
Ten years ago I learned of the attacks from my wife before she left for work. I turned on the television as I got ready for work and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I turned on the radio as I drove to work and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After work I sat in my window seat and watched the news in disbelief. I barely slept for the next two days.
Then one day as I sat in my window seat, Templeton jumped up into my lap and as I stroked his head he began to purr. He had a regular purr when he was happy but when he was ecstatic, his purr not only got louder but also had an extra texture layered into the mix. As he threw his purr into that extra gear I was overcome by how happy he was. My little gray cat knew nothing of the hatred one man feels for another because he prays to the wrong God or pledges allegiance to the wrong flag.
My strongest memory of that time is not of burning buildings but of a cat and contentment.
Templeton died almost four years ago but others carry on his tradition. Scout wasn’t a lap cat in her younger days (she is now) but she has always curled up on me as I fall asleep each night. Emma also wasn’t much of a lap cat in her youth but is starting to show signs of the calling. Little Sam, mercy me, he has been a snuggler of the highest order from the moment we met.
The picture above is how I wake up many mornings. That’s Scout on the left tucked up tight against my side, with Sam on the right curled up on my legs. Ellie is over on my right just out of frame.
The picture below is how I wake up every morning. Scout is sometimes elsewhere, Ellie too, but my first waking sensation is always the feel of Sam on my legs.
God bless the little ones.
