CC

littlemom · Guest

Saturday night I heard Neil shout from the front door: “The cat’s in!” She is doing remarkably well for her age. Andrew found her when she was just a kitten, wailing back in the culvert under the road, when Andrew was small enough himself to walk through the culvert if he bent down. I remember that late summer afternoon so well. Andrew came out of the pipe, dirty and smiling with that tiny little kitten clutched to his heart. She was his cat from that moment onward. He called her CC—Culvert Cat.
On cold nights, like this past weekend, he would wait until we went to bed to smuggle her into his bedroom for the night. The persistence of our pet’s memory amazes me sometimes. Most nights she is content with a rub, a scratch, and a bowl of warm milk. She looks for him everyday, but we had thought she had adjusted to his absence. Saturday was a very cold night. As I walked through the house in search of her, I found her at Andrew’s bedroom door, scratching lightly and calling to be let in. I picked her up and made her a bowl of warm milk. No little CC—none of us will ever forget.