In the tapestry of my soul-searching journey, these recent days have woven another chapter. I anticipated the eclipse’s energies to dismantle the old and unveil my shadows, yet I found myself completely unprepared.
As I pedaled home on Saturday from a ride that I bearly had the energy to finish, I glimpsed a white, ethereal figure nestled in my bushes. It was a cat with eyes of yellow, quietly studying my every move. While feline visitors are not uncommon in my front yard, they usually come and go, seeking a fleeting moment of nourishment. But this one lingered, its gaze fixed, until a mere motion called it forth, bounding toward me with eager curiosity.
Before I knew it, we were in love, and my newfound friend scratched at the door, eager to explore my home. After inspecting every nook and cranny, sniffing the fragrances that clung to my house and clothes, he settled beside one of my paintings to rest.
In a matter of moments, he discovered that my lap was a better sanctuary. There, he nestled, keeping me grounded on the floor, unmoving, as he slumbered deeply. He appeared content, showing no interest in food or water. His gaze held a mesmerizing curiosity, periodically lifting his eyes to meet mine in profound, unwavering connection.
There I stood, glued to a being that I knew belonged not to my house, but surely to my very soul. Leaving the door open for most of the day, I assumed it would return to its rightful home, sensing its owner must reside nearby. Yet, my small companion not only chose to stay but swiftly made a home within me. He shadowed my every move, mirroring my gestures and heeding my every call as if we were intertwined for eternity.
Though my heart longed to keep him, I knew a home must be searching for him. I took to every group I could find, hoping to reunite him with his rightful owner. Before long, a lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. King, emerged, revealing that my dear friend, who had so warmly responded for a half day to the name “Sirius,” is named “Gatsby” and he just turned 6 months old, living just a few houses away from mine. As his original mother called out to him over the fences, Sirius remained steadfast, nestled in my lap, his ears alert but his resolve unshaken.
“Sirius, you must go… your family is missing you!”
As the sunset drew near, my little companion remained in my garden gazing up at the sky. With no one arriving to collect him and the night approaching, I decided that he would spend the night, and although I knew he wasn’t truly mine, for that brief day, I provided him with everything to ensure he felt my love. He slept, almost unmoved beside my heart throughout the night, while I remained awake, listening to his peaceful breathing. I felt both incredibly fortunate and deeply sorrowful.
The following day, I once more opened the door, expecting my little friend to venture back to his own yard. Yet, there he remained, unmoving, stationed in front of my door, his honey eyes locked with mine. Cats, known for their aloofness and discerning nature, typically choose their companions based on a deep-seated connection. It almost seemed my soul in need had called out to him.
Later that day, Mrs. King, accompanied by her son, arrived to retrieve the wanderer. I watched as my tiny friend, looking frightened and uncertain, regarded them as strangers. In an instant, a pair of hands forcefully took hold of him, and I could sense his desperation as he glanced back at me. And there I stood, heartbroken, watching him being carried away under the cold arm of a stranger.
Needless to say, the entirety of Sunday was consumed by an indescribable agony. Tears flowed intermittently throughout the day, leaving me almost inert and with a sense of helplessness that I can not begin to describe. If only I had kept my door closed, my heart wouldn’t ache so bitterly. Yet, opening that door was inevitable; my destiny was to show him my love.
Sirius’s story is not merely a real-life event; it also serves as a metaphor for everything unfolding within me. Transcending fences, walls, and life, I can envision this fragment of my soul, sleeping on some foreign pillow. And I don’t even know what hurts me more: Is it my desire to shield him from my life’s uncertainties, my dramas and pains, or the fear that he may never grasp the depth of my heartache when I let him go?
THE WONDERMIND 