What were we going to do with a cat? We were DOG people, having had dogs for over 15 years. All the while feeling guilty about Snort, our 14-year-old lab mix who was lounging inside, I decided to walk the 2 blocks to our work-in-progress and soon-to-be home, the old school house.

Marty told me she was in our massive woodpile, but where? “Meow,” squeaked the tiny, bug-eyed, bedraggled, battered calico from within the woodpile. I reached for her and she jumped into my arms. As I held her in the palm of my hand, my heart melted. It was Mother’s Day. Was I just being sentimental?

I made phone calls to the few cat-loving friends I had. “Nope, full house!” “No more cats!” All afternoon, I called anyone I could think of who might cave in and take her, but nobody wanted her.

We ran to the grocery store for Kitten Chow. For now, we planned to continue caring for her, keeping her outside in the schoolyard.

Twice a day, I walked to the schoolyard to feed her. I soon named her Melody because she would try to meow while crunching her Kitten Chow. “Me-(crunch, crunch)-ow, (crunch, crunch)-ow!” When I’d go to work in the schoolyard, she would ride on my shoulder or head.

King Snort did not appreciate this nonsense one bit. He wasn’t anti-cat like his late brother, Grunt, but he was old and did not want to share my attention. Snort’s hair would rise on his back, agitated, every time we walked to the schoolyard.

Then one morning two weeks later, Melody disappeared. We had a tile contractor come look at a job at the school. When he pulled up in his full-size truck, Melody spooked and took off. When the contractor was leaving, Melody was nowhere to be found.

“Don’t leave yet,” I told the contractor. “My cat is missing. She likes to hide inside the spare tire tucked under a truck. Let me look before you leave.”

“Bad habit,” he said. In a hurry, he dipped his head under his truck and said she wasn’t there. He did not give me time to lie on my stomach to get a good look. He drove off as I called Melody’s name.

All morning, I looked and called for Melody. By now, I’d grown attached to her. Panicked and feeling like a bad Mom, I realized that she must have hidden inside the tire of the contractor’s truck. I called him.

“No cat,” he said, but he told me the route he took after he’d left the school. I drove his route really slowly, looking along the ditches. No Melody.

“God,” I prayed, “please save Melody! Please keep her safe,” I bawled.

The next day, Snort and I walked to the schoolyard. “Melody! Melody,” I called and called. No Melody. Saddened, I walked home. Snort, however, walked with a spring in his step.

I printed “Missing Cat” flyers and posted them in the next town, where the tile contractor stopped for breakfast after leaving the school.

Two days later, a woman named Shirley called me. Cautiously, she ventured, “Where do you think you lost the cat?” I told her the story, careful not to get my hopes up. Then, Shirley, a pet rescue organizer, told me the same evening of the day Melody went missing, she took a route home that she seldom traveled. She saw little eyes shining in her headlights just off to the side of the same road I had driven looking for Melody. Shirley couldn’t explain why she was drawn to those eyes on the side of the road, as they could have belonged to a possum, skunk, or raccoon. Shirley stopped on the side of the road and Melody came right to her.

Within the hour, Shirley dropped off a very battered and traumatized little Melody. God gave us a second chance with her! I moved her into our house.

For months, Snort was the patient older brother as he became the prey for Melody’s hunting expeditions. I nicknamed Melody “Naughty Kitty” and Snort “Good Boy.” He would look at me piteously when she would pounce on him, usually awakening him from a sound sleep. He would harrumph, snort, and then heavily sigh before returning to sleep. Ignoring Melody was no option. Snort was doing very well for a 14-½ year-old. Daily, I walked him a mile in the morning and a half-mile in the afternoon. I gave him Metacam for his arthritis and he lay on a thick, soft bolster bed.

Marty worked two hours away in Milwaukee and came home on weekends. In September, the adjustment between the critters complete, I set up a neighbor, Edna, to take care of Snort and Melody overnight while I went to see Marty in Milwaukee. I gave Edna explicit instructions for their care and walked Snort that morning. It was such a beautiful day!

When I saw Marty, I told him how well Snort was doing that morning. Snort had wanted to walk farther than his normal morning walk, but I’d told him we’d take a longer walk when I came home the following day. He looked up at me with his cataract-blue eyes and wagged his tail.

At 5:30 that afternoon, Edna called. “There’s something wrong with Snort. He keeps tipping over.”

“Can you get him in and out of the house,” I asked. For the past year, Snort’s hind legs would give out if he was looking one way and walking another.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied, not wanting to spoil my evening away.

But he had been doing so well! I refused to accept that his problem was serious.

A couple of hours later, Edna called again. “You had better come home. I can’t get Snort in the house and there’s weather coming.”

We both drove home.

That 2-hour ride home was the shortest and the longest I’d ever taken. I wanted to get home to comfort Snort, but I didn’t want to say good-bye. As we got closer to home, the pleasant late summer evening turned stormy. I could see flashes of lightning off in the distance. Snort was so afraid of storms!

Edna lay with Snort on blankets and pillows in the yard. He tried to get up when he saw us, but could not. Gently, Marty carried his 85 pounds inside. Snort’s eyes nervously darted back and forth.

“No! Not yet, God! I’m not ready to say good-bye,” I cried!

Dogs ask so little, yet give so much, and our Snort was particularly so. That night, I slept by Snort’s side. He kept trying to get up, nervous and confused. I calmed him by singing to him the goofy little songs he’d inspired through the years. By the next morning, I knew that I had to give him my final act of kindness and called his vet. Dr. Roxy could not come until later that day.

Melody watched us from a distance. While we waited for Dr. Roxy to come, I prepared and served Snort his favorite foods. He finally got some long awaited cat food! We lay with him, talking and singing to him. I gave him sedatives throughout the day to calm him. He did not sleep. Marty and I shared Snort stories and pictures. We tried to stuff over 14 years of memories inside a few hours. Early in the afternoon, Snort refused any more food.

Dr. Roxy came late in the afternoon. With loving kindness, we said good-bye to our friend. As we gently wrapped his empty shell for burial, Melody watched us from a distance.

“…The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised” (Job 1:21).

When Snort died, Melody filled some of the emptiness of not having a dog to come home to. She has eased some of our pain. Although she will never be as loving and loyal as a dog, Melody is as loving and doglike as a cat can be. She greets us at the door and follows us around. As we reach the end of our first year with her, we thank God for the Miracle named Melody.