There are so many doorstep-things in my life. Christmas usually arrives at my doorstep much too soon. Grandmama is convinced that it is Christmas every day of the year at our house. Consequently presents arrive frequently. Most of them are the doorstep variety. Most of them are the non-human earthlings, in need of care. Those are the presents that teach so much. Those are the presents that give unconditional love and with that unconditional joy. Their arrivals are seldom Christmas related. There are the other kinds of gifts, like
friendship, laughter, and consolation. They are related to Christmas in some way. There would not be Christmas were it not for the greatest gift of all. This year Christmas and doorstep gift sort of coincided. Before the tree was up, before the house was cleaned, before the friends and relatives arrived, there was that doorstep gift. It was there, that Monday morning, early, like four A.M.; I usually don't get up that early, but I did that day. I usually don't check the front door that early, but I did. And there, hunched over, huddled against the door for protection from the snow and cold was the cat we referred to as Old Soldier. It was December and the last time we saw him was last Spring. He had been around for years. He was feral, decidedly by choice, the master of his fate. Close observation was not permitted. Touching was out of the question. He had been injured, perhaps by a car, perhaps in a fight. The lower left front leg kept dangling life-less from his body. And he held that paw up like a soldier carries a permanent injury. And so we called him old soldier. He accepted handouts. He conversed. Had he been human, he would have been a basso profundo. He did not permit touching. He had been gone for months and now he had returned. I rushed to the kitchen to find food for him. He looked
emaciated. I returned and opened the door. He looked up at me. He rose from his hunkered-down position and did the unthinkable. He entered the house. I preceded. He followed. That was how he came to be in my office. "Unusual gift," remarked Grandmama as she became aware of him and I became aware of her. " Compliments of St. Francis "replied. After a careful perusal she responded: " Weighs about six pounds, injured and more dead than alive. How expensive is that gift?" "About 75.00 dollars to have him checked by the vet. About a hundred dollars for the deluxe quarantine accommodation." After all, nothing in life is free. She agreed to that. That was last Monday. In that brief span of one week, Old Soldier experienced compassion and I knew that I was still capable of giving. Old Soldier abandoned all reservations he may have had about the human species. He accepted touching. He rolled over and allowed his stomach to be rubbed. He showed the ugly wound on his leg that had been like a stigmata, an open wound that never healed over the span of almost three years. I felt privileged to have been given the opportunity to prove to that abused and shattered feline that humanity is capable of reaching out. Grandmama was rather pensive as she looked at the empty enclosure. "He knew joy and love before he made the transition," Grandmama said. It was her way to change a sad farewell in to an ode of joy. My daughter
Barbara agreed to that. For a week he had all the food he needed, a warm place to rest his head, and the
comforting touch of another being. He died Sunday. He had his breakfast before he went on that journey. He died very quietly in his sleep. It beats being ground in to the pavement on the open road by the incessant passing of indifferent wheels. "Was it worth it?" Grandmama inquired. As far as I was concerned it most certainly was. After all the years of living on this planet, I felt reassured that I had not lost my humanity. I had not compromised the integrity that goes with that. There is hope. And Christmas is after all, a celebration of hope. " The best gift I could have received." I said. My veterinarian agreed to that. "That cat had enough sense to know where to go to in order to die a peaceful death."

Sorry to have digressed. The next time I write it will probably be all about hp 3570, the replacement of Umax.