Undert the Trees

Under the Trees   by J. Hillard


Tall trees surrounded my house. My childhood home was at the end of a culd-a-sac and engulfed by the forest at the bottom of a mountain. During the lazy, hazy days of summer I would walk through my yard and explore the trees that kept our home cool under their generous canopy.
During one of my morning explorations I remember finding a nest of kittens. I call it a nest because as I remember I heard a mewing from a bush at the base of several trees. While crawling on my knees to discover the source of this pitiful cry I lifted the branches to see several kittens huddled together, their eyes barely open. They laid on a nest of old fall leaves as their noses lifted in the air to smell the intruder.
I should have backed up and late nature take its course, yet I could not. I knew these tiny cries would only continue to the point of haunting me in my sleep. All through grade school I loved to save animals that I found to be in need. Usually it was a bird or a bunny. I would put them in a box filled with towels, water, and food. Doing my best to nurse these creatures back to health. Although I was now a little older, the part of me that wanted to help the helpless had only grown stronger. I knew if I played Mamma to these kittens at least a few of them may survive to become more than a stray field cat.
Would my Dad allow me to keep one? Perhaps even two? I doubted it. He disliked cats, that fact I knew without even having to ask. He never had a pet as a child, and that was fine by him. My decision was made. I would save the kittens, or at least do my best.
A few days had passed and the three surviving kittens from the litter were doing well. I had hid the box for the first day. The muffled mews of the kittens gave away our secret before too long and with delight I was allowed to move the box inside the house for a few days. My parents knew my intentions were good, but my dad dreaded my disappointment if the kittens died. He also dreaded having to tell me I could not keep them if they survived. I had overheard that statement made to my mother one evening after dinner.
Two weeks passed. I was down to two kittens. The smallest one, I had named him Sam, had died at the end of the first week. I cried as I buried him. His brother and sister also cried for him. I just knew it from their sad mews that could be heard through the house for the next few days.
Three weeks passed. Ellie and Jack were growing and becoming very mischievous in their play. Pawing at each other and any willing combatant. I would just laugh at their antics. On the day that marked twenty-five days with my family my Dad told me that we would be taking the kittens to the animal shelter the next morning. I cried and begged for the life of my sweet kittens. He was firm and unbending. I hardly slept that night as I hugged the box protectively. I didn’t care if I was reprimanded, my babies slept in my bed that night.
The next morning there was no sunshine. That was a fitting scene I remember thinking as I looked out my bedroom window. My Dad gave me a hug as I walked Ellie and Jack to the car all bundled up in their cozy box. The drive to the animal shelter seemed endless, although it was probably only fifteen minuets away from our country home. We pulled up to the shelter and I could not believe my eyes. The sign on the door read CLOSED.
I did not turn to see the look on my Dad’s face. I knew it would have been a mistake after hearing his gruff sigh at the sight of the sign. At first I was afraid to smile, but after several moments I could not help myself. I kept glancing in the box all the while grinning from ear to ear. I could feel the tension from my Dad, but I did not care. They were mine. I knew he would not make that trip again. I just knew it.
The car pulled into the drive way and I saw my Mom in the front yard replanting some flowers. I ran out of the car, never letting go of the box, and exclaimed my joy of the shelter being closed. My Mom just stood up and chuckled as she looked at my Dad’s solemn face.

Mommy Do You...?

Mommy, Do You...?   by J. Hillard

Mommy, do you love my nose?

Yes, I love your nose. It is as cute as a button.

Mommy, do you love my fingers?

Yes, I love your fingers. They lace perfectly into mine.

Mommy, do you love toes?

Yes, I love your toes. They wiggle when you are happy.

Mommy, do you love my armpit?

Yes, I love your armpit. Your laughter rings when I give you a tickle.

Mommy, do you love both my armpits?

Yes, I love both armpits. I can see them when you fly like a superhero.

Mommy, do you love my belly?

Yes, I love your belly. It is the perfect place for a bezerpa.

Mommy, do you love my eyes?

Yes, I love your eyes. They twinkle when you smile.

Thanks Mom. Sigh.