Misadventure & Magic

Dead Horse Hill had gotten it's name from the number of horses that had died pulling carts and carriages up it's icy incline during 19th century New England winters. It was a narrow, steep, treacherous road and we lived at the very top. Driving home one freezing and pitch black January night, I was intent on maintaining traction and a steady speed and I very nearly missed seeing the small black cat who passed me going in the opposite direction. I had a glimpse of yellow eyes reflected in my headlights and the impression of a small animal walking downhill in the snow.
And rational or not, I knew instantly and without the slightest doubt that it was Magic.

I pulled into the very next driveway, threw the car into park and took off running and calling his name, unspeakable images of him lying dead flying through my head. But he came to me immediately, wet, shivering and meowing four letter words loudly. I wrapped him inside my coat, so angry with him that I wanted to spit and so relieved that I was in tears. I could hear every beat of my heart and feel every beat of his and a hundred if's went though my mind ...if I'd left work five minutes earlier or later, if he'd tried to cross the street, if the hill hadn't been iced over and I'd been going faster, if I hadn't seen him, if I hadn't known it was him, if he'd frozen to death ....

We got home and I dried him off, brushed and fed him, checked for damage and found none. He curled up in my lap and went to sleep, the adventure over and forgotten. It was the first of many near disasters all of which he seemed to take in stride while I balanced on the verge of a breakdown. At work with me once, he scaled a wall, got past the ceiling tiles and worked his way into the adjoining building where he dropped casually onto a work table. Thinking him a stray, they put him out and it was only after hours of frantic searching that I finally found him , perched on a stack of empty milk crates on the sidewalk. Of all my cats, he was the most trouble, the neediest, the bravest
and when his health finally failed, he was the hardest to give up on.

I drove to Texas that day, to a crematory. While I was waiting, I discovered a pet cemetary - fresh flowers on every grave and loving inscriptions on every headstone. I sat among them and reflected, remembered, and grieved for this small black cat who had spent his life with me. The October sunshine turned to shadows and the shadows to sunset and I gathered my things, picked up the small urn, and made the long drive home.

"I have sent you on a journey to a place free from pain, not because I didn't love you but because I loved you too much to force you to stay."