Booker's Miracle

Booker’s Miracle

         I was shaking, frozen to my very bones. My fur was matted and filthy and wet. The winds roared furiously, like an angry monster, uprooting trees and demolishing houses as they buffeted against my little cubby-hole.
         I was crouching between a wayward piece of aluminum siding and one of the few brick walls stalwart enough to stand in the face of the merciless storm. The hurricane, the humans had called it. It sounded nearly as frightening as it actually was. I heard some-thing big and heavy slam into my precious shelter, collapsing the aluminum inward and shrinking my hiding place by a few inches. The dent pressed herd into my side and I curled up tighter, desperate to conserve space and warmth.
         The rain and windswept seawater drummed against my sanctuary, and the small puddle at my feet quickly grew into a little lake, the water nearly up to my chin, lapping at my whiskers where I lay. It filled my refuge with the smell of stagnant water and wet fur.
         I wailed piteously, knowing full well that no one could her me. I licked futilely atmy soaking paws for a few moments before giving up and letting myself shiver as I listened to the destruction being wrought upon the world outside.
         I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a better place and time. My mind drifted off through my memories to a time when there was only sensation. I remembered the feel of several tiny, warm bodies nestled against mine, breathing slowly in peaceful slumber as we lay upon something soft and fuzzy and inviting. I remembered the sensation of little hands curling under my belly and lifting me up to a big, friendly face. “Can we take this one daddy?”
         I remembered the Boy. I remembered nestling into the crook of his elbow as he ran a small, gentle hand down my back, nestling his fingers in my fur, then scratch my ears so soothingly that I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
         A soft voice, “Be careful with him, sweetie. Remember he’s just a baby.” A deeper voice, “Is he okay, kiddo? I know how much you wanted a dog.”
         Apologetically, the voice continuing, “I just couldn’t convince the landlord to make an exception.”
         The Boy, stroking my ears, saying, “That’s okay. This is better. I don’t want a dog anymore, I like him.”
         The soft voice, “Happy Birthday, sweetie.”

         My whiskers twitched happily, and for a moment I forgot the storm laying waste to the Boy’s city all around me. But the wind, not one to be ignored, blew a blast directly into my sanctuary. The force of the air knocked the breath from my tiny body, and the aluminum siding was torn away, careening into what had been a street, and was now a cemetery for once-prized possessions and cherished memories. I looked around in panic as I fought to keep my footing. After a windswept eternity I spied what must have been a mailbox at one time. It had been torn in two, the top half nowhere to be seen. The jagged edge was warped, and the four steel legs stuck out at odd angles, one of them hanging on by only a sliver of metal. Mud, grime and other less appealing matter obscured all but a few patches of the original blue paint, completely masking the official logo on the ruined side panel.
         The wind had jammed the demolished box in between two sections of ruined wall. A rushing, newly formed river of muck and debris roared beneath it, spattering the metal with brown liquid at a steady pace.
         It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
         Struggling against the wind, I made my way as quickly as I could to the mailbox. As I approached, the thread-bare leg snapped off and flew through the air to some unknown destination. Desperately fighting the storm myself, I leapt onto one of the crumbled walls and carefully made my way to the open side.
         As I slipped into the opening, I tried not to imagine myself falling into the river and being swept away to my doom. It wasn’t until I was safely inside that I realized I had been holding my breath, and I exhaled.
         I curled up between a couple of sodden packages still sitting in the bottom of the box and listened to the wind, rain, and splashing river beneath me. The sounds were hypnotic, and I found my mind lazily drifting once more into my memories.

“*”

         “What should we name him, mommy?”
         “Sweetheart, the kitty is your new friend. You should name him.”
         Mommy set her big book on the table, and I immediately leapt from the Boy’s arms and climbed up onto it, kneading happily at the front cover and emitting a throaty purr.
         The Boy was grinning. “He really likes your book, mommy. Doesn’t he?”
         Daddy chimed in. “Yeah, he’s a regular Booker T. Washington!” He laughed
heartily at this, but Mommy just frowned and shook her head. “Teachers.” She muttered.
         The Boy tilted his head, looking pensive. “I like that!” he declared, jumping up tolift me from my new scratching post. “Booker! Let’s call him Booker!”
         Now Mommy did laugh, hugging the Boy close. “You’re right, baby. Booker’s a perfect name.”
         The Boy lifted me up to peer directly into my eyes. “Do you like that? Huh? Is Booker okay?”
         I squeezed my eyes closed and stuck out my tongue a little, twitching my whiskers upward, and purred.
         “He likes it!” the Boy smiled. He rubbed his nose against mine and planted a kiss right on the black patch of fur over my right eye.

