It had been a hard day at work, and I was tired and hungry. I didn’t even bother to flick the light switches as I walked down the long front hallway.
I dropped my bag into the chair, hung my coat on the invisible hook, and walked mindlessly into the dark kitchen. A collision with the unexpectedly wide-open pantry door startled me to attention. I mumbled angrily and massaged my wounded forehead. With my next step, I slipped in something crunchy on the floor and nearly landed flat on my back. When I finally got the light on, a confusing site met me. It looked like a crime scene.
Between over-decorating, over-eating and over-spending, the Christmas season can be overwhelming. Add the stress of Covid 19 and its easy to feel cheerless and exhausted. It doesn’t have to be that way, as I learned the Christmas Neil was in the hospital.
It was only three months after his diagnosis, but deep down we all knew it was his last Christmas. Things weren’t going well with his chemo, his appetite and energy were fading, and the team of doctors on his case bounced him back and forth because no one wanted to face the Christmas elephant in the room.
In typical Neil fashion, he was excited about the holiday even from his hospital bed, and I had no intention of leaving him alone. That meant there were no decorations at home other than the few I set up before he went into the hospital. There were no gifts except for the ones I purchased earlier that year. Wrapping and Christmas cards? Nope. Not even Christmas dinner.
It was a gorgeous day. No humidity, faint breeze, wisps of white clouds – the kind of day that hints autumn is around the corner even as summer lingers. I was walking along the old rails-to-trails path behind my house.
Several miles from home, far from any roads or accesses points, something unusual happened. You’d think I’d feel the vibration underneath my feet. Or hear the motor as it approached. Nope. You’d think I’d notice the odd way my dog was acting as he kept looking over his shoulder.
I was eating lunch outside on an early autumn day last week. The breeze was gentle, but the air tingled with a hint of cooler days to come. From the side of my patio, I felt a flicker of movement and sensed something coming toward me. In the split second I turned my head to look, the sensation was gone and the tree beside me stood still.
Just the breeze, I thought, as I went back to work on my salad. Then I saw another flash of motion in that same tree. I decided it must be one of the hummingbirds that have been zipping around my house all summer.
I made a big dent in the salad before I saw the movement again. This time I had the sense of something floating from a high branch to a lower one, far too slow to be a hummingbird. A leaf on the gentle breeze? A falling limb? My curiosity got the best of me.
My dog, Buddy, hates one of my cats. At least that’s the way I’ve always interpreted their relationship. Tiger is at the head of the pet hierarchy, and Buddy, at the bottom.
I’ve seen evidence of this as the dog remained trapped on the patio, despite a wide-open door, simply because the cat was glaring at him. I’ve heard Buddy whine, confined to the bathroom because Tiger was blocking the exit. I’ve watched Buddy jump off his comfy spot on the couch, just because Tiger walked into the room.
Imagine my surprise then, when I found them laying side by side on my bed. What was this? Could it be the end of the world – when the lion lays down with the lamb? Possible, but unlikely. Could they have somehow not noticed each other? I watched for a few minutes, and they watched me back. It was clear they were aware of each other. Had they called a truce? That would be awesome. I get tired of their incessant meowing and barking arguments as they steal each other’s food, and chase each other around the house.
Peace seemed possible for the next half hour. They lay side by side without a meow or growl. I thought they looked cute and snapped a few photos. They didn’t move. I marveled at their adorable behavior and considered giving them each a treat. Then doubt crept in. What if they were sick? Or what if they were plotting something behind my back, communicating through animal pheromones?
