Smokey The Miracle Christmas Cat

Our holiday gift to you is magical short story. Enjoy!

Smokey The Miracle Christmas Cat

by Kathryn Esplin

Laramie, Wyoming Territory
December 1868

“Not much I can do, Mrs. Abbott.” Doc Little peered over his spectacles.

He took his spectacles off, and rubbed his eyes, his forehead lined with worry.

He leaned close to Mrs. Abbott. “Mrs. Abbott,” he measured his words.

“Uh, Meredith –Mary Louise’s fever is high.” He rubbed his temple and shook his head.

His voice was low. “Been five days.”

Meredith Abbott squared her shoulders, and pulled herself up to her full height.

“Tell me. Tell me, straight up, Doc.” She stared at Doc Little.

She’d steeled herself against what might be, what might have to be.

“Mary Louise hasn’t awakened.” Doc Little crinkled his eyes.

“And…frankly, I don’t know. . .”

She steeled herself against what might be — what might have to be.

“I don’t know — if. . . if. . . she ever. . . will.” Doc Little’s blue eyes misted.

“Nooo!” Mrs. Abbott clapped her hands to her face.

“Please… do something,” she begged, her brown eyes misting.

Doc Little leaned close. “There’s nothing more I can do,” he whispered.

It was as if a shutter clicked over Mrs. Abbott’s face; the color drained from her face. She squeezed her eyes shut. She rubbed her knuckles together, as if to cause more pain than the pain Doc Little’s words had just caused.

Doc Little turned toward the window. The late afternoon sun spilled into the West window, illuminating the blanket of fresh snow outside.

Mrs. Abbott walked toward the fireplace, the scent of burning hickory stinging her nostrils. She rubbed her hands by the fire and then paced back and forth.

A somber haze filled the room.

“We can’t… We can’t lose Mary Louise, Doc. Please do something. . .” she wrung her hands.

Mrs. Abbot seemed to stand taller in her rail-thin frame than Doc in his hunched form. She twisted a graying tendril that had fallen out of her chestnut bun. “Jed and I waited 10 years for Mary Louise to come to us.” Her voice was thin. She searched his face for hope.

He shook his head. “The fever’s not coming down, Mrs. Abbott.’’ He couldn’t look Mrs. Abbott in the eye. “As far as I can reckon, her temperature is 104. Maybe 105.”

Mary Louise lay on a too-small cot in a two-room cabin heated only by fire and lit only by lamp. She had tucked her rag doll Annie into the crook of her left arm. Her flaxen braids hung at her sides, along her white flannel nightgown dotted with pink rosettes. Her chest heaved ever so slightly.

It was only the subtle movement of her rib cage, a faint heaving up and down, that the most careful observer could see that 10-year-old Mary Louise was even alive.

“More cold compresses applied directly to her forehead. And continue to keep her feet warm, Mrs. Abbott.” Doc Little stood up and squared his shoulders, as if he had an important announcement.

The gray tiger cat that had been sleeping by the fire padded over to Mrs. Abbott and wound itself between her feet, mewing for food.

“Shoo, Smoky!” Mrs. Abbott swat at Smoky.“Get away!”

But Smoky would have none of it, and yeowled, and then jumped onto Mary Louise’s bed. Mrs. Abbott shook her finger at him. “I’m not having any darn cat on the bed, either. Hear me, Smoky?”

Smoky leaped from the bed and ran to the fireplace, mewing.

She turned to Doc.”This is the fifth time today that I’ve had to chase him from Mary Louise’s bed,” she complained, shaking her head. “He sure is one darned and determined little cat. For some reason, he wants to be with her.”

Doc Little adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. Usually, Doc Little was a kindly man whose white hair and prim, white beard reflected his kind smile, but now his face looked stern. “Mrs. Abbott, I need a word with you. Please.” He motioned with his arm. “In the other room.”

Doc Little guided Mrs. Abbott into the kitchen of the two-room cabin, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the room, with a kerosene lamp the only light. Outside, the wind howled.

