The Keeper of Lost Friends · A Strangewoven story
The old cat arrived asleep.
That was unusual.
Most animals arrived confused.
Some ran.
Some hid.
Some searched frantically for the person who had been beside them only moments before.
But this one simply appeared beneath the old tree beside the Keeper’s lantern, curled tightly into herself.
And slept.
The Keeper noticed her almost immediately.
He lowered his staff against the tree and knelt beside her.
She was small.
Gray fur covered most of her body, although age had painted white around her muzzle. One ear bore a little notch from some adventure many years ago.
The Keeper placed a skeletal hand gently beside her.
He didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
He waited.
Eventually, one green eye opened.
Then the other.
The cat looked at him.
The Keeper looked back.
“Hello.”
The cat blinked.
She stretched.
First one front leg.
Then the other.
Then her back legs extended behind her.
She stopped.
Something was different.
She stood.
The Keeper watched.
The cat took one cautious step.
Then another.
She walked in a small circle.
Her movements became quicker.
She jumped onto a nearby stone.
Down again.
Back up.
The Keeper understood.
“No pain?”
The cat stared at him.
Then she jumped onto a higher rock.
“No stiffness?”
Higher still.
Her tail rose.
The Keeper chuckled.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
The cat suddenly sprinted across the meadow.
She ran beneath the trees, disappeared through a patch of flowers, raced around a startled dog and came charging back.
She skidded to a stop beside the Keeper.
For the first time in a very long while, nothing hurt.
She rubbed against his leg.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
She purred.
It was a deep, rattling purr that seemed far too large to belong to such a small animal.
The Keeper sat beneath the tree.
The cat climbed immediately into his lap.
Apparently introductions were over.
Her name had been Maggie.
The Keeper learned that later.
He learned other things too.
Maggie had lived seventeen years.
She had spent nearly all of them with the same woman.
Her person had been named Eleanor.
Eleanor had been young when Maggie first came home.
Well, younger.
Neither of them had been particularly young.
Maggie had been adopted as an adult from a shelter after sitting unwanted for months.
Eleanor had walked past every kitten.
She stopped at Maggie’s cage.
“You look like you’ve had enough nonsense for one lifetime.”
Maggie stared at her.
Eleanor smiled.
“Me too.”
That had been that.
They grew old together.
Maggie learned the sound of Eleanor’s footsteps.
Eleanor learned that Maggie wanted precisely three scratches beneath her chin before becoming annoyed.
Maggie slept beside Eleanor every night.
Eleanor talked to Maggie constantly.
About groceries.
About neighbors.
About television programs.
About people Maggie had never met.
And, increasingly, about the aches and pains of growing older.
Maggie listened.
Cats are very good at keeping secrets.
Then Maggie became sick.
At first, Eleanor pretended not to notice.
Maggie slept more.
She stopped jumping onto the windowsill.
Food remained untouched in her bowl.
Some days she hid because everything hurt.
There were visits to the veterinarian.
Medicines.
Tests.
More medicines.
More tests.
And finally a conversation Eleanor didn’t want to have.
The disease could not be cured.
They could make Maggie comfortable for a little while.
But eventually even that wouldn’t be enough.
Eleanor took her home.
For several more weeks, they sat together beside the window.
Then came the morning when Maggie couldn’t stand without pain.
Eleanor knew.
She held Maggie during the final visit.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over.
Maggie didn’t understand why Eleanor was apologizing.
She felt Eleanor’s hand stroking her head.
She heard her voice.
She felt safe.
Then she became very sleepy.
The pain disappeared.
And Maggie woke beneath the Keeper’s tree.
That evening, Maggie sat beside him overlooking the bridge.
She had spent most of the afternoon exploring.
Now she was searching.
The Keeper knew for whom.
“Eleanor isn’t here.”
Maggie’s tail flicked.
“She’s still at home.”
Maggie stared toward the bridge.
“She’s hurting.”
The cat looked at him.
“Not the way you were.”
The Keeper rested his hands upon his staff.
“Her heart hurts.”
Maggie sat down.
For the first time since arriving, she looked worried.
The Keeper reached toward her.
She allowed him exactly three scratches beneath her chin.
