Recently, my wife, Jean, and I decided to begin taking day tours to various sites in Florida. And since the weekend was approaching, we pulled out our Florida map, and debated visiting somewhere within driving distance on the upcoming Saturday, and thought we might remain overnight.
Suddenly, I noticed a little island just off the upper west coast of our state called, “Cedar Key.” And since my wife and I are Civil War buffs, we had long since discovered that each of us had a relative who passed through this island in the midst of the war; though our ancestors served on opposing sides of the conflict.
On the following Saturday we mounted our trusty steed, (well, 2015 Nissan Altima) and drove the almost 200 miles which separated us from our quest. Having arrived in (on, or at) Cedar Key, we checked into the office representing a nice venue of bayside cottages, and were directed to our weekend domicile.
I admit to being a creature of habit, (mostly good habits), and one of my recurring compulsions happens to be an early morning walk. And though I was definitely out of my element on this quaint little island, I was determined to get my cardio in.
And thus, after my wife retired for the evening, I pulled on a pair of jogging shorts, donned a t-shirt, and slipped my feet into a pair of Nikes. As I opened the cottage door, and peered out into the night, I cast a glance to the right, and to the left. And having gotten my bearings, I set out down the two lane road which would, ultimately, take me to the only semblance of a town on the island.
Pt. 2
Having walked about a mile, I paused to survey the environment which surrounded me. My wife and I had driven by these buildings that afternoon. Cedar Key is, for lack of a better moniker, a tourist trap; (but a very pleasant one to be sure).
There are a couple of seafood restaurants, two of three little museums, some gift shops, and a wharf. At this time of night, (or should I say morning) my surroundings seemed more unfamiliar, than they did earlier in the afternoon.
Having sat down on the curb a moment, and made a mental note regarding the sites I hoped to visit the next day, I stood, and began my return trek to our little cottage; near the thirty foot long wooden bridge which connects Cedar Key to the mainland.
I had walked about half a mile, when I saw something moving eight or ten feet ahead of me. I immediately recognized the shape as a small animal. And seconds later I realized I was looking at a small yellow cat; well, to be accurate, a large kitten.
I paused, and though I’m not a huge fan of felines, (but prefer canines) I stooped down, and began to rub his tiny ears, and to stroke his back. I have happened upon cats on the highways and byways, for I have, as I have implied, often walked in the wee hours of the morning. And occasionally, a stray dog has passed me on his way to, well, nowhere.
I have never thought much about the cats, as cats have a way of taking care of themselves; no doubt, devouring lizards, and frogs, and God knows what. However, it has always struck me to the core when I have run across an emaciated, homeless dog. For I know, dogs simply have no way of caring for themselves. They simply don’t have the skills to sustain themselves.
Afterward
However, as I stooped to pet this hapless, little animal, it occurred to me that, given his size and age, he found himself in much the same plight as those roaming dogs which I have sometimes seen, and I experienced much the same emotions, and concern for his future.
However, I could not take him with me, and it occurred to me that these solitary moments in which I smoothed his fur, and whispered soothing words in his ear were as much as a false promise, and may, indeed, have instilled false hope within him.
And yet, I could do no differently than I found myself doing. I felt compelled to do what I could, for as long as I could, and only then to take my leave.
And having invested my time and efforts and words into this dear little feline, I whispered a final salutation.
“Little one. I’m sorry I cannot give you what you want and deserve the most. I only hope what I have shared with you is enough; at least for tonight. And perhaps, perhaps tomorrow will take care of itself.”
I have often thought of that little guy, and what, ultimately, became of him. When it is “all said and done,” I’m glad I offered him a little time, some encouraging words, and the momentary gift of my presence.
It is all I had to offer
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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