Shining Sea Cattery ~ From Our Home To Your Heart

If You’re Not Sure About Adopting So Soon

Please read one of the many emails we’ve received from families

just like you, who have found themselves in you’re position and took

our advice. A new kitten can never replace the one who’s gone,

but can help in the healing process, to fill the hole left behind in your

heart and home.

We Hope This Can Be Of Some Comfort To You

Dear Michael and Corinne:
 Just wanted to drop you a quick note and tell you that Sophia is doing
great!!! She and Dexter (our other cat) get along wonderfully!!!  The first
24 hours was an adjusting time. However, at this time, they play and
sleep and eat together and Dexter has taken it upon himself to giving her a
bath every now and then.
 It's so wonderful to watch them together! God has blessed us with a
wonderful kitten! Thank you so very much for helping us extend our family
with such a wonderful gift!
 Sophia is precious and has helped us heal from our loss of our big cat
Butler (as a matter of fact, we've mentioned Butler's name many, many
times over this last week because of how much she reminds us of him and
Dexter reminds us of  Butler because of the way he has taken upon himself
to take care of Sophia like how Butler took care of Dexter.)
 He was so wonderful and is missed greatly, however, Sophia has helped
us all start fresh with the newness of life! She has truly stolen our hearts
and all who have met her!
God bless you all!  And thank you once again!
Jennifer Daiker and Family

If Now Is Not The Time

We understand your feelings and you have our deepest sympathies.

Please Contact Us When You’re Ready

The Cab Ride

 Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark

except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just

honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended

on taxis as their only means of transportation.

Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door.

This passenger might be someone who needs my

assistance, I reasoned to myself.
 So I walked to the door and knocked

 "Just a minute"

answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened.

A small woman in her 80's stood before me.

She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a

veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years.

All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, or knickknacks

or utensils on the counters.

In the corner was a cardboard box filled with

photos and glassware.
 "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.

I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing"

I told her.

"I just try to treat my passengers the way would want my mother treated".
 "Oh, you're such a good boy"

 she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address

and then asked

"Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way"

I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind"

she said.

"I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rear-view mirror.

Her eyes were glistening.
"I don't have any family left"

she continued.

"The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?"

I asked.

 For the next two hours, we drove through the city.

She showed me the building where she had once

 worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and

her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.

She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had

once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular

building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness,

saying nothing.
 As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon

she suddenly said,

"I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home,

with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up.

They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.

They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.

The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

 "How much do I owe you?" she asked,

reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.

She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said

 "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, and then

walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut.

It was the sound of the closing of a life.

 I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift.

I drove aimlessly lost in thought.

For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,

or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had

honked once and then driven away?
 On a quick review, I don't think that I have done

anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve

around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware,

beautifully wrapped in what others may

consider a small one.

 People (or pets) may not remember exactly

what you did or said, however, they will

always remember how you made them feel.

"Life may not be the party we hoped for,

but while we are here, we might as well dance."