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Scoop's Story
FAITH
It had been colder earlier,
but now it was damp, too; the moisture drilled through to the bone and his
shivering was more pronounced than when it was only freezing. (wet fur is
awful)
Fur plastered against skin covered bones, tail low and dejected, he trudged
slowly along, hoping to find shelter, or food, soon. If not a warm place to
rest, at least no harsh voice raised in anger or hand raised to strike. It
didn't seem like too much to ask. Maybe, if God was listening, something to eat (it's
been so long!) and a pause in the constant ache in his maimed back leg? (hurts
so much!)
Limping along, watching the shadows for predators, he struggled up another
embankment.
Was this the same one he'd landed near so many cold, lonely nights ago? (where
are they?)
What had he done to deserve such punishment? What ever it was, he was more than
willing to atone, if only they'd come back for him! He missed his people so
much; wished he could tell them he'd not meant to be a bother. He'd try to do
better if they'd only give him another chance. Was that why they abandoned him
here in the cold? (wind is chilling-sharp against wet fur)
He'd couldn't understand where they'd gone or why the people that had
given him such love during his kitten-hood, who had played with him and given
him treats, would abandon him now when he needed them so terribly. (will
be good, promise!)
The leg jolted him again, a constant reminder of how alone he was. He'd tried to
get out of the way of the car's backing. He remembered, with a cringe, the agony
of the crushed back paw, the horrible pain of being picked up by the scruff of
his neck and tossed in the car. Mercifully he'd fainted, only waking later in
the cold and dark, on a forest path. (not used to alone!)
Where were the people he trusted to help him? What had happened? Surely they'd
be here to help him soon? (please! take me home!)
But this was days ago, and though the leg had healed slightly, the pain of the
desertion hadn't. That never would go away. (why did you throw me away?)
People were supposed to be the source of all good the things; his mother had
taught him to trust and love those large clumsy two-leggers. Was she wrong? No,
he'd not believe that! She couldn't be! People were good, they *could* be
trusted to help, not hurt! Couldn't they? (where are you?)
A week later, he wasn't so sure. He was still cold and wet, he couldn't seem to
find his way home, (so lost! so lonely!) and now there was a
peculiar white covering on the ground that made it hard to walk. Sometimes it
fooled him into stepping into holes; one had been so deep he'd feared he'd not
escape. His poor leg wasn't strong enough to help in climbing, and
scrambling up the side had taken hours and cost him much of his little store of
energy. Exhaustion was following him, a partner with starvation and fear. (so
tired, so cold, so hungry)
He'd seen people from a distance and had hurried ahead; people would help!
They'd feed him, dry his wet fur, warm him and tend his crippled leg, stroke his
head and tell him he was a beautiful little cat. (wait for me!)
He'd been horrified when the small humans yelled, and chased him with sticks.
He'd escaped; gray and brown stripes blended with winter foliage so that he was
hard to see when he was still, but he'd had a horrible fright. He'd expected
help, not harm. His trust of humanity was eroding, but he still had some left,
though it was becoming slimmer, hourly. (isn't there anyone there?)
Ahead there were lights again; was this a beacon to home, or yet another bitter
disappointment? He limped ahead, furry heart still filled with hope. (someone,
please help me?)
He passed by several lighted windows and could hear talking or that strange box
with the moving figures, but nobody heard his plaintive meows for help and he
moved on. He even passed one window where there were other cats, two haughty
black Persians; they stared disdainfully at him and turned away from the
scrawny, limping stray that was crossing their domain. (don't need *you*,
still strong! am!)
There were still a few windows to peek into, maybe one would hold the warmth he
was seeking. His nose twitched; what was that? Sniff, sniff. It smelled
like...food! There! Under the cedar bush! In that little black dish...was that
really food? (yes, yes! o, thank you!)
God hadn't abandoned him! He was still there! He limped to the dish, and
as he did looked up and saw a lovely, white furred face gazing at him from
the window. He meowed silently and got a quiet answer and a nod. He lowered his
head to eat, knowing he was safe for the moment; the Other would watch while he
had his first meal in ... how many days? (thank you!)
Suddenly, a door opened and a huge shadow loomed over him; he cringed and
prepared to run as fast as he was able, but no hand struck, and he relaxed a
bit. Then there were voices, another smaller shadow and a gentle hand touched
his cold head, stroking the damp, matted fur; arms scooped him up and held
him close and warm. (help me?)
He was inside, warm and fed and safe! His mother was right, people WERE good.
The gentle hands stroked him, and dried him and the soft voice tut-utted over
his starved condition and ohhed over the poor mangled leg and whispered softly
he was a handsome boy. He was eating warm food, drinking fresh water and had a
soft blanket to curl up on when he'd eaten his fill. A loving hand was there to
smooth his rumpled coat, and best of all the beautiful white-furred Other he'd
seen at the window was close; she was a warm, purring presence at his side as he
went to sleep, safe and warm and loved and *home*. (God was listening)
@1998 March 22 Susan
Sackett
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