The second life of Martha Sanders

Mr Sanders lived alone in a tiny cottage in a wholesome English village, down the road from where the church stood.

Mr Sanders lived on his own and managed a tiny estate worth nothing to nobody. His belongings and affairs were neatly tied together and had been arranged to be left to a handful of local charities.

It had been a month since Mrs Sanders had passed. Mr and Mrs Sanders had spent more than 50 years of their lives together in wedded bliss.

So when Mrs Sanders left this world, the village collectively mourned for her, preparing themselves to console a devastated Mr Sanders.

But to their surprise, Mr Sanders didn't mourn his wife. Instead, he went about his business as usual. He would take his morning walks around the village corner, collect his morning papers from Mr Smiths and eat his supper at the local pub.

But he was usually joined by his lovely wife on such outings. Without her, he seemed lonely and morose. It was evident to even the most distracted person that Mr Sanders had lost a ton of weight and developed dark circles under his eyes.

The villagers understood that Mr Sanders was undergoing some kind of shock, the kind one experiences when you lose a part of your body.

But all that changed when one late Sunday evening Mr Sanders walked into the local pub, with the cheeriest of grins on his face and announced that his wife had returned.

Mr Sanders would recount the same story throughout the village. He would relate to the concerned villagers that it all transpired in the middle of the night, a day after his beloved wife had died. 

He was woken by the sounds of tiny scratches on his kitchen door, followed by faint whimpers. He would later open the door to find the puniest orange kitten he had ever seen in his life, barely alive, eyes still closed and crying in despair.

Mr and Mrs Sanders had never owned a pet. But he nevertheless took in the kitten and cared for it, nurturing it back to life.

He told the villagers that the kitten would soon start to exhibit strange behaviors. For instance, it would sleep on the same side of the bed as his wife and play with his wife's things, which he had yet to put away.

He would even swear that the kitten had the same green scar that his wife had on her chin. All this led him to the conclusion that his wife had returned in the form of a kitten.

Naturally, the villagers took pity on the old man who had clearly lost his mind. And while everyone understood this, no one discouraged him from continuing to believe this delusion. Eventually, Mr Sanders would name the cat after his wife Martha.

When friends and neighbors would drop in, they would find him talking to the cat as though it was really his late wife, asking it where he had left his glasses, having pretend conversations and arguing about politics, all while the orange tabby playfully wagged its tail.

As the cat grew older, he would even put a leash on it and take it out for a walk, and introduce her to everyone as his deceased wife reincarnated. He would invite everyone to celebrate its birthday and would even send out adorable family Christmas cards, in the same way he used to with his wife.

All in all, Mr Sanders didn't seem to need much help. For all matters and purposes, Mr Sanders seemed to have gotten back his spirit. The villagers argued that sometimes living in denial could be more helpful than facing reality, especially when there is nothing much to be gained from such terrible heartbreak.

Mr Sanders thus lived the remainder of his days untouched by the harsh imprints of reality, floating away happily in the fantastic bubble of denial.

Many were worried if the cat would come to an untimely death and crush him even further. So much so that the community, in the most wholesome display of love, came together to care for the cat as though it were their own pet.

All the houses and local stores would put out milk and food for the little bastard who roamed the streets like their local queen, petted and adored by everyone. The villagers even named the 1st of July (the day Martha Sanders had died) as the Martha Sanders day and showered the cat with plentiful treats.

One day Mr Sanders didn't wake up. When Tim, the milk-boy delivered the morning bottles as usual, he heard the cat crying unusually loud.

Tim gathered some of the villagers together and they barged into the tiny cottage to find Mr Sanders lying peacefully on his bed with the puffy orange cat purring softly on his chest.

Mr Sanders was laid to rest next to his wife's grave. It was a tearful goodbye, and the villagers found it harder than expected. The whole town had shown up to bid adieu to the sad bugger who had terribly loved his wife and could never say goodbye to her.

As for Martha the cat, to the villagers surprise, it wouldn't leave Mr Sander's grave, often resting next to it from sunrise to sunset. Despite the concerted efforts of the villagers to take in the cat, the cat refused to stay put and wandered off on its own. It was clear that the cat missed its master terribly and would not leave his side, almost becoming a sad echo of Mr Sanders himself after his wife had died.

Until one day, a furry black and white striped cat wandered into their village. He would soon become friends with Martha, becoming almost inseparable in a short period of time.

One day Martha left the grave of Mr Sanders and walked passed the villagers, with her fluffy new friend by her side.

That was the last time they saw Martha, the orange cat.