Spooky came from the Humane Society, and Emile came from a
catalogue called "Things You Never Knew Existed." During the crisp October days
when sunlight warmed the soil in the Voodoo Graveyard, Spooky sought out Emile
and curled up comfortably next to him. Despite her name, Spooky is friendly. She
has two favorite things: one, to sleep on someone--and two, to do
"mountain-lion" ambush attacks on the three black-and-white Shelties, Merlin,
Gnat, and Rhiannon.
Spooky is named after a semi-wild cat who lived in a pile of
boards near Uncialle's house when she was a small child. Spooky was "owned" by a
neighbor, but seldom allowed herself to be touched, and her kittens were wild
cats. Spooky raised litter after litter of healthy wild kittens, a lean and
sober tortoiseshell matron going about the business of life with rather grim
efficiency, especially in deep-snow wintertime. The original Spooky was
gray-muzzled and scarred when I knew her. When she died, her owner, an elderly
woman named Amy Sexton, claimed that old Spooky had lived 48 years.
Uncialle was a fanciful, solitary child, given to watching
clouds and bumblebees. Sometimes, as I lay deep in meadow grass watching the
business of little lives, Spooky would glide silently through the grass stems
and lie near me, often falling asleep in the sun. She knew she was safe there.
When I got up, she would resume her relentless search for food for the current
batch of kittens. I was not lonely while she was there--nor, I suspect, was she.
Friends come in unlikely shapes, sizes, species, and ages. True
friendship is difficult to find unless your search-image is as wide open as the
sky.
