Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

Special Treat – J. C. Breeze

February 11, 2008

***Published by rosannecatalano.net Dec. 10, 2007

Cats meow for writers & readers e-zine

                                           Shadow’s Head Stone

                                                            by                   

                                                J.C. BREEZE: all rights reserved          

Snowbirds from northern states travel south in the winter. Our neighbors, the Ronds, are snowbirds. The snowfalls of the last two days and nights have had no affect on plans made. Through our kitchen window we could see them in their Chrysler rolling and sliding down their icy driveway. During the night before, they had worked late packing their car’s large trunk with travel luggage. Such is their annual preparation for early morning departure to spend three months in Florida in the warmth of Lakeland.

“Good bye” we yelled waving from inside through our kitchen window. “Have a safe trip. See you in three months.”

Mrs. Rond rolled the car window down shouting back to us, “Say goodbye to Shadow. We love that little stranger.” The Ronds are Shadow’s neighbors as well as ours. They love animals and especially cats. They especially are fond of Shadow and his unusual behavior. He visits their property regularly. They bathe him with affection. 

The Rond’s car rolled carefully over snow and ice on its way down the road. We were happy for them. Returning our attention to the kitchen Terri picked up Shadow’s food dish from its corner on the floor. It was just as she had filled it late the previous afternoon. Not a morsel was eaten. The contents of the dishes were untouched.

“You know” she said, “I haven’t seen Shadow since yesterday afternoon. Where is he hiding.” She filled a clean dish with the canned seafood he loved. Terri called out for Shadow, but there was no response. Turning to me she asked, “Did you let him out?”

“Sure” I said kidding. ‘He is in the car with the Ronds. You won’t see him for three months.” Terri was not laughing. “Seriously, I don’t remember,” I added. “I may have let him out.”  I went to the kitchen door and opened it. Stretching out over the snow, I called his name. The morning air was cold. I called again. Each time I gained no response. Shadow’s feline coat, I feared, wouldn’t protect him from the cold winter for long. “You know” I said, “I think the last time I saw him was yesterday afternoon. He was sitting on the fence with his friend Clyde the cat.” Clyde was a nice cat belonging to a neighbor down the road. The two cats got along very well. They would sit, for long periods on our fence, just facing each other in cat talk.

Terri placed a fresh serving dish on the floor, next to Shadow’s water bowl.

Later that morning we got busy with home chores and, for the moment, lost thoughts of Shadow’s absence. Terri was making room in her closets. I was in the basement storing summer items. I heard the front door bell ring. “Can you get the door” I yelled. I heard Terri opening the door. I could hear her talking to someone. By the tone of her voice I could tell that she was not happy. I went up the cellar stairs to the center hall in three long strides. “Whats the matter!”

“These are the children from down the lane,” she said in tears. “They say that there is a dead cat out on the roadway. They think its Shadow.”

We put jackets over us and carefully stepped our way over the snow-covered driveway. On the road we saw a frozen figure, the remains of a dead trampled animal. It sure looked like a cat. It had been crushed into the soft snow and hard ice by the snowplowing trucks. The town Highways Department had continuously worked on our roads the nights before. It was hard to tell but it could have been Shadow. Our first instinct was denial. It could be the body of a homeless cat. There were many in the area. The color of the dead thing was dark. It could be Shadow but, maybe not. On closer inspection I could see that the figure had, what certainly could pass for, tuxedo markings.  

Terri and I held each other’s hand. I led her back into the house.

“His food untouched” she cried. “We’ve been so busy with the holiday season that we lost sight of him! Go get him” she demanded. “I don’t care how hard the ground is, we’ve got to bury him on our grounds. That’s where he should be. On the grounds that he loved.”

Now was not the time to talk it over. I gave the kids who found the body a couple of bucks to retrieve the body. I handed them a small wooden box and a shovel to dig. They worked the icy snow; then brought the occupied coffin to the back of the house.

When I was alone I swung a pick and shoveled to make a burial hole for Shadow. The site was under the dogwood tree; a location that Shadow preferred. I also placed a flat bluestone on the ground over the burial. On it I painted the inscription, “HERE LIES SHADOW”; under that I painted the month and the year.

“Shadow was a lucky cat”, I thought to myself. By that I meant that he had found a good home with us. I may not have freely expressed it aloud but I was aware that we were lucky too! Although he was typically aloof at the wrong times, he had become an integral part of our home. In his own way he showed affection; especially to Terri. Their relationship had connection. Shadow received care and physical attention from Terri. She fed him, brushed him and was able to fondle him. It was Shadow’s way of showing that he appreciated the treatment. It also displayed his fondness for the domestic lifestyle; a far cry from the woods where he survived as a young kitten. Sometimes I would complain because Terri would attend to Shadow’s needs before mine. One needed only to look at his high tail, floating softly side to side as though he expected no less than the grand service he receives.

