Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Welcome to Hearts and Humor

A Michael T. Smith Column

Nov 16, 2006

Read HTML version online: http://archives.zinester.com/86758/113013.html


Hello, Family!!!


    I love all of you. My family topped 800 this week.
   
I am jumping with joy. Please keep passng my stories around.

Spread my words. I have a goal. I want to have more than 1000

family members by the end of the year.


    I have a bunch of things to pull at your heart

tonight. I'll be surprised if you don't shed a tear.

    For the animal lovers, I wrote a story today that
   
made me cry. When that happens, I know I got it right.

    Before the story, I have several things for you
   
to experience. I am doing something tonight I never

do. I am going to post a comment before my story.

    I received this comment about my 11/11 story. The mail
   
came from a man who was there and fought for our freedom.

I am also posting his email address (another thing I

never do) with his permission. I thought, after reading

his mail, some of you might like to email Chet a message

of thanks.

    Here is a link to my Youtube account. This song was
   
written by a gentleman from my home province of Nova Scotia.

It never fails to make me cry. He sings to bring awareness to

our veterns.

    The story behind the song is:
   
   On November 11, 1999 Terry Kelly was in a Shoppers Drug Mart

store in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. At 10:55 AM an announcement

came over the store's PA asking customers who would still be

on the premises at 11:00 am to give two minutes of silence

in respect to the veterans who have sacrificed so much for

us. Terry was impressed ith the store's leadership role in

adopting the Legion's "two minutes of silence" initiative.

He felt that the store's contribution of educating the public

to the importance of remembering was commendable.

    When eleven o'clock arrived on that day, an announcement
   
was again made asking for the "two minutes of silence" to

commence. All customers, with the exception of a man who was

accompanied by his young child, showed their respect. Terry's

anger towards the father for trying to engage the store's

clerk in conversation and for setting a bad example for his

child was later channeled into a beautiful piece of work

called, "A Pittance of Time".


I think that you will find it to be a moving video and song

    Listen to his song here:
   
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUUtoStxzr4

    Now for a short email from a man who was there. Chet
   
fought for us. Take a moment to send him a quick thnak you for

his service.

Hi--My name is Chester (Chet) McPherson


I just received an e-mail from my daughter-in-law. She had sent your

11day of the 11th month story.

I wish to thank you for writing this as there are a lot of people

that do not understand a lot about VETS.

    Myself----I was a flight engineer on a B-17 in WW2. I flew
   
missions out of Africa and Italy. In flack, on my 26th mission, we

were shot down over Austria. After 5 days of walking they captured me.

It was hard as there was 4 feet of snow on the ground. I landed on

top of a small moutain with all that snow, it took me 12 hours to

get down to a road.

    After being captured I was beat with a rubber hose by two
   
S.S. troopers until they passed out from drinking Snapes.I was

then taken to north Germany, where I met the rest of my crew.

Just the non-coms, because the officers were sent to a

different place.

    Anyway we ended up in Stalag17--( which a movie was made of
   
the camp) Every thing in that movie was correct--except for the

plot but that was Hollywood for you.


    I spent 13 months there with my crew. on the 12th month we
   
were forced marched across Austria and then we were freed by

Patton's army.I weighed 175 pounds when I was shot down and when

I was freed I weighed 95 pounds. A good place for a diet.


    I am 83 now and all of the war things that hurt me are
   
coming back. The bacteria I caught still causes me to run

to the bathroom just about every month.


    I am the only one left from hour crew of 10 on the B-17.


    Thanks again for thinking of us.


Chet McPherson

Please take a moment to send Chet a thank you for his

service.

Chet, I thank you.

Chet can be reached at kriege17@comcast.net


Now, before I begin my weekly story, I want to give you

a link to my good friend Bob Perks. He wrote a story last

night that I found very inspirational. Not long after I read

it, I was talking to a good friend on the phone. She is going

through a tough time. I read Bob's story to her. It ws what

she needed.

    Here is the link. I hope it helps those in need:
   
    http://archives.zinester.com/41026/112276.html
   
Now for tonight's story. I hope you enjoy it.



                 I Had to Say Goodbye

    I pulled the rope, lifted the garage door up, and stepped
   
out into the warm summer evening. "Hey, Mike!" I said to my

neighbor, who was unloading his kids from their van.


    A black cat zipped past my feet. "Bob! Come here, Bob." Bob
   
was a black cat who lived in the house across the lawn from our

townhouse complex. He was my buddy.


    "That's not Bob." my neighbor said.


    I looked down. "You're right. It's too small. Who's cat is it?"
   
I asked as the little cat brushed against my leg. I reached down

and petted it. The cat pushed its head into my hand as I scratched.


   "I don't know. It's been hanging around for a few days now." he
  
said.


    "Seems friendly. Maybe it's lost." I changed topics. "You
   
watching the game this afternoon?"


    "You bet! The Buckeyes are on a roll."


    "You know it!' I said. "I have to get back in. See you later.

Go Bucks!" I yelled. As I closed the garage door, I noticed the

little black cat staring after me.


    Later, I opened the garage door again. The little cat came
   
running to me. "You lost, little one?" I knelt and petted it. "You're

a cute little thing. I bet you're hungry." Wait here."


