Boots' Blessing

I walked out to the orchard, our black and white tuxedo cat, Boots, at my heals. We’ve had our pear trees three years now, so this might be the first year they give fruit. That would be welcome news to bring back to my husband, Matt. He could use a pick-me-up. After his fall a few days ago, he has been staying off his sprained foot and banged up knee. He doesn’t like being stationary, and it can put him out of sorts.

I was surprised Boots came with me. He has been keeping Matt’s lap warm lately. Guess he needed some fresh air. He bounded ahead of me, then stiffened and growled. I looked in the direction he was gazing and saw a big orange tiger stripe that belonged somewhere to our west. I didn’t often see him. Boots had come home looking the worse for ware recently and I wondered if this cat was the reason.

The big cat sauntered away, and my thoughts turned to my remaining chores. While Matt was laid up, I have my chores to do as well as his on our small homestead. Thank God Matt finished tilling the garden before he fell. We still don’t know what tripped him up. At our age, I’m just thankful he didn’t break anything. So many friends are having hip or knee replacements and other major operations. We have been blessed with good health even though we are in our sixties.

Friends thought we were too old to start a homestead. Hogwash! We could have another thirty years of active living, so we may as well plan for it.

We bought five acres with a year- round stream on it. The fountainhead of our stream is at the top of our highest hill and provides power and water for our little bit of heaven.

I reached the Almond trees first and examined them before moving on. What had been blossoms were turning into tiny almonds.

Pecans and walnuts were in bloom, but their wormy blooms were not pretty like the almond and fruit trees. I love to see fruit trees in bloom, they seem to turn into pink and white clouds. Maybe once Matt is better, we can have a picnic in the orchard. It’s still a bit cool, but it’s sunny and warm by lunchtime.

I approached the three pear trees and carefully inspected the limbs. I saw tiny bulges here and there on the branches. I thought it looked like flower buds. Oh, Joy!

On my way back to the house I stopped to gather plantain, mullein and comfrey leaves from my herb garden to make a new poultice for Matt. I heard another growl from Boots and the blur of another cat flashed by close to the tree line. I’ve never seen so many cats around. I reached toward Boots, and he raised on his hind legs, pressing his head to my hand for a pat.

Inside, I washed the herbs while Boots wound around my legs, purring. His four white paws stepped noiselessly back and forth. Good ol’ Boots. Lucky for us, he was the first animal we had on the homestead. I gave him a scratch behind his ear thinking how he keeps our place mouse free. His purr intensify. I got out the mortar and pestle and began crushing the leaves. Boots stayed nearby, then accompanyed me into the living room where Matt reclined with his feet up. His iPad was in his hands, but he had fallen asleep. Boots jumped on his lap and Matt opened his eyes, his hand automatically stroking Boots’ soft fur. I cleaned off the old poultices. The bruises were healing. I applied the newly crushed leaves and Matt gave a contented sigh.

“Ready for lunch?” I asked.

“How about some of that stew from last night with a nice big hunk of cornbread?”

“You’re making me hungry,” I said. “Be ready in a minute.”

Before I could move, the floor jolted, and I grabbed the chair. Boots jumped down and disappeared.

The house vibrated and shook. End tables bounced across the floor. Cupboards opened. I grabbed Matt’s hand and we both called on the name of Jesus. I expected things to fall off shelves and break, but they didn’t.

An odd sound came from the other room.

I watched as the floor seemed to bow and flatten as if a wave passed under it. The shaking lessened then stopped.

I looked at Matt, he looked at me. Then we looked around the room. Things were messy, but intact.

“Thank you, Jesus,” I said with an exhale of relief.

“We’re OK,” Matt said. “Thank God.”

I gave him a peck on the top of his head, “I’ll go check things out and get lunch started.”

I put more wood in our Majestic cookstove, moved the stew pot onto the flame and put the cornbread in the warming oven. While lunch warmed, I checked the rest of the house.

Cupboard doors were open, but contents remained. The pots of herbs in my window box were rearranged, but none were broken. For as much as it shook, we had no real damage. “Thank you, Jesus,” I repeated over and over as I straightened things up.

But when I checked the bedroom, I saw it. A gasp escaped my mouth. What a freak accident.

How should I tell Matt? The smell of the stew got me moving. I wiped tears away as I prepared Matt's lunch.

I brought him a steamy bowl of stew with a side of hot buttery cornbread.

Matt looked up, “So, how did we fair? Did you find out what made that clunky noise?”

I nodded and sat down. The lump in my throat kept me from answering immediately, and tears began to spill over. “Yeah, I did.” I pulled my hankey out of my pocket and dabbed at my face.

“It can’t be that bad. What happened?”

