Okay, I say. I won't tell, I'll blog.
My friend's cat had kittens today. I thought the cat was her daughter's, Emily, until this conversation hours after the kittens were born. Now I know the cat, Sadie, really belongs to her. You'll see what I mean.
She says . . .
I heard cat sounds and my feet hit the floor.
She starts to cry.
I just got so goofy.
I went yelling through the house - we're having kittens!
I hear her sniffles. Little does my friend know I have grabbed a pen and paper and am scribbling down every word she says.
I feel like a fool.
'Cause we rescued her and stuff.
More sobs.
I'm so proud of Sadie.
I feel giddy, like a grandma.
More sniffles.
I can't stop smiling.
Don't tell anyone I got silly on the phone and cried like a fool.
My friend is a sensitive soul. Tears fall easily and freely from her eyes for many different reasons. She hates to see others in pain. Sad or angry or helpless or alone children break her heart. Those burdened with cancer, because she is a survivor, weigh heavily on her heart.
She hates injustice and fears a difficult future for her children.
She cries tears, happy or sad, often.
She cries for me. I rarely cry except when I am mad, but I can count on her to shed tears for my pain.
Remember this post, Do We Have to Remember? I mention her. S., I called her. Since then when I mention her in my blog I just call her . . .
Don't tell anyone I got silly on the phone and cried like a fool.
Okay, I say, still scribbling.
And don't blog about it, and if you do make me be S. again, so no one will know it's me.
No, my dear friend Sandra. 'Cause if you won't be proud of your sensitive and unselfish heart I will be for you.
