January 12

Humans were so blindingly focused on their own lives, they never saw cats dancing, or birds drawing sky portraits, or ants performing their excellent dramas.  But cats do dance.  Marigold pirouetted on her toes, her calico colors like twirling autumn leaves.  There was an exuberant interlude of tail wagging and thumping after Mari’s presentation, especially from Brodie whose green eyes proudly sparkled.

 “Inspiring,” Quim the raccoon yawned, rubbing his jaundiced eyes with black paws.

 “Tip of the tiger’s tail,” enthused Cor, whacking his own striped version heartily on the floorboards.

Beamer exchanged a congratulatory head rub with Marigold as she was surrounded by her admirers.

“Hey Beam,” Hayes ventured, “Carrier has it that Pansy’s humans’ fundraiser was a big success.  What are they going to do with their money?  Buy more spaghetti?”

“What’s apthghetti?” a pond duck lisped to Reuben.  Seeing the unnatural grin on the basset’s usually droopy face, the startled duck flapped backwards in alarm.

Apparently the Nerdites had collected a substantial sum.  Many spaghetti dinner participants had donated more than the ten-dollar fee, and Jefferson Wrightley had written a check for three hundred dollars.  Not expecting such a windfall, the students were still deliberating about how to spend it.  

“I know how they ought to use it,” said Beamer.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” T.T. raised a paw, “but any chance of finding some milk around here?”

“Follow me,” whispered Berry as she led T.T. and several others through a cat-hole in the bulk tank room where some milk buckets had been set out for the calves.

“So?” Hayes prodded, “What should they use the money for?”

 “Neutering,” Beamer answered.

“Thrilling.”  Hayes rolled his eyes.  “I’m gonna go get some milk.”

Beamer sat on the straw-strewn floor, watching the cats join in small groups or wander off in search of snacks.  He knew pleasant evenings like this were possible only if the animals were healthy and cared for.  There were still too many creatures without adequate shelter or food; still too many homeless litters of kittens and pups.

The moon rose high, lighting the way for guests drifting homeward. Beam bade goodnight to his dairy hosts, settling in the back of Farmer Moon’s pickup—his morning ride back to town.  He thought about the impending crisis facing all the creatures and plants on Long View Road—but as sleep overtook his troubled mind, Beamer’s Allsence bestowed a tranquil patience.  The time was not yet right.