Stories Told in Old Barns

 

I have written before about my intrigue of old barns. Lucky for me, I am surrounded by them. Some are in rougher shape than others. Some look as if the slightest wind will bring them down. They all have stories to tell. The problem is so many of those stories will never be heard. The wind will make sure of that.

Here is one story that beat those odds.

The story actually began when I was maybe 12 or 13 and tragically lost my cat. While I would go on to get married and have children and we most always had a cat or two, I never felt close to any of them. I am sure I held myself back from embracing them in fear of losing them.

About fourteen years ago, I moved out to the country. My oldest son lives with me as he deals with MS. We love where we live. Out back there is a small barn. It is not in the best shape but over the years, that never stopped stray cats from calling that barn home for as long as needed. I never bothered much with the strays until the last few years. I started to notice some stayed around more than others. And a few of those who hung around a little longer caught my curiosity. 

On occasion people would tell me my son and I needed to get a kitten. The most common reason was a kitten would make great company. I thought about that more than once and always came to the same conclusion. A kitten would become a problem with my son using his walker. It could get in his way. Cause him to trip. So, I ignored those telling me we should get a kitten until a stray cat kept showing up. I first noticed him when spring was in the air. I would be outside doing something, and he would be sitting, keeping his distance, watching me. One day I started talking to him as I worked around the garden. He wouldn't let me get too close. He just sat there, as if understanding my every word. This went on for a while until one day, he didn't show up. He didn't show up fpr a good week. Deep down, I missed him. That is when my son suggested I feed him the next time he showed up.

The cat eventually showed up. I saw him sitting near some lilac bushes. Staring at me. I was glad to see him. I told him so. And then I hurried inside to get him something to eat, thankful I'd bought some cat food at the store. This routine was repeated whenever he showed up which became quite often. Often enough that I was allowed to pet him. Allowed to sit nearby and talk to him while he ate. It wasn't long before we named him, Randy after a TV ad.

Randy was becoming a part of our little family.

 On the day before I was taking him to a veterinarian appointment, Randy was hit by a car when running across the road. He was killed instantly. Somehow, I brought him home and buried him under a big old poplar tree in a nearby field. I never told my son. When he wondered why he wasn't coming around anymore I reminded him Randy was a stray.

Other strays came and went. I ignored them. But I could not ignore a long-haired orange and white cat. Neither could my son. We would watch for him. He was like Randy. Shy. Very shy. I started feeding him. He slowly let me get closer to him. We named him Creamsicle. Then he disappeared.

About a year later out of the blue, my son suggested we get a cat. He was ready. He missed Randy and Creamsicle. He was not worried a cat might trip him. When summer came around, we found our cat. It was one of five kittens living in a nearby Amish barn, a big, old barn stuffed with hay and that little kitten We took that little kitten home. It became that little kitten's home too.

I am so happy we found our kitten in that old barn. I can only imagine the stories that old barn could tell. Just like our little old barn once home to Randy, Creamsicle and other strays that called our little barn home.