One night, at four o’clock in the morning, something happened that brought tears to my eyes. Bittersweet tears. Tears of happiness, tears of sadness, tears of remembrance.
First, you should go here to read the first part of this story. I’ll wait while you do.
So at 4 a.m. this morning I was sound asleep, when suddenly I was woken up by a kitty doing this kind of yowling thing. Just exactly like ʻUkulele used to do. For a minute I was disoriented, knowing she wasn’t here. But I jumped out of bed wikiwiki, and went out into the hallway.
When I was doing wildlife rehab volunteer work, I had a friend named Dodie, who told me, when I was grieving the loss of one of our pets, and wondering if I’d get another, that I would know the right time and the right pet. How? “Because,” she said, “the right pet for you will have something of your beloved lost one’s in it; maybe a look, or a mannerism, or something. And you’ll just know.”
As I’ve written before, I knew that Kalakoa was the right kitty for me because of that black spot on her leg that was exactly like ʻUkulele’s spot, and in exactly the same place. That’s the kind of thing that Dodie was talking about.
So when I hurried out into the hallway at dark-thirty this morning, not knowing what I’d find, suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks. Because there, right in front of me, was Kalakoa, who had just brought me part of a fleece and laid it at my feet in triumph, just exactly like ʻUkie used to do. As if sheʻd vanquished the vicious beast.
I just stood there, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was just like Dodie had told me. I knew Kalakoa was the right kitty for me because of the black spot on her leg, but I never dreamed that she would be so much like ʻUkulele.
I got back into bed, missing ʻUkulele so much, but oh, so grateful that in a way, she is still here.