“*”

         Something slammed into my mailbox, jerking me awake. I had fallen asleep, I realized, but for how long? The storm had obliterated day and night. I felt groggy, and very hungry. There was a hole above me in the mailbox and water was pouring steadily in. I tentatively stuck out my tongue beneath the stream and tasted it.
It was disgusting, but I was too thirsty to care. I lapped it up gratefully until my
stomach hurt. There was still no food in sight, and I didn’t dare venture out into the storm to find any. I ignored my grumbling stomach and settled down to wait.
         A hundred years passed, slowly. Or, so it seemed. My empty stomach growled and protested as unceasingly as the rain that beat upon my shelter, and I found myself drifting off into sleep more and more often. I waited eagerly for a bug or dead bird or something to get washed or blown into the box with me. I managed to get three grasshoppers, a toad and several mosquitoes. They all tasted awful, but my stomach was glad for them.
         I thought longingly of crunchy, salmon flavored treats nibbled from the palm of the Boy’s hand. I though of the sweet pink ice cream that the boy would always share with me on the hot days. I would have given anything at that moment for swirled pink ice cream…or even the brown kind that Mommy insisted I was never to have because it would make me sick.
         Gradually, I became aware of a change in my new, savage environment. The wind still howled, but more like a wounded beast than an angry monster. The river still roared beneath me, but it was slower now, as though it were tired of rushing so much and just wanted to flow a little. The rain still drummed on the steel surrounding me, but it was a half-hearted kind of drumming, almost an afterthought.          A few moments later, golden light fell around me and my pitiful fortress, and I realized that the sun had returned. I waited with bated breath as the sounds of the devastating storm subsided with all the speed of an injured turtle. My ears were pricked, swiveling this way and that, alert for… something …anything.
         At long last, the storm ended. The sky was peaceful once more. I poked my head out of the mailbox and looked around. The river below me was still thundering along, resigned to roar just a little bit longer. Everywhere I looked there was nothing but debris and ruin; whole buildings had been reduced to heaps of warped steel, crumbled plaster and shattered glass. Splintered wood was everywhere. Beams and timbers that had once been strong and thick were now little more than sawdust. The few buildings that remained standing looked hollow, and far too heavy for their walls to continue holding them up. Those which were once streets were now rivers and gullies. Most of the little land that was still above water was occupied by animals. Some of them were wild, feral creatures going about their lives, heedless of the dangerous new world around them. Others were like me, cherished companions who had been left behind.

“*”

         “Nooo!” The Boy was screaming. “Booker!” He shrieked, “I gotta get Booker! Let me go!” His voice was shrill and hoarse, and tears were pouring from his eyes, visible even through the driving rain.
         The strange man clad in a shiny yellow coat was holding him back. “Look, kid, it’s too dangerous. You’re not going back in that house for a cat!”
         The Boy refused to listen. “Booker!” He called to me. “I’m coming back! Booker!”
         He squirmed and struggled, trying to break free of the Yellow Man’s hold and dive off of the orange raft that bobbed beside the porch railing. I stood on my haunches, my front paws outstretched, desperate to reach him.
         “Please, sir, let us go back!” Mommy was pleading. “That cat means the world to my son. We can’t leave him!”
         “I’ll go back myself.” Daddy was insisting. “He trusts me, I can get him.”
         “No!” The Yellow Man said steadily, his voice strained and his face hard. “No one is going back for a blasted cat! One of the animal rescues will probably pick him up.”
         I yowled after the orange raft as the Yellow Man started up its engine. Over the growling machine I heard the Boy’s voice, cracked and choked with agonized tears, screaming my name.
         “Booker! Booker! I’ll save you! Booker!”

“*”

         I yowled piteously for the Boy, calling out for him over and over, not realizing the memory was over, and the reality of my situation had returned.
         Suddenly, something big and white was standing in front of my mailbox. A soft voice like Mommy’s, but a little lighter, said, “Hey kitty! You okay in there?” I looked up, startled, and cringed in the corner, terrified. “Shush, shush.” She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s alright.”
         I was shaking like a leaf as her white-gloved hand reached up beneath me and lifted me gently into the open air. The White Lady had a round, comforting face the color of Daddy’s morning coffee before he poured the milk in.
         “Hey, J.P.!” She called out to someone behind me. “I found one. He’s got a collar, but it looks like the tags got caught or something, they’ve been ripped off!”
         There was a great deal of splashing as a large man with a face the color and texture of old shoe leather sloshed up to us. He, too, was covered in white that hid all but his face, which sported a large patch of white hair growing over his upper lip.
J.P. took me carefully into his hands and looked me over, pulling back my eyelids
and forcing my mouth open. I didn’t like it, but I was too weak and tired to put up a fight.
         “He’s a little fella, ain’t he?” J.P. said. His voice was gruff, and it had a strange lilting accent to it that sounded strange but not unkind.
         “I’d say about 10 months to a year.” The White Lady said. “Hard to tell, he’s so skinny. Could be older.” She placed a gentle hand on my collar and winced. “Ooh,” she hissed, “I’ll bet some family’s really missin’ this little guy.”
J.P. grunted and blew air through his moustache, making the white hairs fan out.
         “Don’t s’pose he’s got a chip?” He inquired.
         The White Lady shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out at the shelter, won’t we?”
         I mewled softly. I wanted the Boy, not these people dressed all in white with only their faces poking out. I made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of J.P.’s arms. He held me a little tighter, chuckling. “Looks like somebody’s got someplace to be.” He smiled.
         The White Lady frowned thoughtfully. “He’s probably just hungry. Let’s bring him back to the boat and keep looking for more.”
         They took me to a white boat with a little motor. There were a half dozen other pets inside, all of them wet, thin and silent. I snuggled in between a large golden retriever with gray around her muzzle and a sleepy pug with a blue collar. I was asleep before my head rested on my paws.
         When I awoke, I was warm and dry for the first time in over a week. I smelled food close by and immediately opened my eyes wide to find it. I saw that I was in a wire cage surrounded by other wire cages. I was lying on a warm, soft blanket littered with little plush toys in the shape of mice and plastic mesh balls with jingling bells inside.
         But best of all were the two nondescript white bowls at the front of my cage. One held cool, clear water and the other was brimming with actual food! I ran to the bowls as quickly as my unsteady limbs would allow and gorged myself until I felt my stomach would explode. Then, feeling wonderfully full and content, I flopped onto my side and drifted off to sleep again.

