SALLY

Sweet Simon

"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me,  I may not lead. Walk beside me..."-Albert Camus

For some reason, ever since we moved here, we've had the neighbourhood cats come visit. They come from the hill. They come from beside us. 

I can't imagine a day when they don't.  Following me around. Looking in the windows. Wanting to see. They talk to me in their blurpy pushkin ways and I talk to them. Yes, I freely admit it. Reminds me  of  a long time ago  when Sally used to do the same thing. Sally was very special.

Only thing is, instead of being a cat, Sally was a large chocolate Lab. 

She lived across the street from my mother and I. Four houses down. Her  people couldn't keep her contained. Sally liked to visit.

 There wasn't a day that went by that didn't see Sally toddling into our yard. Her tail wagging as she slowly trundled down the path.

Usually at dinnertime. Sally had seen a lot of dinners. She didn't beg. She just watched us eat.We would be sitting on the porch. Sally would plant her self at the bottom step and her mournful eyes watched every mouthful.

Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall. Sally always showed up at dinner time. In winter she would climb the porch and sit right outside the kitchen door. We would open the door so she could see us and we could see her.

She never barked.She just smacked her tail against the ground, or the porch. She just stared. Even got a little sleepy at times.

Rona

Then in the summer, Sally decided she wanted more enrichment. I would be  sitting under the old maple trees, reading away, and she would toodle over  and plunk herself down at the foot of the lounge chair. And  sigh contentedly. Her tail whacked away at the grass.

I would read Charles Dickens aloud to her. She'd lean her head on my knees and close her eyes. She seemed partial to "A Christmas Carol."

Sally really liked my mother. My mother brought out the big antique  bible written in prose form.  Sally would switch her attention from me to my mother. She'd lean her head on her knees and snort.

My mother  started reading the bible to Sally. At the end of each session she would mark her place  and tell Sally that next time, and there was always a next time, they would read more. Sally  took herself home afterwards.

Once after a reading session, Sally didn't want to go home. She followed us into the house.  Sat in the kitchen. Our cat hissed at her. Sally just snoozed....

Year after year went bye, and Sally was faithful day after day. She always came . We looked for her.

We marveled that she was able to cross the busy street so easily. We found out she made her rounds to quite a few of the neighbours. But she seemed to like to spend time with us. My mother read the bible to her a few times thru, and I had gravitated to Agatha Christie. Sally liked "Murder on the Orient Express" especially. Though I think she snored thru most of it.

She got older and her arthritis was worse. Instead of coming every day, it was every few days, then  maybe once a week. Till finally she didn't come anymore. But we still looked for her.  We missed her.

Sally died  on an August day. Her people grieved for her. They came to see us. To tell us . We told stories about her and they wept for their friend. And in the years to come I thought about her and how amazing it all was. And for years, I looked for her, even though I knew she was gone. I would look for her  and feel great gratitude that she shared her time with us.........

"There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature..." -P. G. Wodehouse

Spencer the Original Cat Plant

 Photographs 2021