Smokey was a grey kitten, the only grey one among Blackie’s many litters of kittens. So when the family moved, we took Smokey with us.
People said, you’ll lose that cat. Every morning Smokey would climb up the tent and dig his claws in. He was there every morning meowing after wandering around many different campgrounds across the country each night.
One summer day on the new property, I saw Smokey outside and went to pet him. He purred then proceeded to walk through the tall grass. I followed him into our 10 acre field.
He took me on a slow, meandering walk. I would stoop down to pet him when he stopped and looked up. Then he lead me back to the house and after one last petting we went our own separate ways. Smokey had taken me for a walk and in sharing that walk we were also sharing love. He seemed so proud of this accomplishment. I was proud of him too.
Smokey went missing for a week. One night I saw Smokey’s face very clearly in my sleep and knew he was gone.
A week later dad announced Smokey had eaten poisoned food one of the farmers had left to kill off pests in the neighbourhood. Smokey’s death was no shock to me. We had already said our goodbyes.
We may have difficulty talking to animals but our love for them is not something that’s difficult to show.