The morning following the burial Terri and I sat quietly having our breakfast. We ate lightly without our usual appetites. We reminisced over Shadow. We recalled how he had come to us out of the woods. “He was a gift,” Terri sobbed. Our sorrow was interrupted by a knock at our front door. I looked out through our kitchen window and to my surprise and confusion I could see Mister Rond. Hurriedly I went to the front door. Opening it I said, “What are you doing back so soon. Is it two months already?”

“No” he laughed. “But we’ve got a little surprise for you both.”

“Well before you tell us what your surprise is, I’ve got something to tell you about Shadow” I broke in.

“That’s what we want to tell you, but how could you know?” he said laughing.

Turning the corner coming into view on the top step of our lawn path strode Mrs. Rond. “Look who we’ve found” she sang excitedly. In her arms she held Shadow. He was alive and alert. Shadow was clean and robust. His yellow eyes widened with excitement as he saw Terri. Shadow strained for release from Mrs. Ronds grasp; eager to be placed on the ground. Leaping from Mrs. Ronds arms he hit the ground on a run and disappeared through the opened front door. Terri, in disbelief, ran after Shadow. He did not stop until he was squarely over his food dish on the floor in the corner. Under the circumstances, I felt that he was treating us rather casually.

The Ronds explained how they found Shadow. They had stopped for dinner in neighboring Maryland. It was late in the late afternoon yesterday; on the day of their departure from home. They ate at a roadside inn. After their early dinner they decided to stay overnight at the inn. Mr. Rond went to his car to remove personal overnight articles from the trunk. To his surprise, when he opened the trunk, he was greeted by Shadow; finally released from his long confinement among the soft baggage.

The Ronds kept Shadow in their room at the inn. They realized that they could not continue on their trek to Florida with Shadow. After reviewing the alternatives available, the Ronds decision was to return.

We were in celebration and in gratitude. The Ronds stayed for lunch. Shadow was up to his old ways, as though nothing had happened. He ate and cleaned himself as always. He showed no inclination to go outside. Pleased to be on his own cushion, he slept in his favorite place on the windowsill with a view overlooking our wooded property. Stillness slowly took the air in a calm home. But of course something had indeed happened. Terri especially needed time to overcome the emotional ride she had gone through.

The Ronds stayed in their house that night with plans to get on the road again the next morning. Celebration of Shadow’s return had been spent. I was suddenly struck with the obvious question. “Well, who the heck is that buried under our tree?” Bewildered, we had no idea. “What are we going to do with that grave out there?”

“Nothing” Terri answered. “Let it stay as a reminder to us as to what might have been. Maybe that will encourage you to be a bit more patient with Shadow.”

Now the monument lies in place. I did, however, alter the inscription painted on the bluestone. “HERE LIES SHADOW” was changed to read “ANONYMOUS”. I removed all references to the month and year.

About one week later, one of our neighbors called at our front door. It was a woman who we knew by sight. After introductions she said, “I have been told by the children on your lane that you have a cat confined to a burial on your property.”

“Well, yes that is true” I said defensively. “Are you a town official. Have we done something wrong?”

“On the contrary, sir!” she said visibly holding on to her emotions. “I am here to express my appreciation for the manner in which you have treated my little Cleo girl.”

“Wait a minute”, I said. “Aren’t you the lady who lives in Clyde’s house? Are you saying that Clyde is Cleo? And that Cleo is buried back there?”

She could no longer hold on. She gave way to a flood of tears. Carefully we sat her down on a kitchen chair. Terri served her a cup of coffee. Between sips, the lady talked some more. “I know your cat. His name is Shadow, isn’t he? He visited us often”. The lady sipped again. Catching her breath, she went on. “He and my Cleo girl got along so well.”

Now we knew who is buried under the dogwood tree; and that Clyde was really Cleo; and that Clyde, or rather Cleo, was female. No wonder Shadow and his friend got along so well. But now Shadow’s behavior is peculiar in a different way. Shadow acts as though he knows what lies under the blue stone. Weather permitting he stands over the burial site. Sometimes he will lay on the flat stone for long periods.

It wasn’t long until one afternoon I changed the inscription. The blue stone now reads:

                                      “HERE SLEEPS CLEO

                                               aka: CLYDE”

And you can tell that Shadow knows what we know.

J. C. Breeze

jtcjc@optonline.net