Midnight

He just appeared one day in early Fall, peeking out from behind the car’s front tire, green eyes wide with fear, black fur blending in with his hiding place. I stood motionless exchanging his stare, hoping my presence wouldn’t scare him away. Several minutes passed but his eyes never left mine, though were less wide, replaced it seemed by cautious curiosity. Warily, one paw moved forward, then the other and a scrawny body with matted fur slowly emerged. 

“Hi, Kitty,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He inched forward, crouched low to the ground, turning his head to keep me in his sight.

Quietly I said, “You must be hungry, you’re looking awfully skinny. I’m going inside now to get you something to eat. Wait there and I’ll be right back.”

Slowly I backed up to the open garage door then dashed inside to retrieve a can of tuna. When I returned with a heaping bowl of every cat’s delight, the mystery cat was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t surprised but still disappointed. I’d fed stray and feral cats in the past and knew they can be skittish and easily frightened. Living on their own often makes them hypervigilant. 

I put the bowl of food on the stone wall next to the forsythia bush, softly calling, “Here kitty, kitty,” walked back to the garage door then turned around, and looked one last time for signs of the cat, but there were none. I made a mental note to bring the food inside before dark since there were plenty of wild animals around who would help themselves to a free meal during the night. It was twilight when I retrieved the bowl, which to my delight was empty. I so hoped my feline visitor had enjoyed an early dinner.

This scenario repeated itself for several days. I even went out and purchased cans of cat food. Finally, a week or so later, my persistence paid off, he was there sitting on the stone wall, watchful and waiting. Walking over slowly, I quietly placed the bowl somewhat away from him and stood back. Stepping confidently across the stones, he stopped in front of the bowl and began eating. Once he finished, he sat up and began cleaning himself, every so often looking over at me, paw in mid- air. Taking advantage of his preoccupation with grooming, I walked toward the wall and sat a few stones away. I gazed ahead rather than looking at him, sitting motionless. Suddenly I felt a tickle on my hand and looked down to see a furry black head bent over my fingers, a damp nose inhaling my scent. I stopped myself from using my other hand to pet him, afraid of startling him. As he stopped sniffing and began to rub his head on my hand, I understood this as an invitation to petting. I gently stroked the top of his head with my forefinger, trying to contain my excitement. His fur was as soft as velvet and I resisted letting my hand drift down his back and tail. He looked so much better than when I first met him, his body filled out, his fur no longer dirty and matted. I was satisfied with this limited connection and wanted to respect his boundaries of human contact. I felt so pleased and honored with his acceptance of me.

Three weeks passed and gradually our petting sessions included under the chin rubs and occasional full body stroking. Purring also accompanied our limited time together and this was a good sign of his comfort with me. I was grateful for this interaction but so wanted to adopt him and have him warm my lap at night. This seemed not to be in the cards, however. There was a limit to him staying with me and he always strode off the wall and disappeared into the forsythia bushes, looking back with his green eyes locking mine, the intensity of his momentary stare a bit unsettling. Even when he was next to me, he often would stop and gaze into my eyes and it felt like he was penetrating my soul. He seemed to possess an almost human wisdom and knowing. He definitely knew that I was a cat person, but just who he was and why he’d come began to pique my curiosity despite a touch of unease.

It was fast approaching the end of Fall, leaves from trees had changed color and drifted to the ground with the slightest breeze, even the forsythia bushes had lost most of their foliage. Now when Midnight, of course I’d named my feline friend, went toward the bushes he stopped and sat momentarily, staring into my eyes, even meowing. I would ask him “What’s wrong, sweet boy?” and walk toward him but before I could reach him, he would turn and retreat into the bushes. With the lack of leaves, the bare branches provided a better view inside and small openings could be seen. I could see Midnight to the end of the bush but oddly he just seemed to vanish after that. 

