Tippy

January 19, 2015. Dear little Tippy, our time together was painfully short. You started stopping by in late December. A starving stray, you always finished all the food I left out for you, then disappeared. Then, one morning, in the freezing rain, you came to me, asking to come inside. You shyly followed me to the room I had prepared for you. For a precious 24 hours, I reassured you, sang to you, talked to you, and gave you a name, warmth, a comfortable bed, nourishment and kindness. You purred, and rubbed around my legs, propped your forehead against my knee and kneaded the plush yellow blanket on your bed. But the next day, at the vet, I found out how very ill you were, and my heart ached to know there was nothing I could do but stroke your fur as you crossed over. I'll never forget your special markings: the missing right ear tip, the black freckles on your legs and the black heart on the back of your neck. Can 24 hours of love and warmth make up for a lifetime of hunger and cold? At least you knew kindness before you died.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13: 2