Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Ken Peterson

My Darlin' Mae

I remember the day Mae adopted us. My wife, Susan, and I were wandering through the local pet store looking for nothing in particular. Moving upstairs, we saw her sitting in front of the cage looking forlornly into space. Mae was the tiniest of kittens, so small she could easily fit in the palm of my hand. There was no way she could be over three weeks old. Behind her, two older kittens were swatting her like a bobble head toy. We were sure she wouldn't survive the night if we didn't take her home.

Later…while trying to sleep, we heard this little scratching noise and felt a tug at the foot of the bed. Mae climbed onboard. She hopped across the covers and nestled under my chin. Half asleep, Susan mumbled something about Mae being my cat now and to go change the litter box. She felt so small and fragile that I was afraid to stroke her thinking that I might break something. As I slowly moved one finger on the top of her head in a circular motion, Mae began to purr like a little motorboat. From then, a tickle on the top of her head was her favorite form of affection.

It's hard to believe that was over seventeen years ago.

"We’re ready when you feel it’s time," Doctor John said. "Would you like a few more minutes alone with her?"

"Yes doctor…please. Just five more minutes if you don't mind," I whispered. Susan squeezed my hand in silence as the doctor left the room.

I looked down at Mae and thought about how she loved to go outside and wander through the woods. I soon realized we were taking walks together. People would stop and stare at the two of us and I smiled at their disbelief.

"Imagine that," they'd say, "Walking a cat without a leash. Only Lord knows what comes next!" Yet, she never ran away.

Once we got to the meadow, she would bound through the air chasing butterflies, swat at grasshoppers near the pond, hop along the bank with the frogs and smell sweet flowers in the pasture. Daffodils were her favorite. Sometimes, when she knew I wasn't looking, she would stalk and catch a quail. Carefully, she would bring me her prey and I would gently coerce her to let it fly away. She always did as I tickled her for a job well done.

One of my saddest times was when my mother died. Soon after her funeral, I was sitting in my chair feeling so alone and crying. Mae jumped up on my lap and gave me such an understanding look. Slowly, she reached up her paw to touch my eyes, wiping away the tears running down my cheek as if to say, "Don't worry...everything is going to be all right." My heart melted. Immediately, I felt better and hugged and kissed my Mae, thanking her for the life she made me feel. Now, many years later, her body has betrayed her.

“Things just don't work the way they used to,” said the doc. “It’s old age.”

But, I wasn't ready to let her go. Well, not until last week when I noticed she couldn't get out of bed. I asked her what was the matter; somehow expecting a reply. But she just looked back at me...so tired…so weak.

"You have to let her go, Steven," Susan said as she placed her hand on my shoulder and brought me back to the moment. "She is tired and needs her rest."

"I know," I said in a choked voice, "but I don't know how to say goodbye".

"Then don't," she smiled lovingly. Knowing I needed to be alone, she left to get the doctor.

Mae lay motionless on that cold, steel table as I thanked her for being such a good friend. I leaned down to kiss her head and felt my cheeks burning. Mae opened her eyes and looked up at me. Slowly, she brought up her paw and tenderly touched my tears.

Tickling her head with my finger, I whispered, "Don't worry...everything is going to be all right...it's gonna be all right...my darlin’ Mae."

Peacefully, she laid her head on the table for the last time.

Many people say that a dog is man's best friend. Obviously, they had never met Mae.

Copyright © 2004 Ken Peterson

About the Author
Ken works at the American Embassy in Manama, Bahrain as a Communication's Officer. He does quite a bit of technical writing and has just finished F2K. He was inspired by his own cat for this story, although she is not quite as obedient as he would like to believe.