Joyce Coomer: My Sweet Fussbudget

Joyce Coomer

Memorial Day weekend 2020, as I was headed to town, I saw a tiny blue kitten in trees beside the road. I stopped and caught him. He was so young that he didn't yet know how to lap milk. (He's made up for that since!) He stayed in the garage for a few days until he got brave enough to go under the door and visit with the grown cats outside.

He grew fast and within a month was following me when I walked to Greg's grave.


One afternoon, I was sitting at Greg's grave, crying, and Fussbudget got on my lap, gently patted my cheek with his soft paw, then licked the tears from my face.

He still goes with me to Greg's grave and if I am crying, gets on my lap, rubs his head against my chin and purrs as loud as he can.

Only those grieving and those who love cats and dogs can understand the comfort this brings.

Occasionally some of my other cats go with me to Greg's grave. They sit on his grave, sometimes napping, other times watching what is going on in the pasture around them, while I absorb the peace provided by God's handiwork spread out before me.

If my cats were confined in a kennel, I would not have their companionship and loving presence when I am walking on our farm. Nor would I be able to enjoy their athletic antics as they chase each other up and down trees, and make mad dashes through the grass.

Why anyone wishes to deprive me and other animal lovers of such wonder is something I will never understand.

This story was posted on 2021-07-31 08:12:22.
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