FROM OUR FURRY FRIENDS AT THE MEADOW

Arcalian stands at the edge of the meadow.

He’s never truly had a cat of his own, but has known the cats of others down the years. Midnight. The small army of cats the Aldridge family had. Cooney. And so forth, and so on.

Death and him are not friends. But whenever he thinks about this place, the Meadow, he is always reminded of that Tolkien quote:

“And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

Arcalian…It’s official. You are now CJ’s godfather. Never, ever say you didn’t have a kitty of your own.

Joan, that is beautiful. Thank you.

I remember them. Here’s what I wrote about your Boo Boo and your dad, a few years ago:

Archie and Boo Boo

Boo Boo rests against the paws of the great Wolf.

“Is this a dream?” asks the little cat. His head moves upward as he listens to a bird call from the great Tree in the Meadow.

“Yes, and it is reality, too” replies the Wolf, smiling down into the troubled little face. “You are sleeping now, and you are still in the life before Life, and Lainey’s hand is stroking you.”

“What am I doing here?”

“You are seeing where you will be very soon. Your papa will come for you, and you will join him in the Blessed Realm.”

“But I’m alive! I am still alive!” whispers the little cat.

“Yes, but time has a different way, dear friend, and this is a dream. Watch now,” and the Wolf pauses.

“Now,” he continues, “Now see what is real.” The Wolf’s head moves, and he gazes across at the Bridge.

A handsome young man dressed in white, the hood of his robe thrown back, stands at the end of the Bridge. The Wolf and the little cat watch as Jack, a fox terrier, and a sleek white cat named Bootsie dash across the wide green Meadow. Although they have been here a long time as measured by clocks and calendars, it seems a bare handful of days that they have been in the Meadow.

The young man kneels down to hug his two friends, and the cat, twining around the feet of the man, cannot stop purring. The terrier barks softly and whimpers with joy, treading on the white robe.

“It is my papa!” Boo Boo turns to face the Wolf in terrible despair. “But I can’t go to him? I can’t go to my papa? When can I go?” The little cat’s frantic cries are heartbreaking.

“Now!” says the Wolf. “You can go now!” and he kisses the little face. Boo Boo rests his head against the Wolf’s huge cheek.

“Thank you!” he gasps, and a black and white blur races across the wide Meadow to the man, his legs stretching and his fur shining like silk in the morning sunlight.

At the foot of the Bridge, Archie reaches down and sweeps Boo Boo up into his arms. Crying and purring, struggling for breath, Boo Boo curls into his papa’s chest.

The Wolf smiles as he walks across the Meadow to the Bridge, the wild grasses marking his passage.

“Thank you, Wolf,” and Archie’s grin seems to split his kind face. “I was worried about leaving this little guy behind. I forgot that this really is Heaven, and that time moves differently.”

“And lovingly,” says the Wolf. “All things are in God’s time, dear friend.”

The Wolf touches his nose to the little tuxedo cat as Boo Boo stretches down to the Wolf from his home in Archie’s arms.

“Good bye, Boo Boo, dear one.”

Archie’s hand drops onto the Wolf’s rough shoulder, and he turns toward the Bridge.

Two figures stand waiting for Archie at the end of the Bridge, and he and the Wolf and the three little animals hear their voices, their warm laughter in the white vapor.

The mist shimmers at the end of the Bridge, blazes with light, and then fades slowly.

They are together, now and forever. Others will join them, all in good time.

And they are now where all time is good.

__________________________________________

“The Wolf, the Meadow, and the Bridge”

Lauretta M. Gordon – copyright 2012

Such beautiful tributes for our special friends. Thank You everyone for sharing.

My Chloe has been at the bridge for just 5 weeks now. I wish I had the words to write a comforting/welcoming story about her. (I simply do not have a creative writing side.) I am hopeful Emma may write one. I miss her more than I ever thought I would. She was my first ever fur-kid –

Joan – thank you. You have helped to make the screen blurry, and have helped my heart.

Play hard at the Bridge Harley, healthy and frisky again.

That image and wording JK *if/only*. And yes, I can hear the chorus of purrs.