I laid in bed one night in early November, ruminating as always, thinking about the cat being cold since the temperatures were dropping, wishing he was cuddled up by my feet. Why, I’d even share my pillow! Nothing I tried would coax him into the garage let alone the house. His food dish placed inside the garage, a trail of treats on the driveway leading up to it, all left untouched. Perhaps, he preferred being an outdoor cat, I guess I could live with that. Maybe I could get one of those little huts, even a heated one…. Before I drifted off to sleep, satisfied with my plan, I turned toward the empty side of the bed and whispered, “Good night, Honey. Love you!” How I missed and needed him and always would. It wouldn’t be quite as lonely if Midnight was here with me. Sad old woman, I thought as a tear rolled down my cheek.

Startled awake I threw back the covers and bolted out of bed. My heart hammering, breath catching in my throat, I knew something was wrong. I tossed on my coat and slid into my old, outdoor shoes unlocking and opening the garage door to the house. As I raised the garage door to the outside, I thought I heard a plaintive wailing. I shone the flashlight, always at the ready in my coat pocket, toward the bushes but didn’t see Midnight nor any other animal who could be making the noise that had now stopped. Gingerly, I walked closer to the bushes and it was then that I saw my precious tom partially hidden beneath the bare branches. His eyes shone an emerald green when I trained the light on him, and had a luminescence of their own brighter than my small flashlight. More welcoming than frightening, I asked what was wrong, as if expecting a reply. With a loud and persistent meow, he actually did answer. No more caterwauling, just repeated meows while he stepped forward deeper into the forsythia, stopping each time to look back at me. Somehow, I knew I was expected to follow him, but knew I couldn’t manage to enter the small spaces at the front of the shrubbery. I walked cautiously to the side of the bushes where they ended, training my feeble light before me to guide my steps. I put out my hand to steady myself when I stopped and it felt like my hand struck jello and bounced back to my side. I should have been frightened by this occurrence but I actually giggled and tried again. This time my hand and arm penetrated the odd substance and I simultaneously felt a gentle yet firm push on my back that propelled me entirely past the portal; somehow, I understood that’s what this was.  

I saw Midnight a short distance ahead of me and he looked entirely satisfied, a Chesire cat grin on his face. Whatever I had entered was bright and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. When I could see clearly, I recognized tall green trees, lush vegetation, and beaten down paths than ran in all directions. Flowers of every color, and some I couldn’t even identify, dotted this ethereal landscape. Suddenly I felt myself floating gracefully to the ground (an unheard-of experience at my age!), my legs stretched out in front of me. I realized that my mouth was open in a perfect o and closed it to catch my breath. It was then I noticed Midnight, prancing exuberantly toward me, a long formation of cats following him. Calicos, orange tabbies, tuxedoes, striped black and greys, blacks, kittens, all paraded toward me. As they neared, I recognized those at the front of the line and their appearance had me gasping and crying. Mittens, Minerva, Freida, Francesca, Freddy, Teddy, and Tom were the first among many I could identify. Cats I once was forever honored to share their lives. Each rubbed against me, my legs, arms, hands, back and face as I petted and patted every single one. This was nirvana! Cat heaven I guessed. 

Once I had bathed my body and soul in the cats’ adulation, I felt at peace in this cat heaven. How much time passed I had no idea and then as I gathered my senses somewhat, I realized there was no passage of time. No sunset or sunrise, unbelievably no sun or moon at all, just a constant soothing brightness, warm and comforting.  As peaceful as I felt, there was a nagging sense of urgency that somehow, I must move on. And just as this occurred, Midnight appeared and I heard, no felt him say, “Follow me.” Abruptly, I rose to my feet, and followed.

Almost instantaneously, I was in another dimension, blinded by a luminous gossamer atmosphere that showed brilliant light approaching me. Overtaken with wonder and incredulousness I forgot about my furry guide, for this is what my feline friend was I now understood, my spirit guide. The light that neared took shape, it was him, my soul mate, my husband of fifty years! Our embrace mended the missing pieces of my heart, piercing my soul with ecstasy. Reluctant to disturb this incredible moment of reunion, I nonetheless could not forget Midnight and furtively looked for him, I needed to thank him. He was walking away but looked back at me with an unmistakable smile on his sweet furry face and I felt him say, “You’re welcome. You are home now, but you can always visit us,” and I swear I saw him wink at me. I winked back, knowing I would.