“You need to begin making arrangements,” he explained, his voice breaking.He then touched Mrs. Abbott on the arm. Her brown eyes widened, and she cradled her head in her hands and cried, sobs wracking her bony frame.

“Mr. Abbott is in California territory?” Doc Little patted Mrs. Abbott’s arm.

“Yes. Yes. For months more,” she said. “He’s building the western rail to meet the eastern rail in Utah territory. It will be summer before he’s back here again.”

Doc Little nodded, solemnly. “I’d best be going now. The missus worries when I ride in the dark. If weather permits, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mrs. Abbott’s eyes followed Doc Little, as he stood up and walked toward the door, as he stooped slightly to open the door and as he closed the door behind him, still hunched over and his head hanging down, as if Doc Little knew something he didn’t want to tell her. A pit of nerves lay heavy in Mrs. Abbott’s stomach. It felt as if her world was dying.

Smoky waited until Mrs. Abbott and Doc Little had left the room and then climbed back onto the cot where Mary Louise was sleeping, settling in the crook of her arm, next to Annie.

He fell asleep immediately, purring. Smoky was warm, Mary Louise was warm, and Annie was warm.

Mrs. Abbott’s bones ached from five days of attending to her daughter, heating water to warm Mary Louise’s feet and applying cold compresses to her daughter’s forehead, to bring down the fever.

She looked over and saw Smoky lying next to Mary Louise.”Oh, my heavenly stars!” she exclaimed. She clapped her hands to her cheek.

“Smoky! I told you to skedaddle. Shoo!” She pushed Smoky off the bed and he ran under the rocking chair, mewing. As soon as Mrs. Abbott went to the bucket to heat the water, Smoky returned to the bed where Mary Louise lay.

Mrs. Abbott rolled her eyes. “You infernal cat. I’m too weary to push you away again, Smoky. But you know I don’t want you there. Smoky mewed softly.“You’d better not harm Mary Louise, or come spring, I’ll put you in a sack weighted down with rocks in the bottom of the sack and throw you into the lake.” Mrs. Abbott shook her finger sternly at Smoky.

Smoky looked up at Mrs. Abbott, his big green eyes pleading with her.

“Oh, alright,” Mrs. Abbott proclaimed. “You can stay. You’re not hurting Mary Louise none.”

Smoky purred all night, tucked into the crook of Mary Louise’s arm. Mrs. Abbott fell asleep in her rocking chair, with her knitting in her lap and her heavy woolen cardigan buttoned up to her neck. Her bun was wound tightly around her hair, which showed threads of salt and pepper woven through gleaming chestnut locks.

The hours ticked by, logs burned in the fireplace and the coals smoldered. The hurricane lamp lit the small room where Mary Louise lay and where Mrs. Abbott slept in the rocking chair. Mrs. Abbott could hear the howling wind all night, and how the wind rattled the window frames.

Eventually dawn came and morning erupted in the high mountains of Laramie, a rose-red dawn over blue sky. Gone were the overcast days from last week.

The snow from the day before still glistened like miniature crystals, as it spread its blanket among the pines that surrounded the cabin. The mirror lake in back, now frozen with the cabin’s reflection imprinted upon its glassine surface, completed this picture of an almost mythical world, where no one becomes ill or dies. But Mary Louise still lay in her cot at death’s door, with a fever of 104.

Doc Little had told Mrs. Abbott there was only thing she could do: keep Mary Louise warm, and to apply cold compresses to her forehead.

It’s touch and go, Doc Little had said to Mrs. Abbott. Night fell. The sky was clear and the moon was full. Mrs. Abbott looked out and saw Venus.

Please, Lord, keep Mary Louise safe.

That night, the air was cold, but the sky was clear and full of stars. The big dipper, the little dipper. Orion’s belt. Mrs. Abbott saw shooting stars blaze their way across the inky sky. She was losing hope that Mary Louise could be saved. Smoky continued to sleep and purr, purr and sleep, curled tightly next to Mary Louise.

