"Mischief"

by Kendra Lester

Part 9 - The prince of peace

My son grew taller and became an active teen with a life outside of Mischief and I.   He loved us, but no longer needed to find a way to fit into our lives, as he began to learn what he wanted from his own life. My marriage had become an emotional and physically abusive mess and like all bad things that do not kill you, it died instead.   That tiny seedling of love finally smothered by the tons of manure heaped upon it, soon went the way of summer leaves, dried up and blown away.  That left just Mischief and I to hang around the old homestead.  With the newly vacant spot on my bed, I took to letting her sleep with me at night. Both of us deeply in need of an extra level of comfort.  Though the spoilt little princess had to share the bed with the cat and my 15-year-old Chihuahua.  But with some pushing and shoving all four of us found a place to snuggle and snooze.  Mischief laying her face next to mine, one hairy arm thrown over my side, my dog snuggled to my back and the cat at my feet; nightly we slid off into peaceful slumber.  I'm not too sure what the rest of the world would have thought of my bedmates, but I found their unconditional love emotionally warming.

Then one night ten years into our relationship Ms. Mischief did not jump up when I climbed out of bed, she just lay there and looked at me, her eyes soft pools of wisdom and pain. She seemed to sense she would soon slip away, before I could even recognize what was happening.  She looked at me with such heartfelt love and the kind of wisdom burning in her eyes, that seemed older than time immortal.  She slowly reached her hand up one last time and touched my face softly, so soft it felt more like butterfly feet brushing my cheek.  I caught her hand and held it close to me kissing her soft palms.  Then I bent my neck to kiss her head and for the first time realized how gray her fur was, how deep the wrinkles were etched in her pixy face.  I gently, eased her body into my arms, nestled her head in the crock of my arm, raining kisses upon her face and then upon her eyelids as she sighed one last sigh, then closed her eyes.  I felt her body tremble for just a second and then her breathing fell silent. My precious angel had left this world, the one  that had never really understood her spirit for the great gift it was. My faithful companion would never again woowoo at me in glee, or drape her arms around me, she would never hide my treasures or pinch the dog.  I would never know the joy of living with the teasing sprite that God had wrapped in fur, for the prince of peace had taken her to his throne above.  Taken my angel so that she might play her mischievous games at his feet, so that she could make the little children laugh with delight.  So that others could see the beauty of God's own jester prancing on padded feet. I pulled her tight, in fact probably too tight, but she would never again protest at being held too tight. And I held her close as I trembled in anguish, my salty tears streamed down my own aging face, falling like silver ice upon her coat.  I sat that way in a darkened room, for hours that night, crying inconsolably, rocking her dead body; knowing the truth but emotionally unable to except that my oldest and dearest friend was really gone. 

Later as my vet tried to console me, I cried again, wondering if I could have saved her, done something more?   He tried to make me listen to what he had to say, to understand that it was not my fault, that her heart finally just gave out.  He patiently explained that her horrible neglect in earlier years had left her heart damaged beyond repair.  But my mind still played on and on, was there anything she needed that I neglected to give her?  Did she ever wish for something more than her life with me?  Did she dream of gliding through the trees?  Spending idle days, being chased by a big, muscled monkey man, her babies clinging to her back?  Did I steal away her life by having her spend it with me?  The more these questions bounced around my head, the more my heart broke.  Finally he sat me down and told me that I did not take her from the jungle, but from the back lot of a flea market.  That I did not decide the life she had before that robbed her of her native home.  My only crime had been in loving her and that in any language was not a mortal crime.  He told me to get off my tail and get on with life, for she would have wanted it that way. He reminded me I had given her ten wonderful, loving years and that in itself was a blessing considering where she came from. 

I left his office that day with some of what he said still ringing in my ears.  But nothing seemed to appease that agonizing, gnawing, empty feeling I felt deep inside.  That inferno type burning that just won't go away.  I wish I could say time healed it all, but in honesty I  never really got completely over Mischief's death.. But I did learn to live without her spider face peering back at me.  And though I never thought I would ever get over the broken heart she left me with that dreadful  night, I did learn to go on. God in his wisdom continued to put other animals in need directly in my path.  Knowing full well that while none could ever replaced her, they would at least give me a reason to continue getting up and struggling on.  Even today I can think of her and see her beautiful little spider face scrunched up at me, eyes twinkling just like it was yesterday.  An when I look heavenward I know she is up there somewhere peeping through silvery clouds, back at me, all  monkeyshines and spidertude.