Then she pushed his hand away.
The Keeper chuckled.
“Understood.”
Maggie settled beside him.
“You may have to wait awhile.”
Her ears moved.
“Sometimes it’s years.”
Maggie looked toward the bridge.
“Sometimes decades.”
She lay down.
The Keeper looked at her.
“You don’t seem concerned.”
Maggie closed her eyes.
Of course she wasn’t.
She had spent seventeen years waiting for Eleanor to finish one thing or another.
Waiting for her to come home.
Waiting for dinner.
Waiting for her to stop talking on the telephone.
Waiting for her to wake up.
Waiting was simply another thing cats were good at.
But Maggie’s wait was not long.
Only twenty-three days.
The Keeper knew before the bridge began to glow.
His lantern flickered.
Maggie was asleep beside him.
The Keeper looked at the flame.
Then toward the bridge.
“Oh.”
Maggie’s eyes opened.
The Keeper stood.
She watched him.
“I think this one’s yours.”
Maggie was on her feet instantly.
A figure appeared at the far end of the bridge.
An elderly woman.
She looked bewildered.
She touched her chest.
Looked behind herself.
Then ahead.
“Eleanor,” the Keeper whispered.
Maggie heard him.
She ran.
The old cat who had struggled to walk less than a month earlier flew across the meadow.
Over stones.
Through flowers.
Up the hill.
Onto the bridge.
Eleanor saw something approaching.
Her confusion vanished.
“Maggie?”
The cat ran faster.
“Oh, Maggie.”
Eleanor fell to her knees.
Maggie leapt.
Eleanor caught her against her chest.
And for a while there was nothing but an old woman crying into gray fur while the loudest purr the Keeper had ever heard echoed beneath the bridge.
“I’m sorry,” Eleanor whispered.
Maggie rubbed her face against hers.
“I hated leaving you.”
Maggie purred.
“I thought you’d be alone.”
From a distance, Eleanor noticed the figure beneath the tree.
A skeleton in an old cloak.
A lantern glowing beside him.
Dogs rested around his feet.
Cats occupied seemingly every available piece of his clothing.
A bird sat atop his staff.
And dozens of other animals wandered peacefully through the meadow.
Eleanor understood.
“You weren’t alone.”
Maggie looked toward the Keeper.
Neither of them could have known it, but the Keeper was smiling in the only way a skull could.
Eleanor stood.
Maggie remained in her arms.
They approached him together.
“Did you take care of her?”
The Keeper looked at Maggie.
“She mostly took care of herself.”
Eleanor laughed through her tears.
“That sounds like her.”
The Keeper reached out.
Maggie leaned forward.
Three scratches beneath the chin.
Exactly three.
Then she pulled away.
The Keeper lowered his hand.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Eleanor smiled.
“Thank you.”
The Keeper looked toward the light beyond the bridge.
“She was only waiting for you.”
Eleanor held Maggie tighter.
“I’m sorry she had to wait.”
The Keeper shook his head.
“Twenty-three days.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“That’s all?”
“One of the shortest waits I’ve ever kept.”
Maggie began purring again.
Eleanor looked down at her.
“Twenty-three days probably felt like forever.”
The Keeper considered this.
Then he looked at Maggie.
“No.”
He had watched thousands wait.
Some waited impatiently.
Some watched the bridge every day.
Some eventually stopped counting years.
Maggie had never seemed worried.
“I think she knew you were coming.”
Eleanor kissed the top of Maggie’s head.
Together they walked toward the bridge.
Halfway across, Maggie looked back.
The Keeper raised one hand.
Maggie’s tail flicked.
That was enough.
Then she and Eleanor continued into the light.
The Keeper watched until they disappeared.
His lantern dimmed to its familiar golden glow.
Twenty-three days.
For some, he kept their friends for almost an entire human lifetime.
For others, only a little while.
It made no difference.
A promise was a promise.
The Keeper picked up his staff.
From somewhere behind him came a frightened bark.
He turned.
Another friend had arrived.
And somewhere in the living world, someone was beginning the hardest part of loving an animal.
Learning how to live without them.
The Keeper walked toward the sound.
He knew something they did not.
They were not gone.
They were only waiting.
