Saving Faith

“Are you okay, Maggie?” Susan asked as we walked along the winding forest path. “Oh, I’m just a little tired, honey,” Maggie replied, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing. We emerged from the forest onto Bayview Walk and a breeze blew across the tall bamboo stalks. It looked liked they were dancing. Maggie’s gray hair rippled like waves. The three of us made a left on Ivy walk and weaved our way around the meandering boardwalks of Cherry Grove. It was a cool autumn morning and we were happy and content to be together. The dune grass along Lewis Walk swayed in the soft wind. From over the rolling dunes, across our little island village, I could hear the waves of the big puddle splashing on the shore of the world’s largest litterbox. The smell of salt and sand was in the air. We hadn’t been out that long when Maggie stopped to rest. She’d been more and more tired lately and I didn’t know why. During the summer I’d been disappointed because she couldn’t go into the woods with Susan and me. She used to like watching me climb trees, and I liked her being there with us to share in each new forest adventure. Maggie leaned on the boardwalk railing. I rubbed up against her leg. She bent down and stroked my head. “I’ll be okay, Lily, don’t you worry.” One thing you should know about cats is that we always tell you what we think. We do this with a purr, a meow, and we also do it with our bodies, like rubbing against your legs. It’s what we cats call “talking”. You might wonder what we’re thinking, but if you’re very clever and keen you’ll watch and listen and see that every cat has something to say. We’re very talkative; we just don’t always use our voices. As a two-legged it’s up to you to figure out what we’re saying. Some call me Lily. Some call me Baby Cat. Some, like my mouse friend, Monroe, call me Boss. I used to like bossing four-leggeds around, but it’s not as much fun as it used to be. I just want to be a friend and that isn’t always easy. I’m leader of Lily’s Pride and I earned it, so I sometimes have to give orders and act a little tough. I feel like I’m changing, though, but I don’t know why. Maggie, Susan, and my deer friend Sugar have shown me how to be a better friend. The cats in my pride – Fellini, Alf and Rome – have also shown me how to be kinder. I’ve even become friends with a few dogs, like Faith and Jimmy. Whenever I’m not feeling too friendly, I remember something Maggie once told me: “Live each day as if it’s your last chance to make someone happy.” Being a friend doesn’t always take you down the smoothest boardwalk. Sometimes the path is filled with broken twigs, prickly leaves, and loose rusty nails, but it’s the one you have to travel. I’m learning more about this as I grow older. My moms tell me I’m three years old, but I don’t know what a year is. Two-leggeds talk about time. I have no idea what it means, but I do look forward to the day when instead of being Baby Cat I’ll be a Lady Cat. I rubbed against Maggie again and purred. She took a deep breath and sighed, “I think I better go home and take a rest.” “Okay,” Susan said. “We’ll walk you home.” Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put a paw on it.