“It’s pretty weird,” I said around the lump in my throat. “You know that old pewter cup you got when you worked at Arrow?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about that old thing. It’s just...”

“I know, but it landed... on Boots.” I took a breath. “On his head.” I looked away.

“Is he dead?” Matt asked in disbelief.

I nodded.

“You’re sure?”

I nodded again.

He took my hand to comfort me. Then, Matt slammed his other hand down on the chair arm, “I can’t even dig his grave!”

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. He’s not a big cat.”

I changed the subject. “I checked the orchard this morning. It looks like we will have walnuts and pecans this year, and maybe even pears. The fruit trees look so pretty when they bloom, I thought we might have a picnic out there once you feel up to it.” The words felt hollow. What had sounded great this morning, now seemed empty.

Matt looked up, “You know, that would be a nice place for Boots.” He caught his breath as a sob escaped. He was such an old softie. I saw a tear roll down his cheek and handed him a tissue.

I nodded, fighting a lump in my throat again. “I’ll find a good spot,” I croaked. I went over to Matt. We held each other and cried.

Later, I wrapped Boots in his favorite kitty blanket, then an old towel and gently laid him in the wagon. I added the shovel and went to find the perfect spot.

Just beyond the fruit trees, a ray of sunlight dappled the ground. I approached and began digging. Tears mixed with the earth until the job was done. I patted the last shovel of earth back onto the tiny grave, I paused, leaning on the shovel handle. I felt I should say a prayer.

I bowed my head, “Lord, I don’t know if animals have a soul, but is it OK if I think of him in Kitty Heaven? Jesus, I want to thank you for the years we had Boots.” My throat constricted, and I got out my hankey, sniffled then continued. “He was a good mouser, Lord, and if it be your will for us to have another cat, I leave that in your hands. Thank you for giving Matt and I comfort because you know we are going to miss Boots. A lot. Amen.”

I replaced the shovel in the wagon and looked back at the small mound. I wish we had a marker for Boots.

The days passed quickly. By the end of the week, Matt recovered enough to hobble around with an old cane we had in the shed. He said he wanted a change of scenery and spent time in his workshop. By the end of the second week, he was getting around without a cane. He carried something out of his workshop. It was a metal sign with the likeness of Boots and a stake to secure it in the ground. A banner over the top read “Boots” In smaller lettering it said, “Mouser Extraordinaire”.

Tears threatened, and I nodded and cleared my throat. My voice was husky as I said, “Looks great. Think you can make it out to the orchard?”

“I can and I will.” Matt checked the time. How about that picnic you were talking about?”

“Coming right up,” I said.

I packed the wagon with the sign, a blanket, and a basket filled with favorite foods. We went slowly. Matt’s knee and foot were still tender.

When we arrived, Matt lovingly positioned the “Boots” sign and pressed it into the soft ground. We backed up together to admire his handiwork. “Thank you, Honey. It’s perfect. You did a beautiful job.” I squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek.

A rustling noise came from a small mound of branches that were piled up from the yearly pruning, waiting to be burned. We approached and heard mewing. My eyes widened as Matt pushed back some twigs and there were three little kittens, their eyes partially to fully opened. “Oh, Matt! They are so cute! They look like they each had a different father.” The orange tiger stripe was the largest with eyes fully open, followed by a calico who looked at us through a squint-- and the runt was a tuxedo with four white paws who appeared to be giving us a wink. I looked over at Boots’ picture on the sign. The markings were identical.

Matt looked back and forth from sign to kitten, “Well Boots, my man, looks like you’re a father!”

God had done it again. Turned our sadness into joy. Matt and I came closer to the kittens. I wanted to scoop them up and hug them, but Matt spoke.

“It will be weeks before they can leave their mother, but we can bring them food and let them get to know us while they grow.

“I wish we could take them home right now,” I said.

“I know, me too. But they are too young to leave their mother.”

“Is it OK to pick them up?”

“Sure, let’s check them out.” Matt picked them up one at a time. “They’ve got plenty of fleas but look healthy. Ouch! They’ve got very sharp little claws.” He checked again, “And I’d guess we have two boys and a girl.”

I petted them in Matt’s hand, “I’ll bring some lavender to get rid of the fleas, then we can cuddle with them more next time.”

We returned the kittens and noticed a calico not far away. Momma cat didn’t look happy. I dug out a piece of tuna sandwich and left it for her.

As we ate, I asked, “How wild do you think these cats are?”

“Hard to tell. They didn’t hiss at me, and I think that’s a good sign.”

We packed the remains from our lunch into the wagon, still talking about the kittens. Then, as we passed the pear tree, I saw the first few blossoms.

“Look, Matt! We’re going to have pears this year!”

“No, dear, we have triplets.”