Mary C’s Story

Site created on October 27, 2020

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Journal entry by Patricia Kusek

I sensed I was being watched, maybe even followed,  strange eyes fixed on my every move.  

I’d carefully unwrap a package and set the contents down. 
Was that motion over there?
Nervous, I took a swallow from my water bottle. 
Unwrapping a mint, I decided to take a calculated risk and drop the wrapper on the ground.  A test.
As dusk descended, I knew I had just a few minutes left to complete my task.  I parted the branches of the small waxy pine tree beside me and waited.
And then it struck.
A small white paw grabbed the foil of the wrapper and batted it across the room. A flash of white, and out shot the furry specter of white.
Baby’s first Christmas.
In case you missed the earlier journal about Baby Mama, she is the newest addition to our family, a three year old formerly-feral cat I've been feeding and taming over the past 11 months.    
It's been a learning curve for all of us.  I'll write more about the taming process in another post, but suffice it to say, we're still in the get-to-know-you phase of the relationship.  The Baby has only been out and about in the lower level of the house for the past four days now.  
I've also been knee-deep in Christmas, trying to get the tree and a few Nativity sets up.  The Baby had never been in a house before, so she didn't know what to think as I dragged out bin after bin from that deep, dark space known as the dining room closet.  She was equally spellbound as I put the lights on the 4-foot Christmas tree that graces the back of my old baby grand piano.  Could you believe such wonder exists?
I just let her be and let her watch.  A silent observer, she took it all in.  
That part about the wrapper--it's all true.  Cats just can't resist the chance to bat something around, particularly something shiny.  I think it kind of broke the ice too because, at that moment, she seemed to start to relax and feel safe.  
She played for awhile and I then got out the fishing pole toy.  The Baby rolled on her back and grabbed ahold of the  catnip pheasant on the end of the string.  
Shortly thereafter, exhausted,  she retreated to the safety of her bed.  There was just too much to take in.  
In some ways though, it's the way I can feel when I really think about the story of the Christchild.  
It is sometimes almost too much to take in, almost too unbelievable to be true.   Born in a simple stable, shepherds and angels, the visitation of the Magi.  A person can't make that stuff up.
Exhausted myself, I slowly put the bins away and made my bed on the couch where I've slept now since October when Mom first got sick.  The Baby didn't even look up.  Perhaps it was  just too much for her furry little head  to wrap around.   
I guess I can hardly wrap my head around it too.  My beloved dog, Lady, is no longer with us, gone nearly six months now.  But now I  have a new visitor to grace my humble stable this year.  
Rest well, little fur ball. Rest well.
 Exploration of the magical world of Christmas  will wait for another day.  
And it's true.
 All the stories are true.  
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