Serendipity

SERENDIPITY

“What the heck?” said Val, looking down at the tiny kitten swirling around her ankles.

She was sitting outside in the square surrounding the reflecting pond in front of city hall. She felt lost and hopeless. She’d just finished requesting her husband Pierce’s death certificate from the Registrar’s Office.

The whole interaction had seemed so clinical … so matter of fact. She had found the office, entered, taken a number, found a seat, and waited. The wait wasn’t too onerous — about half an hour. When they had called her number, she went up, told them what she wanted, paid her fifteen bucks, and it was done. All she had to do was wait ten to fifteen business days, and it would be delivered right to their door. She caught herself—it was her door now, so no more “their” anything. Just hers. Hers, alone.

Just as she felt the tears welling in her eyes, she was distracted by something at her ankles. That’s when she noticed the little black kitten weaving its way around her ankles. She bent to pick up the little ball of fur, which started purring immediately. Val held the tiny creature to her chest, gently rubbing the bony little head.

“That cat’s been hangin’ around here for about a week.”

Val looked up at the speaker, a woman of indeterminate age. Wrinkles criss-crossed a deeply suntanned face framed by a halo of grey hair. Her eyes were bright and lively. She looked a little weather-worn, but at the same time almost familiar. “I left some water and a tin of food over by the concession booth, but I think the bigger cats got it all before this little one has a chance.”

“Oh,” said Val. “This is your kitten, then?”

The woman leaned away from Val. “Nooooo. I have no need for any pets.” She shook her head no. “At my age, they’d outlive me. I just couldn’t stand to see the little thing starve’s all.”

“So no one owns—” She flipped the cat over and checked the gender—”this little guy?”

“I do believe he’s a stray.” The woman leaned back in. “Matter o’ fact, you’re the first person I ever seen hold this little one. Every time me or someone else tries to scoop him up, he scampers away and hides.” She looked up at Val. “You must have the touch.”

“Maybe. Or I smell like salmon,” Val said, smiling at the woman.

“No, I think this cat’s your cat.” The woman tapped her own forehead. “I know these things. This cat is your cat. You two belong together.”

Val looked from the kitten to the woman. “I’m not sure that I am that person. I’m having a hard enough time looking after myself. I’m not sure I can take on a new project, like a kitten.”

The woman squinted at Val. “You look like you’d be a fine cat person. Nothin’ to be afraid of. Cats almost look after themselves. Some food, water, and a litter box, and you got yourself one happy cat.”

Val smiled weakly. She’d been holding the cat the entire time they’d been speaking, and he’d fallen asleep on her lap. “I don’t think that I’ve got the bandwidth for this right now.”

The woman looked at the kitten in Val’s lap, the back at Val, confused. “What’s that bandwidth, you’re talkin’ about?”

“Sorry.” Val shook her head. “I’m not sure that I have the emotional capability right now to look after a kitten.”

“I think you do have the—whatcha call it?—bandwidth. You’re doin’ a good job already.” She nodded at the kitten sleeping soundly on Val’s lap.

Val bent her head, to hide her tears. “Thank you, but, I don’t think so.”

“Can I sit?” asked the woman, pointing to the spot beside Val. Val nodded, shifting a bit to the left so that the woman had enough room. Val tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her face.

“What’s troublin’ you, hon?” the woman asked, compassion radiating off of her. “And is it that same trouble that brings you here to city hall?”

Val looked back down at the kitten. “My husband died, and I needed a copy of his—” she took a big breath “—death certificate.” Saying it made Val realize that it really was true—Pierce was dead. In ten to fifteen business days she’d have the paper to prove it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Death is always hard.”

Val nodded saying nothing.

“I seen my fair share of death, and it never gets any easier. Don’t matter if it happens like that—” she snapped her fingers. “—or if it takes a long, long time. It always hurts the ones left behind.”

“It was an accident,”whispered Val. “A seemingly healthy forty-six year old man driving down a street had a massive heart attack. He lost control of his car. Pierce and I were walking home from the subway. I’d stopped to look at something in a store window. I’d called out to him to come back and have a look. He’d stopped, and was turning to come back to see what I found so damned interesting, when the car jumped the curb and pinned Pierce against the wall, killing him.” Val shook her head. “If I had never stopped we’d have been past that spot If I’d never stopped, he’d be alive” The tears started again, streaming down Val’s cheeks unchecked. “He’s dead because something caught my eye. He stopped, and he died.”

The woman looked at Val. “You don’t know that for sure. If you’d both been walking together, it might have hit both of you.”

“I wish it had.”

The kitten sensed Val’s distress, and stretched himself up her chest, reaching for her face. Val scooped him up, and held him close. The tiny creature rubbed his head under Val’s chin, purring loudly.

“I think he’s tryin’ to tell you that it’s not your fault. I think he’s telling you he understands. He’s all alone, too. Just like you.”

Val rubbed under the kitten’s chin.

“You should name him,” said the woman.

Val continued to look at the kitten. “I’m not sure he’s mine to name.”

The woman smiled. “Oh, he is your cat. That I’m sure of.” She tapped her forehead again. “See how he’s made you happy when you were sad. What’s that word?” She looked at Val, puzzlement across her face. “You know—a happy accident?”

Val knew the word the woman was reaching for. “Serendipity,” she said, a small smile on her lips.

The woman sat back, nodding. “Yeah! That’s the word! Serendipity. You should name him Serendipity—Dippy for short. The happy accident.”

Val laughed. Maybe for the first time in over a week. “I think Serendipity is a fine name.”

The kitten rolled, stretched again, and jumped from Val’s arms onto her lap. He rolled over on his back, and started swatting at the ties on her hoodie. “Yeah,” said Val slowly, “Maybe Dippy is a good nickname.” The kitten was squirming so much that he almost rolled off of Val’s lap before he righted himself. She looked at the woman. “You’re sure he doesn’t belong to anyone?” she asked.

“Like I said, I been watchin’ him for a whole week. He’s ain’t gone near no one that entire time. Then you show up, and bang, he’s sleeping on your lap.” The woman shook her head. “Serendipity is one hundred percent your cat. He belongs to you, and you belong to him.” She smiled at Val. “Anyone seeing you two together would surely know that!”

Val picked up the kitten and looked into his blue eyes. “Well, Serendipity, is that true? Do we belong together?”

Val could have sworn the kitten looked at her gravely, making eye contact.

Mew!

“See!” said the woman. “He knows you two are a pair! He just told you so!”

Val settled the kitten into her lap again. “Thank you,” said Val.

The woman looked surprised. “For what? The cat came to you. I had nothin’ to do with any of it.”

Val smiled at her. “Serendipity thanks you, as well.” Val stood, Serendipity cradled in the crook of her arm. “I think I’m going to like being a cat person, after all.”

She turned on her heel, and headed away from he square, toward a home where she would no longer be alone.

The woman sighed. She knew that the Val needed Serendipity right at that very moment. It was destiny. And history. She knew that without the kitten to occupy some of the sad times she was going to face in the future, Val would probably lose her will to live—so overpowering would her sense of loss be. She knew that Serendipity would help Val through all the difficult times. She knew that Val would cherish Serendipity’s company and that her beautiful black cat would give her the strength to carry on, one day at a time. In time, Val’s innate ache and pain would fade—never completely—but it would allow her to reenter her own life, and begin looking forward, instead of focussing back. And, in his special cat way, Serendipity would be there to help Val.

The old woman knew this because she was Val, sixty-three years into the future.