Never Too Late

I’ve had a cat for most of my life.  Although I don’t recall the specific cat, there is one in a picture taken on my first birthday.  The first cat I remember was when we lived on the bottom floor of my grandma and grandpa’s house on West Middle Street in Chelsea.  A grey tiger, his name was “Peanuts,” and I remember putting a barrette on his tail.  Probably the reason I remember this event was that Peanuts was so obviously distressed by this dress-up activity.  And, getting a barrette off the tail of a hysterical cat was challenging.

I was eight years old when we moved out to Sibley Road.  My need for having a cat continued, but our road was sometimes busy, so we lost some cats to the cars going by.  One cat, Big Joe, dragged himself home using his front legs only as his back legs were smashed, and he had to be put down by the village veterinarian, Doc Lane.

As an only child, cats were central to my life, so losing them was tough.  When Big Joe died in early spring,  I remember I had to stay home from school one day as my grief was too much to bear.  Big Joe’s body was put into a pillowcase on which I wrote about my love for him and how much I missed him.

We buried him under my bedroom window, and when I visited that spot, I was comforted.   Until Easter.  It came shortly after his burial, and I decorated his grave with some of the jelly beans from my basket.  Then, the cruelest of acts was visited upon that sacred spot--the jelly beans were soon gone!

No, it wasn’t an animal who ate them to satisfy a sweet tooth.  It was my neighbor, Sally, who laughed and told others about what she had done.  I felt as if the act itself was mean enough, but telling the story in a mocking way drove a spike into my open wound. Was she teasing me about my attachment to Big Joe?  Since she was from a family of five children, was she shining a dark light on my depleted state of only childness? Or, was it just that I was an easy target?  Why?  What exactly, did it mean?   

Now over 70 years later, I have forgiven her long ago, but I have a memory of what it felt like at the time. Now in her mid-80s, it seems that Sally dwelt upon that unkind act and wanted to clear her soul. Several weeks ago, I received a phone call from her asking for forgiveness for what she had done and acknowledging that it was cruel.   It’s just never too late to apologize.