    I went inside, cut a slice of bologna into small pieces, and
   
took it outside. I placed the small pile of meat on my patio. "Here

ya go, little fella. Enjoy." The little cat raced to the food. It

gobbled it down, barely chewing. The poor thing was starving.


    I got more bologna. This time got a small dish and filled it
   
with water. I carried them outside. The cat was gone. I put the

food and the dish on the patio. "Here kitty." I called. The little

cat came running around the corner. This time it ate slower, enjoying

its meal.


    I picked it up. "Are you lost little one?" I asked, as I held
   
it to my chest.


    The cat hung weakly - lethargic - in my arms. I ran my hand down
   
its side and noticed a lump in its stomach. It was quite hard. I

ran my handover it again. "Does it hurt, little one?" It didn't seem

to mind my touch, so I took that as a "no."


    The next morning, I opened the door and the little cat was asleep
   
on the mat in front of our door. It jumped up and came to me. "Good

morning, little one." I said and picked it up. It snuggled its head

into the bend of my arm, close to my heart.


    Later that day, I went to the office of our housing complex and
   
asked, "Has anyone been looking for a lost cat? There's a little

black cat hanging around my place. It appears to be lost."


    "You're the second person to ask about that cat today. Sadly,
   
no one has come looking for it."


    I left my number. Deep down, I knew no one would call. The
   
cat was sick. Whoever owned it, probably knew the same and had

dumped it in the street.


    When I got home, my 13-year-old son, Justin, was sitting on
   
the patio. The little cat was in his lap, enjoying his attention.

"Dad, she's so friendly. Can we keep her?"


    "Justin, you know we can't. We can't have pets here."


    "But, Dad, she's lost."


    "We'll feed her for a couple days and see if anyone comes

looking for her. If no one does, we'll take her to the S.P.C.A.

They'll find her a nice home. Lots of people are looking for a

nice kitty that loves to cuddle."


    Days went by. The little kitten slept on our patio and ate

the food we provided. Each time I picked her up, I felt the lump

in her stomach. Did it grow larger?


    A week later, I looked at my son. "Justin, we need to take

her to the shelter. She needs a home."


    "Please, Dad." he pleaded. "Can't we keep her?"


    "Justin, I think she is very sick. It's best we take her."


    The next day, I borrowed a cat carrier from a neighbor
   
and took the little kitten to the shelter. I drove and Justin

held the carrier in his lap, talking softly to the scared

little kitten.


    I stood at the counter. "It showed up at my door one
   
day." I said to the young lady. "I think someone abandoned her.

She may be sick. There's a lump in her stomach."


    The young lady looked at the kitten with compassion. "Hi,
   
little one." She looked at me. "It's sad, but we get a lot of

abandoned animals here. Is it vicious? Can I take her out?"


    "Sure you can take it out. She's very gentle. Actually,
   
she's lethargic. The lump in her stomach concerns me."


    She opened the box and lifted the kitten into her arms

and held it. "She's so cute." Her hand moved to the kitten's

stomach and felt. Her brow creased with concern.


    "Do you feel it?" I asked.


    "Yes." She felt again. "It could be a hernia." She paused.
   
"Or it could be a tumor."


    "I was afraid of that." I whispered.


    "Don't worry, Mr. Smith. We'll do everything we can for
   
her." she assured me. "She's a pretty little thing. I'm sure

we can find her a home."


    I didn't believe her. She knew as well as I did, the kitten
   
was gravely ill.


    She put the little kitten in a carrier and rested it on
   
the counter. "Mr. Smith, I promise, we'll do what we can."


    "Thank you." I replied in a whisper. Tears formed in my
   
eyes as I turned to walk out. I reached the door, opened it

and made a mistake - I looked back. The little kitten sat

in her cage, staring through the bars at me. She whimpered a

weak cry - pleading, "Don't leave me."


    I sat on my deck that night. My heart was heavy. I knew

I did the right thing and prayed they would find her a home,

but deep down, I knew she was terminally ill. I prayed someone

would hold her and comfort her at the end.


    I made a mistake. It should have been me.


    I'm sorry, Kitten.


    I had to say goodbye.


Michael T. Smith

Please share my stories and include the link for your friends to

join our family. Help me spread the word.

I Love all of you.

Mike

*************

Please send your comments to mtsmith@qwestonline.com. I love

your words of encouragement and promise to reply to all of them.

I will include a few in each week's post.

Mike

************

Mr. Smith,

I read your letter today that was forwarded to me from work.

My dad passed away on Oct. 7, 2006 at the veterans hospital

in Roanoke Virginia and I was deeply touched with your

loyalty for our veterans.

Thank you for your thoughtfulness,

Tara E.

************


Gee whilikers, Mike!

As I read your story about that scary encounter with the

ex-con, it gave me shivers up my spine!  I was sooooo thankful

you were writing it since I was certain you obviously lived

to tell it.  But as I was reading, my heart was racing with

fear that the situation could have turned deadly if you had

not remained calm and collected.  You are so right...fighting

is no way to solve anything.  Of course you did the right

thing by keeping peace, and thank the Lord you lived to

share this valuable lesson.  Even if it deters just one

reader from getting involved with a person like that guy in

the bar, it was well worth it.
Keep up the great writing.  It gets better and better!
Your friend,
Sandi

****************
 

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