I flew into the house, and down the hall to my bedroom and seized the suitcase, tossing it on the bed.
“What did you do?” I demanded. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my ears growing hot, and panic threatening to set in.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I shouted at the suitcase, “But I want my cat back!”
The suitcase remained silently resolute and I could feel tears burgeoning at the corners of my eyes. I stood directly in front of the suitcase and begged, “Please.”
I shrank to the bed, seated next to the suitcase, with my shoulders hunched forward. I began to tell the suitcase about all the disappointments in my life. How truly upset I was to be losing my childhood home, how fearful I was of losing my parents, too. I described my disappointment at not having a husband or a boyfriend or children of my own, and how working at a dead-end job was destroying my soul. The tears were flowing freely now, streaming down my cheeks, releasing years of pent up sorrows.
I gasped for air, choking on my tears, as I made one last impassioned plea to the suitcase. “I don’t know why you called to me in the attic. And I know that I have tried to find every reason to not believe that it was real.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “But I believe now. I know it wasn’t a dream. And I know that it was you. I don’t know how, but it was you.”
The suitcase and I sat in silence for a little while. I felt drained from crying, but as I sat there, simply allowing myself to sit with my sadness, it occurred to me that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt lighter, somehow. Feeling just a bit silly I turned to the suitcase and said, “You’re a good listener, you know.”
That night, I dreamed I heard a tiny jingling noise. It was like a little bell – ring-a-ling, jing-a-ling. I was so sleepy, and the ringing was so far away that it didn’t register as being odd. And in my mostly-asleep reverie the ringing got louder and closer until a little warm body alighted upon my bed and rubbed up against me.
The familiar sensation jolted me awake. There, on my bed, was my cat.
I sat up and pulled the cat close to me, happy tears welling up in my eyes. It was at that moment when I realized that the jingling noise had been real, and it was coming from the cat! Around his neck was a small leather collar with a tiny bell affixed to it. He had not been wearing a collar when he disappeared. I unfastened the collar to take a closer look. There was a tiny silver tag attached to the collar engraved with a single word in a scripted, yet legible, font: Rupert.
My eyes darted to the suitcase but I was instantly distracted by my cat headbutting me, purring furiously. I scooped him into my arms once more and smiled down at him. Then glanced back up at the suitcase and whispered, “Thank you.”
