coming, and growing up, the grandchildren, then the great grandchildren. They floated across her lifetime bringing her back to her wheelchair, a cup of coffee, a bowl of cookies and a dish of fresh, ripe raspberries. Treats she’d never get in the nursing home.
Soon she’d have them eaten, and it would be time to return to the begging and waiting. But she felt better now. The outing to her daughter’s home had rekindled her dreams. Maybe tomorrow, the sun wouldn't rise for her and she’d wake up in that promised land far beyond the clouds.

Tears stream down my cheeks forming in glistening puddles on the keys my keyboard. My grief escapes in hacking sobs. Why? I ask over and over again. Scrappy was a rare treasure, my friend, my comfort in trying situations, my baby after my children left. And now he is no more, because someone needed to prove they were big behind a steering wheel, and made him their target. Because of their need, emptiness haunts my home, reminding me my companion is gone forever.

Inevitable

Cold, white, and blue, filled my world, freezing my breath and turning it into miniature clouds. Crisp, drifted snow crunched beneath my feet, and an indifferent sun shone down, reflecting off the winter blanket blinding me. Still, I trudged on.
At the edge of my vision, a lone wolf slunk into the trees. Hunger griped the mangy creature, shrinking it’s flanks. He’d reappear behind me, and pounce, extinguishing his remaining fuel. Only one would continue, victorious, the other, sinking into a warm, uninterrupted sleep.
A north wind arose and lifted my fur, exposing my tender pink skin. I leapt forward, landing beside a leafless willow. I took a moment to gnaw on the frozen bark, refueling my dwindling strength.
Refreshed, I moved on. An uprooted tree lay across my trail. Its heavy trunk felled smaller trees, creating a refuge. I hopped beneath the branches and needle-free bows, waiting, wondering if the sun would rise again.
The wolf approached, his sides heaving, saliva dripping from his open mouth. He sniffed the ground around my sanctuary, pawed at the snow, but the trees kept me safe. Exhausted, he crumpled to the frozen ground. Darkness drove the light away and I closed my eyes. I’d sleep a little and continue on when a new sun arose.
The seasons changed and a bright spring sun caressed the frozen land. Beside a pile of rotting trees, a lone gray wolf hid his nose beneath his flank and slept the eternal sleep. Under the rotting trees, huddled a snow-white jackrabbit, its eyes closed, its trembling nose stilled.
A thin, brown grizzly stretched his massive body, yawned, then, sluggishly, climbed from his lair beneath an uprooted tree. He glanced around in search of food.

Metamorphosis

Cold gripped the ancient land. Vast, wind-driven snow banks clung to tree trunks and to the base of every rugged cliff. A silver moon shown through the winter-weary trees, transforming the ground into a blanket of glittering stones. Tracks of animals in search of food crisscrossed the barren landscape.
Alongside the trail used by his people to go from their winter camps to their summer homes, Wolffang leaned against a poplar trunk to catch his breath, his own stomach reminding him it needed fuel. He glanced around, seeking shelter. A tree lay to his right, its roots ripped from the ground with soil still clinging to the fibrous appendages.
He hurried forward. The dirt packed roots would keep the wind from his back and a fire would warm his front. He sighed. The journey had been long, but in distance, it had just begun.
He dropped to his knees in front of the uprooted tree and pawed at the snow until he’d cleared an area large enough for a fire and a spot to sleep. Some thin branches, he snapped from a nearby tree. Dried grass and moss, he found in the section he’d cleared. He arranged them is a small pile and above it, he struck two pieces of flint. Several times the flint slipped from between his numbed fingers but eventually, a few sparks danced above the pile, then one touched a blade of grass and a small flame sprang to life.
His hunger pangs soothed by the strips of dried moose meat he’d consumed, he leaned against the tree roots and gazed into the unapproachable sky, contemplating the whereabouts of his family. They would have though him dead when he didn’t return with the braves after the summer hunt, because the braves, too, had given him up as dead.
He felt the tender spot on his side where the yearling moose had gouged him with its sharp antler. Even he could not fathom why he still lived. His wife and children reappeared in his thoughts. He caressed each one, and counted the days separating him from them.
Without warning, the ground shifted, throwing Wolffang to his side. He lunged for a nearby sapling to prevent the earth from swallowing him. The spirits were angry again. Demanding the human’s attention.
As sudden as the ground shook, it settled, and he looked to the sky at the shifting dancing lights, and a new star appeared, dulling the radiance of all others.
Wolffang stared at it. His mind told him Mother Earth had reached a new plateau. Life as he knew it would soon disappear. His spirit, soothed beyond his enchantment the night he and his wife first coupled, sought the victorious deity.
A wolf claw, given to him by his father, hung around his neck by a rawhide lace, burned his chest. He ripped his clothing apart and yanked off the amulet, then looked down at his exposed flesh. A stinging, fire-red claw mark stared back at him, twisting his thoughts, provoking him to explore the meaning of his shifting world.
A cold gust of air arose, its icy fingers annihilating the throbbing. Wolffang closed his buckskin coat to preserve his body heat. He returned his attention to the new star that paled the changing, dancing lights. The Ancient One had done something new, something significant, on this cold, desolate night.
Unable to penetrate the land of the sleep spirit, Wolffang stood, threw his pack over his shoulders and continued down the trail. He must reach his family, let them know he still lived, and warn them to seek the ways of the new spirit, while time remained.

Winter has arrived

This morning, the whir of a strong wind surrounded my house and it darkened noticeably. Then the shriek of hungry birds filled my ears. Scrappy, my big orange tomcat, leapt onto the back of a chair near the living room window, and imitated the bird’s chirping. I looked out, and hundreds of tiny, hyperactive snowbirds swarmed about the mountain ash. In minutes, all the bright red berries clinging to thin empty branches disappeared. Then the birds moved on, leaving behind one more assurance winter has arrived.