SHORT STORIES AND POEMS
Please click on the links below to read the story.
The Cat’s Meow
Sometimes Love is Silent
Six year old Mikie was finishing his dessert. He sat beside his father on the brown chesterfield excitedly watching a TV news report about a big fire at a downtown warehouse. A fireman came running out of the burning building with a tiny bundle in his hands. He ran over to the ambulance and put an oxygen mask over the bundle. The announcer walked over. The fireman was rubbing the chest of a small gray kitten and quietly said, “Come on little guy, you can make it.”
A watching crowd had gathered.
A faint meow came from the kitten’s mouth. His eyelids fluttered. The kitten started slowly moving his limbs. Everyone clapped and some patted the fireman on the back. Mikie was very excited, jumped up and clapped his hands too.
The kitten would live. But Mikie could see that the kitten still had something wrong with it. As the camera zoomed in, he could see that the kitten’s ears were singed, almost burnt off. The ambulance attendance cleaned the wounds and bandaged the kitten’s ears, or what was left of them.
Mikie was concerned. “I wish I could have that kitten. I would look after it. I could care for it real good,” he said looking at his father.
“Not now son, maybe later,” Mikie’s Dad said as he looked at his wife. She tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, “Why not?”
All week Mikie kept thinking about that little gray kitten. He asked his parents over and over if they knew if the kitten was getting better. His parents promised that on Saturday they would take him down to the Fire Station and find out how the kitten was doing.
Mikie walked into the Fire Station and met George, a big burly fireman. He shook Mikie’s hand and said, “I hear that you are very concerned about that smoky gray kitten.”
“I sure am Mister,” said Mikie. “Can I see him?”
“Sure thing. Follow me,” George replied.
The fireman walked to the back of the hall and showed Mikie and his parents a small box lined with a blue blanket. Mike could not see any kitten. He looked quizzically at George and then back at the box. The blanket moved. A small misshapen head popped out. The kitten meowed as if to ask, “Pick me up?”
The fireman picked up the kitten and gently handed it to Mikie. Mikie slowly rubbed the back of the kitten. It nuzzled him and began to purr. “He’s happy!” said Mikie excitedly, “He likes me!”
“This kitten needs a very special home. It has to be with someone who understands about burns and would take very good care of him.” George looked at Mikie’s parents who were smiling and nodding their heads.
Mikie carefully gave the kitten back to the fireman. “Oh, I know all about burns, Sir. I would take good care of him wouldn’t I Mom and Dad,” he said, pleading in his eyes. “When I was four I pulled on the table cloth and burnt myself with a hot pot of tea.”
Mikie pulled up his T-shirt to show his scarred tummy. “I know all about burns.”
Mikie pulled down his T-shirt and looked at his parents. They nodded their approval with a smile and a tear. George smiled back and confidently handed the kitten to Mikie.
“I guess that’s proof enough for me,” said George, patting Mikie on the head.
“Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you very much,” squealed Mikie cuddling the smoky gray kitten gently to his chest.
Walking out of the fire hall, Mikie announced triumphantly, “I know what I’ll call him. Burnie.”
Voices – May – 2010 by Doreen Millichamp
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Six year old Tommy Steel was looking out the kitchen window at his next door neighbour. He watched as Mr. Johnson rocked quietly in his old brown rocker. Without taking his eyes off of his neighbour, Tommy asked, “Mommy! Why is Mr. Johnson crying?”
“Because, he lost someone he loved very much,” answered Mrs. Steel.
“Was that why there were so many people over at his place yesterday?” Tommy inquired.
“Yes.”
She walked over to where Tommy was standing and put a loving hand on his shoulder. She peered into the next yard. She could see Mr. Johnson sitting in his favorite rocking chair. “The Johnsons always enjoyed sitting on the back porch rocking in their chairs. He sure is going to miss her now that she is gone.
Tommy, remember I told you that Mrs. Johnson was very sick these last few weeks?”
Tommy nodded his head without looking at her. His eyes were still locked on Mr. Johnson.
“Well, she died in her sleep the other day, and they had a family funeral for her yesterday. That means the people who knew and loved her, came to pay their last respects.” Mrs. Steel and Tommy watched as Mr. Johnson sadly wiped a tear from his eye.
“Did you respect Mrs. Johnson?” Tommy slowly turned his face to look at his mother.
“Yes Tommy, I respected Mrs. Johnson very much. I also showed my love as a neighbour by bringing a cake over to her house yesterday. There were lots of people at Mr. Johnson's house to feed. You were at school so you didn’t see me go over.”
“The Johnson’s were so friendly whenever I met them on the street. She always said ‘Hi’ to me,” said Mrs. Steel.
Tommy thought about losing someone you love. “What is Mr. Johnson going to do now?”
“Well, I guess he’s going to be very sad for awhile. He will always love her. He will certainly miss her. But, he will continue living as best he can without her.”
Tommy watched as Mr. Johnson continued to rock back and forth in his old brown rocker. Sometimes he looked up at the sky, or at the empty rocking chair beside him. Every now and then he would wipe tears from his eyes. “Poor, Mr. Johnson,” thought Tommy.
Tommy quietly got off his chair and went out the back door. Mrs. Steel watched as her little boy walked over to Mr. Johnson's porch. Slowly, Tommy approached the old man, climbed up over long legs and gently put his head on his chest. Mr. Johnson wrapped his strong arms around the small child and began to sob. Tommy patted Mr. Johnson as he lay quietly in his arms. Together they sat and rocked slowly in the old rocker, one crying for the loss of his beloved wife, the other comforting an old friend. Not a word was spoken.
Tommy could hear Mr. Johnson’s heart beating fast and loud. Then, ever so slowly, the loud heartbeat quieted down and became a steady throb in Mr. Johnson's chest. His crying had stopped. Peace and acceptance had settled upon Mr. Johnson.
No greater love was shown that day, than by a small silent friend.
Voices – May – 2010 by Doreen Millichamp
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