
15 years ago, we lived in a country setting, surrounded by corn and soy bean fields. I normally would run about four miles a day down mostly empty, straight dirt roads. About a quarter of a mile from the house was a small creek, and on this particular day, I headed out in that direction. I almost reached the creek when I heard a bird squawk I didn't recognize. What the hell was that? I stopped to hear clearly and maybe spot the bird. Out of the weeds emerged a tiny, scrawny, homely black kitten. That's what was making the noise. It came right up to my feet and continued to squawk. Though it looked exactly like what I'd expect a feral kitten to look like, it sure didn't act feral. Though it absolutely did not want to be picked up, neither did it want to let me get away from it. I looked a bit for siblings that may not be so extroverted, but I found none. Could someone just have tossed this little thing out a car window in close to the middle of nowhere and driven off? What other explanation was there? It was anything but afraid of me. Now what? Well, the run ended for the day at a quarter mile, and I walked back home with a black kitten trying it's best to trip me. Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow it said. I tried to avoid getting tangled with it and said, "You poor wee puss."
I called my wife with a "guess what" story. At the time we had two adult dogs and two adult cats. We were not looking to expand the family and though I couldn't ignore this little black thing (I'm a cat person to the bone, by the way) it was going to be a problem. I did determine it was female. By the time Molly got home from work, she'd christened it, sight unseen, Grace.
Grace imprinted on me the way a duckling does with its mama. It was adorable at first, but got a little annoying after a day and a half. By day two, it was Molly who asked, "Can we keep her?" That was a no-brainer for me.
Though Grace was her name on all the vet records, she remained from day one, "Wee Puss." (Pronounced Poose.) She was da Poose, Pooskin, Wee-wee-wee, Miss th' Poose, Lidda-Wee-Poose and eventually, Spoose. Spoo-ee. I was her person, and she stole my heart. What the hell was her story? What were the odds of our crossing paths the way we did? What if I ran to the west instead of the north that day? She'd probably have been a snack for an owl.
She was never a beauty, but became a sleek, compact little Halloween kind of icon. She and I bonded tightly. My workshop was an upper bedroom of the house and she quickly learned where to find me. The most memorable demonstration of -- devotion? -- she exhibited was the day she climbed the chimney to...I don't know why she did it. Boredom? Had something she needed to tell me? Was damned hungry? I heard her outside my window making a fuss and looked out to see this.

That might not look too notable, until you view a different angle.

Arrow points to the Poose. How in the flyin' you-know-what did she scale that brick?! Straight up! Was she part squirrel? Your guess is as good as mine. I had to get the extension ladder to bring her back to earth. My Poose was something else.
A year or so later, she vanished one night. She and her other cat buds spent the nights outside and by then the four of them would all be waiting on the porch in the morning to come in for breakfast. One morning, she was not there. The next four mornings, she was not there. I was sick. She was MIA and quite likely KIA. There were predators in the neighborhood. I biked up and down the road looking for a dark shape, but found nothing. She was gone, and I was nowhere close to saying good-bye to her -- even if she was present to say good-bye to. Molly and I were resigned to our loss. Then near the end of the fifth day, I spotted my dark shape in our garage. She looked slightly thinner, but made no fuss whatever. Like: Well, yeah, I'm home. This is where I live, remember?
Another mystery never to be solved. She was there on the porch for breakfast every morning afterward until we moved in 2005.
Seven years later, she wore out. They do that, and take chunks of one's heart with them to cat heaven, or wherever they end up. Miss you, Spoose. Thanks for jumping out of those weeds so long ago.
