When my husband, Dan, and I bought our farm seven years ago, we brought with us four dogs and two horses. I knew we’d need cats also, not just to scare away mice, but because we’d always had them. A leukemia epidemic had gone through our last neighborhood, however, and we had no kitties to take to our new home.Shortly after we moved in, a petite female cat approached me in the pasture, meowing like she’d known me for years. I discovered she lived in an abandoned tractor bucket, and marveled that she’d been smart enough to live through the coyote attacks that had taken the lives of most of the farm cats in this new neighborhood.She let me pick her up and I adopted her, but took her immediately to my veterinarian to be vaccinated and tested for leukemia. When she was given the all-clear, testing negative to any diseases, I was relieved. She was kind and colorful, and I named her Sweet Pea.She adapted to the house quite well. Before I could have her spayed, however, she presented me with three tiny kittens – Pinky, Murphy and Eli – born under a bed in the spare room upstairs. I now had my cat family. The household was complete. As the kittens grew, I had them spayed and neutered. Four cats was enough, I reasoned.I loved them all, but Eli was the special one, and everyone noticed it. Eli and I became close – so close, in fact, we could almost read each other’s minds."That cat won’t leave your side," Dan noticed more than once.My son was more sarcastic. "You got some Velcro on you? I’ve never seen you without that gray one stuck to you." No matter where I was, Eli was at my side. As he matured, his gray turned into a beautiful silver, and I called him my Darling Silver Eli, much to the groans and annoyance of my husband and children.When I watched TV, Eli watched with me, tucked in the crook of my arm, lying on his back with his feet in the air. When I was outside weeding, Eli sat on the edge of the garden, meowing and "talking" as I did my work. When I did my barn chores, he’d stand on the stall boards, meowing and chatting as I shoveled. We had many conversations, and I knew he understood me, always meowing an answer as I discussed things with him. He tried talking to everyone, but not everyone understood. When I took him to the vet to have him neutered, Dr. Monti said, "He’s some kind of cat. He talked to us the whole time he was here.""That’s my Darling Eli," I told him.Because of the coyotes, each night I’d round up the cats and make sure they were all in the house before dark. I wasn’t about to take any chances. Dogs were in also. As for the horses, I bought them Jack, a donkey, to keep the coyotes out of the pasture. I had seen one run at them from under the fence and chase them into the barn. It was shocking to know they were brave enough to come so close to the house. Donkeys are known for keeping vermin at bay. After Jack came, I saw no more coyotes in the pasture. Things were pretty good.Eli was about three years old the day I had to take my van to the car dealer. I had expected to return home before dark, but it was well after eleven when I pulled into the yard. I called for the cats. Everyone came running but Eli. He didn’t answer, so I assumed he was already in the house. In the pit of my stomach, however, I felt something was wrong; but I was tired from my long day and didn’t want to think that Eli was out there in the dark. Also, I didn’t want to think about the fear that was building in the back of my mind.The next morning, the lack of his meowing was more than noticeable, and I began to panic. I went outside and began calling. No Eli. He’d been known to hide in the woods, looking for unsuspecting chipmunks, so I went to the tree line, calling and calling. No answer.Deep inside, I knew he was gone, but I wouldn’t accept it. Looking back, I think I knew it when I’d come home in the dark and he didn’t answer me. I couldn’t face the fact that I’d let him down. Day after day I called his name. I cried. I sobbed. I became so upset I retched."You have to quit torturing yourself," Dan scolded. "He’s gone. It wasn’t your fault.""It was. I should have left the car dealer. I should have put Eli in the house before I went away. I was so stupid."I called to him for a year—not everyday, but now and then when the night was still. I’d go out to the mailbox and call, waiting for that familiar "meow" to answer me, all the while knowing it was useless.The date he disappeared, July 18, will be etched in my mind forever. I hated that date. It was the day I let down my best friend, the day I let him be killed. As the second anniversary of his death rolled around, I became more sullen. On July 17, just before going up to bed, Dan said, "I miss Eli. He was one cool cat. I wonder whatever happened to him?"Tears filled my eyes. "How can you mention his name? You know he was eaten!"Dan just shook his head and went up the stairs. I stood in the kitchen, remembering the feline friend I’d lost two years before. I began to turn out the lights and go up also, when I heard a familiar meowing on the back porch. I was puzzled. All the cats were in for the night. Did one of them get out? Who was it?I flipped on the outside light and there on the porch was a little gray kitty, half grown, with a silver glow about him. He was the spitting image of my darling Eli. My hand flew up to my mouth, and I sucked in a great gulp of air. I stood there for a minute, shocked, before I flew out the door and scooped him up. He purred and slithered around in my arms. I carried him in the house and set him down. He walked around the kitchen like he’d been there before.I went to my chair in the living room and sat down. He followed me in, tail carried proudly in the air. He jumped in my arms and did a flip upside down, feet in the air. He looked at me as if to say, "I’m back."The dogs sniffed him, as did the other cats, but they didn’t treat him like a stranger. It was as if they knew him already. It was as if I knew him already. Could it be my Darling Eli coming back in another body?I carried him upstairs and rushed to Dan’s side of the bed, rudely waking him with running feet and a flick of the light switch.I shoved the kitten in his face. "Remember how you said you missed my Eli? Well, he’s back." He squinted in the light, trying to focus on me and what I was holding."What are you talking about?"
"It’s Eli. He’s back. He’s back, reincarnated. I knew he’d come back. I knew it."Dan looked at the silver form I was holding and shook his head in disbelief. "He sure looks like Eli, but I think you’re crazy," he said, rolling over and pulling the sheet up over his head.I carried my new friend back downstairs. We talked for hours. He meowed when I talked to him, answering me like the old Eli.He’s all grown up now and is a beautiful silver, just like my first Eli. I named him Eli the Second, but we know he’s the original. We talk everyday. He doesn’t enjoy going outside alone, however, and when he does he’s at the door in minutes wanting to come back in. I don’t think he trusts the coyotes, not even in the daylight. "Been there, done that," is his theory.Life is back to normal. My friend, Karen, a believer in reincarnation, says I’m much calmer now that Eli is back in my life. My kids just roll their eyes. I think they’re jealous.We were meant to be together. He is my soul mate. I know he returned home to be with me. As I type in his story, he calls to me from the other room. "Yes, I’m here," I tell him. Though I can’t see him, I know he has just lifted his head and meowed to let me know he’s okay, and once I’ve answered him he’s gone back to sleep. I know, also, he’s going to live a long time. We’ll spend the rest of our days on this earth together, and face new adventures when we pass on.* * * * *