During these three days, Smoky slept by Mary Louise’s side constantly, while Mrs. Abbott kept careful watch, trying not to sleep at night but to only sneak ‘cat naps’, for a few minutes at a time. She preferred to watch Mary Louise constantly, always searching for any change in her daughter.

Mrs. Abbott sat by the fire in her rocking chair, knitting a bright red, woolen sweater for Mary Louise. She wanted to give the sweater to Mary Louise for Christmas.

After the end of three days, Mrs. Abbott looked at the calendar. It was Sunday, December 24^th. Mrs. Abbott thought she’d heard Mary Louise stir. She rose from her chair to see Mary Louise’s eyelashes flutter. She leaned closer for a better look, and she saw Mary Louise’s eyes open wide.

Mary Louise’s bright green eyes looked around the room in wonder.”Mama!” Mary Louise exclaimed. “I had the most marvelous dream. I dreamt I was ill and nobody could help, so Smoky and Annie went to Heaven to pray for me to get better. I didn’t even know Smoky was right here beside me. Has he been here a long time?”

Mrs. Abbott was so surprised to see Mary Louise speak that she forgot all about her little daughter’s question.”My goodness gracious, Mary Louise. I can barely believe my ears to hear you speak — to see you talk and move. I was so worried about you.”

“Why were you worried? Was I ill?”

“Very ill. You were at death’s door with a mysterious fever, a dangerously high fever we couldn’t cure. You were ill for close to 10 days. Doc Little had little hope for you. He said that you were in God’s hands.”

“But what about Smoky, Mama? How long was he with me?”

“Smoky has been by your side for days, my darling. I gave up trying to shoo him away. He kept returning. He lay there day and night, next to you and Annie, purring and keeping both of you company. You must be hungry, child. I’ve got food I’ve been saving for you. Tonight is Christmas Eve.”

Mary Louise was still weak, and she continued to lie in bed that day with Annie and Smoky at her side. As she lay in bed, the flush of pink returned to her cheeks, and her green eyes lit up in wonder as she gazed outside at the white snow, which glistened all around their cabin.

She was talking up a storm. That night, Mrs. Abbott finished the red sweater she’d been knitting for Mary Louise — the sweater she was afraid she’d never be able to give Mary Louise for Christmas.

Much later that night, Father arrived by stage and train and stagecoach from Chicago. He’d never made it to California. The snow hit the Rockies and the stage couldn’t make it all the way.

When the snows melt, Father had said, then I’ll go back to the railroad. Father brought two saddlebags with toys, woolens, pots, and provisions that he’d bought with the money he’d made working on rails in Chicago.

Father couldn’t wait to see Mrs. Abbott and Mary Louise. Couldn’t wait to see how happy they would be, come Christmas morning – tomorrow morning — when they saw the gifts.

As happy as Mrs. Abbott was to see her husband on Christmas Eve, she worried about him. He looked troubled. She spoke to him

The money will be good. We can build onto our cabin — make it bigger, safer. We can start a ranch, with horses.”

Only Mary Louise seemed cheery. She smiled at Mother.

“It’s okay, Mama. Father can leave to work on the railroad because I know he’ll always come back. I believe. Smoky made me better, so now I believe. I believe in miracles.”

The next morning was Christmas. Father gave Mrs. Abbott a new pot and a woolen dress. Father gave Mary Louise a woolen dress and a small cradle for Annie. Mother gave Mary Louise the bright red, woolen sweater she’d finished knitting the night before.

Smoky gained quite a reputation in the territory of Wyoming. He was known as The Miracle Christmas Kitty.

Any time any one in Laramie was ill with a malaise they couldn’t cure, the family would send for Smoky, The Miracle Christmas Kitty, to lie with the patient, until he or she was better.

Let us say, that after Mary Louise, Smoky was pretty busy. He must have helped 100 families — sometimes even 10 families a year.

Rumor has it that Smoky lived to be 25 years old, the oldest cat on record in Laramie, Wyoming. But only if you believe in miracles.

Copyright © Kathryn Esplin-Oleski. 2008-2011. All rights reserved.