My name is Rain. What my last name is does not matter for I have had many surnames during my lifetime. Rain is what Shirley called me. We were friends. I taught her how to not-love anyone. Not to give her heart to anyone because everyone leaves. No matter how deep your love is or how tightly you hold your loved ones, they will leave you and you will be alone. Sometimes people ask me why I live alone. Why I don’t have friends. Why I rarely leave my home. I lie to such inquisitive creatures. I tell them I’m alone by choice, and there’s a difference between alone and being lonely.
When I sit in my shabby brown recliner with Miss Peggy on my lap, I pet my feline friend and tell her that winter will soon be over. She doesn’t care because she doesn’t venture outside. She’s had enough of the great outdoors. When she belonged to her first master, her life was a nightmare. She was often thrown out the front door. Once she was taken to a farm fifteen miles from what she called home. I don’t know how long it took her, months probably, but she found her way back. That’s when she was deposited at a relative’s house.
When he left, I took over. For two years I walked from my home to Miss Peggy’s. It took her two months but after being alone for twenty hours a day, she finally realized I was the only human she was going to have. She crept up the basement stairs and jumped on the couch. It took another two months before she would come close to me. Although I had been cleaning her litter box for a couple years because it was difficult for my relative to walk down the stairs, I had never seen her. As soon as she heard anyone open the front door, she hid.
By the third year of visiting my timid friend four hours a day, I decided it was time to bring her to my home. Walking down the road during winter was often challenging especially when the road was icy. This was prior to my move. Miss Peggy had refused to enter her carrier so I kept the door open and left it in the living room for a year. She had no front claws, but she threatened to bite my wrists. By the third summer, she must have known I meant business. She entered the carrier without resistance.
I quickly carried her down the stairs and placed her in the back of my vehicle. The drive was less than two minutes. When I brought her in and opened the carrier door, I didn’t know what to expect. To my amazement, she boldly stepped out, looked around and appeared perfectly content. I had already brought her food and water dishes, her litter box and toys. She batted a toy, found her water dish and after checking out the living room and kitchen, she jumped on my lap and that was that.
What does this have to do with Rain? You’ll never know.