“*”

         “Did any more kitties come in today?” The little girl asked. “Because, you know, Cinnamon is really big and old and she doesn’t like getting wet, so she shouldn’t be outside. Did they bring in any big, orange kitties today?”
         It was a common sight at the Animal Rescue Shelter. I had been there for two weeks now. Two weeks of little girls politely asking to see their friends again. Two weeks of little boys peering anxiously into each and every cage two, sometimes three times a day. Two weeks, with not one sight of the Boy. My Boy.
         I was lonely. Every day I watched old men and women, teenagers, twenty-somethings and whole families sobbing in joy as their precious pets bounded gleefully into their arms. But of all the Mommys and Daddys I saw, none of them were the right Mommy or Daddy. And none of the little, round, hopeful faces belonged to the Boy.
         Every day the humans in charge of the shelter let us pets out to exercise and play in a separate room. I spent most of my playtime climbing the fuzzy towers and Cat Condos arranged around the room and sitting on people’s laps. Today, however, something was different.
         The person in charge, a young woman with blue streaks in her hair, had a big book with her. She sat down heavily beside the door, her back resting against the floor-length window, and sat a big book down in front of her.
         Gleefully, I leapt onto the book and began to kneed the front cover, purring happily.
         “Hey there, Kit-Kat.” She said with a smile. “That’s my homework you’re scratchin’ up.” She was just reaching over to lift me away when a young, familiar voice rang out from behind the window.
         “Booker!”
         My head snapped up. I knew that name. That was my name, wasn’t it? I swiveled my head frantically and caught the view of the window just in time to see a small child push open the door and run inside.
         Was it? It couldn’t be. But it was! The Boy!
         He knelt beside Blue Streaks and looked at me closely. He seemed much older than his six years as his eyes filled with almost painful joy and relief. I wriggled desperately to get out of the young woman’s hands. She obligingly let go and I leapt up into the Boy’s arms. He started sobbing and laughing and stroking my fur, holding me tightly as if afraid to lose me again.
         “Jordan?” Mommy’s voice rang through the hall outside.
         “Mommy!” The boy cried, his tears soaking my fur. “Mommy, I found him! He’s here! Mom, he’s really here!”
         In the blink of an eye both Mommy and Daddy were in the room and at our side. They were laughing and crying and petting my constantly, as if to make sure I was real.
         “I was beginning to think we’d never find him.” Daddy said in a tone of awe and disbelief.
         “I told you this would be the last one!” The Boy smiled. “I just knew he had to be in this one! I knew it!”
         “I can’t believe you actually found him!” Mommy breathed. “How did you recognize him?”
         The Boy beamed. “He was scratching on that lady’s book, just like he used to do back home. Remember?”
         At that, Mommy and Daddy both turned to Blue Streaks, as if noticing her for the first time. She was smiling, and she had tears in her eyes. Mommy didn’t say a word; she just enveloped Blue Streaks in a monstrous hug. “Thank you so much!” She sobbed over and over again.
         Blue Streaks didn’t flinch. It appeared she was used to this reaction. “It was my pleasure.” She said. “Kit-Kat and I got to be good friends.”
         Mommy released Blue Streaks and Daddy advanced to shake her hand. “Just the same, we’re indebted to you…” he peered closely at a piece of white paper on her chest. “…Georgia. Thank you so much.” He smiled as if he’d just told a joke that actually made people laugh.
         Mommy turned back to the Boy who was clutching me against his chest. I purred throatily and nuzzled his shirt. Mommy reached over and scratched the area between my ears.
         “It’s a miracle.” She breathed. “An honest-to-God miracle.”
         The Boy just grinned and lifted me up to eye-level. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the tip of his nose against mine, making me sneeze a little.
         The Boy laughed, and with that he planted a kiss right on the little black patch over my right eye.