The windows frosted over, it was hard to see outside. As beautiful as the decorative ice was, Rita knew frosted windows were a sign of too high humidity in the house. Stepping outside, the bitter wind struck her face, and she pulled her scarf over her mouth, resting below her eyes. Rita tugged the garbage bin down the driveway for collection. Bert used to do this chore, but with his death a few months ago, the job now rested on her.
She never realized how much Bert did for her until he was gone. Their marriage of over fifty years was a slow dance of give and take. Now, in the cold of the season, she realized how much she had taken him for granted. Bert would have fixed the humidifier so that the windows didn’t frost up. He would have moved the garbage can down to the end of the driveway and shoveled the snow for good measure before coming in for breakfast.
She grabbed the shovel and began clearing the snow from the driveway. There was only an inch of light, fluffy snow, but if she didn’t get it off the concrete, it would compact into ice, and she’d be stuck with it all winter.
Rita leaned the shovel against the rail on the back porch, stomped off her boots, and hung her coat inside. The heat of the furnace had melted the frost on the windows, and the sun shone in. Icicles hung from the eaves of the house, dripping.
It was the loneliness that got to her. Even if she and Bert didn’t talk, his presence in the house was enough to keep her company. Now the house felt colder.
In the afternoon, the garbage truck lumbered by picking up the can and returning it to the roadside. Rita put on her coat and boots. Seeing the ice on the roof was freezing, she got out the cat litter and sprinkled it around the back steps. When she reached the can, she heard a slight meow. A small black kitten with white paws had hidden itself in front of the can.
Rita shooed it away and dragged the can back to the garage, only to see the kitten had followed her. It meowed again, looking at her with the cutest face she’d ever seen.
She went to step inside, and the kitten ran between her legs, hiding in the house somewhere. What was she to do? She searched the house but didn’t find the kitten. Rita grabbed the kitty litter, spilled some into a cake pan, and placed it near the back door. She then got a bowl of water, opened a can of tuna, and put the smallest amount on a plate.
When the kitten thawed out, both physically and mentally, it emerged from behind the couch, drawn by the tuna smell that wafted in the air. Cautiously, it walked to the fish and ate it, then drank some of the water and dutifully used the makeshift litter box.
“My, you are a smart one,” Rita murmured. Then she went into the living room and turned on the television. Rita put her feet up and sipped her tea, almost forgetting about the kitten until it jumped into her lap and curled itself into a ball. Its loud purring was reassuring, and the kitten allowed her to stroke its soft fur. They both fell asleep. When she awakened, there was another inch of snow on the driveway.
She put on her boots and coat, holding the door for the kitten, Rita let it outside, and began shoveling the driveway for the second time that day. If she let the snow get too heavy, she’d have to hire the boy down the street to help her. The kitten followed her around, jumping at the snow she tossed to the side. Its comical motions made Rita laugh. It had been a long time since she felt this happy.
Rita returned to the back door and opened it; the kitten was gone. It must have gone home. She thanked the little soul quietly for entertaining her that morning. She should think about getting a pet. While it was there, she felt its presence and no longer felt the loneliness she had been living with.
The kitten raced between her legs, making Rita laugh. She stooped to pick it up and realized it was a female.
“My, you are a determined little thing. You’ve picked me to live with, and now I pick you. First, I must check with the neighbors to see if you are theirs.” She put the kitten down and called several of her neighbors. Everyone said no, with some explaining that the kitten had been hanging around for a week and that they were leaving food for it. She told them the cat had a home with her, in case anyone was looking for the kitten.
“Now what am I going to name you?” The kitten meowed. “How about Miss Sassy?” The kitten meowed. “Miss Sassy, it is then.” After supper, Rita turned on the television set and pulled the lever on the recliner. Miss Sassy jumped into her lap and curled herself into a ball. Rita stroked her soft fur, and the purring followed. Rita sighed contentedly.
Tomorrow she’ll go to the store and get proper cat food and a litter box, perhaps a collar with a small bell, and a cozy bed for Miss Sassy. The little body rose and fell; the kitten had complete trust in Rita, and she would respect that Miss Sassy had chosen her.
Miss Sassy was a gift, she was certain, from her husband. Bert had always wanted a cat, but Rita refused, saying she didn’t want hair in the house and gave a hundred excuses. But this one little kitten somehow found its way to her home and into her heart. On that bleak, snowy day in the middle of winter, Rita found warmth and love again.
About the author
Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, Red, a rescue dog, and a stray cat. She has published over 700 stories, poems, and drabbles in several online magazines and anthologies, along with three novels.
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