In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Odd Trio.”
Our most recent and youngest resident, a tiny cat we call Timmy Tiger, sits solemnly with a puzzled owlish face among several grown cats, then sprawls on the thick, tired red towel a friend recently donated to my cat rescue. Our little shelter is actually more a residence or sanctuary where scared, feral, ill/ non-contagious, emotionally scarred, or otherwise unadoptable cats check in and usually stay for life. Timmy’s owl eyes focus on a bowl of chicken noodle soup my husband slowly spoons into his mouth as he in turn fixates on another bad movie. Such are the ornaments that currently bedeck the living room of the crumbling home my husband and I purchased four years ago after we married long past our prime. He sits today, home from work with a cold and a worn–down body, eating the soup I made him, his sofa and sick table laden with pills for diabetes and high blood pressure. Directly across the room and parallel my own little couch and cluttered flip top table are poor decorative constants in my struggle with post-multiple fusion sciatica, worn- torn joints and constant pain. Four years ago he and I were still ailing, but a bit hardier, a bit more in shape, but now we struggle just to get by, just to walk, and keep the animals in our care alive and thriving. Our home is unkempt, cluttered, and in need of housekeepers, repairs, and makeover miracles. However, the miracles we do manage to create here are small but mighty: we save the lives of unwanted and formerly unloved cats, chickens, waterfowl, buzzards, and other wildlife in our care on an ongoing basis with constant daily deliberate efforts in spite of failing health, faltering finances, and slowly dissolving dreams of doing many great things. Except for the dog he loves, my husband is detached from our brood . He helps care for them because they matter to me (though he sneaks a soft caress to Cleo or another cat occasionally); I do it for deep love of the animals and because I feel a divine calling of sort to do so. I know somehow that these sweet ones were put in my path for a mutual salvation plan that only heaven could devise. So I get up each day, in spite of very severe pain and worsening mobility problems, and I go about the task of living and caring for the lives entrusted to me, glad for their breakthroughs in trusting and loving me; hoping for miracles in my health, longing to dance and move freely again, and knowing dreams of doing great things sometimes come true when we are doing as the quote suggests, small but good things with great effort and deep feeling.