WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN, my pastor told me, "Animals don't have souls and when they die, they turn back to the dust of which they were created." I didn't want to believe it. I tried not to believe it. I mean, what kind of a God would be that cruel? I would rather be subjected to the worst tortures of Hell than to not exist at all. But, he was a pastor, so I thought he was nearly an authority on the matter. I grew up loving animals, but I was also raised to respect the Church. I was confused and torn, until the most unlikely of creatures gave me a glimpse into the heart of God.

It was a time of change in my life. Everything was different. My parents were officially divorced after years of threatening to divorce. I moved with my mom to a new city after attending elementary, middle, and high school in the same town. And instead of going to a school where I could look forward to my senior prom, my mom enrolled me in a private Christian school where I traded my stylish clothes for a bland uniform and my senior prom for a "graduation dinner." I had no friends and couldn't be lonelier. My mom didn't know what to do with me, but she thought a pet would be a good start.

"I went to the animal shelter today," she said. "And I found a cat just perfect for you. Do you want to go see him?"

"Sure." It wasn't like I had anything else to do and the videogames were getting old. So, we drove down to the shelter and she led me to a big, fat chocolate Siamese, who stared at me with bight, blue eyes.

"What do you think?" My mom asked.

"I don't know," I said. "How old is he?" I didn't think my mom actually meant a "cat." I was thinking more along the lines of a "kitten."

"He's an older cat, but Heather... He is so pretty. And look - " She pointed to his paws. "He has six toes on each paw. That means he's special." My mom was always reading into everything and it was amazing at what she would consider a "sign."

She pulled open the cage, hoisted him out, and plopped him in my arms. And that's how I first met Cappuccino.

For the next three years, Cappuccino saw me through the rest of high school, the start of college, a couple of apartments, several jobs, and even some boyfriends. I never really thought of his age. I just knew him as a grumpy old man. He was overweight. He was temperamental. He didn't like a whole lot of people. He threw up in the middle of the living room during Thanksgiving, much to my grandmother's disgust. But even so, he was a permanent fixture in my unstable life.

And then one morning everything changed.

I woke up in the early hours to a violent jerking on my bed. I jumped up and saw Cappuccino having a seizure. I didn't know what to do. I have never seen anyone have a seizure. I held him until it passed, but he had another one came and then another one. After the third time, it seemed to have stopped.

I took him right away to the vet. After some testing, the doctor told me that he found fluid in Cappuccino's ears and explained that it might be applying pressure to his brain. He felt it was causing the seizures. I held my breath for the rest of his news, but I immediately relaxed when he said that he had a prescription ready for me in the lobby. In my mind, the problem was fixable, life would go on as usual, and, after a couple of weeks, it seemed just that when the seizures completely stopped.

But I was wrong.

I went into the living room one morning and saw Cappuccino sprawled out. I called his name, waiting for him to flick his ear or flick his tail. But, he didn't move. I held my breath as I picked him up. His body went limp in my hands and his eyes were open in an unblinking stare. I thought he was dead. Looking back, maybe it would have been easier. Except there was one thing, he was still breathing.

I held Cappuccino and cried the whole day and night, praying and praying that he would snap out it. I didn't call anyone. I didn't return any phone calls. I wanted to be alone to hope. But by the next day, he hadn't changed.

I called the vet's office. They told me that I could bring him in, but it didn't look good. I didn't need a PhD to have figured that one out. I felt like I was submerged in a pool of water, waiting for the crushing weight of a tidal wave. I moved around my apartment in a daze. I slowly gathered my purse and then my keys. Every second felt precious and priceless because I knew in my heart I was counting down the seconds of Cappuccino's final moments. And the pastor's words from so long ago, crept up in the forefront of my mind and swirled around like a vicious merry-go-round: "Animals don't have souls, they turn to dust..."

I tried to keep it together, but I couldn't. I cried uncontrollably as I sat in the waiting room with Cappuccino wrapped in a pink towel. About five minutes later, they moved me into a private room because, apparently, I was upsetting other people.

It was a different doctor this time and when she came in, she gave me a sympathetic smile and pulled some Kleenex out of her jacket pocket.

"I don't want him to die!" I cried. "I just can"t believe that nothing can be done to make him better!"

She opened his mouth and shined a light in both his eyes. She sighed and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I don't think there is anything that can be done, but I'll ask the other doctors what they think." She took him and left.

I hoped for a miracle, but when she returned her eyes told me that there wouldn't be a miracle today.

"It's neurological," she said, "Cappuccino had what would be equivalent to a stroke."

"But he was getting better," I pleaded. "The seizures stopped."

"He must have had a very severe one because he's in a coma state."

"Nothing can be done?" I asked. "Nothing at all?"

She petted Cappuccino and said, "We could try and bring him out of it, but it would be very expensive. It could cost thousands of dollars and there's no guarantee that he'll ever be the same."

I barely had thirty bucks in my bank account let alone thousands. I felt cheated, knowing that I only had one option left, and the tightening in my chest showed me that I wasn't ready to make it.

I took a deep breath and sucked back the sobs. "I'll have to put him to sleep. He can't live like this."

"Is that what you want to do?" She asked.

I nodded my head, avoiding her gaze.

"It really is for the best," she said.

She left me alone for about ten minutes to say good-bye to him. The whole time I cried and petted him, telling him that I didn't want him to go.

The door opened. She came in with a syringe in her hand.

"He won't feel any pain," she said as the needle hovered above him.

The tears poured down my cheeks.

I didn't watch her give him the shot. I kept my face close to his and tried to etch his blue eyes in my memory before death glazed them over. And in seconds, death came like a flood. His eyes dulled. Cappuccino was gone.

And it was then that something passed through me.

It was like a breeze. It touched the top of my head and rippled down towards the tips of my toes. I felt warm, cuddly warm, and I had the greatest sense of peace, joy, and happiness. It was so pure and powerful... like nothing I have ever experienced before and not like anything I could ever adequately describe. I felt Cappuccino and he felt free, completely boundless, and happy. He was showing me that he was still there, even though his body was gone.

The feeling lasted only a moment. I looked at the doctor to see if she felt it too, but she said nothing, except that it was over and Cappuccino was no longer in pain.

I looked down at his lifeless body. I knew he was gone. I felt him leave. But, I also knew that he hadn't disappeared and he wasn't going to turn to dust like he never mattered at all... like he never mattered to me. I was touched by the soul of a cat. That's all the proof I'll ever need.

© Heather J. Cuthbertson, 2007

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Heather J. Cuthbertson was born in Upland, California, and grew up in Southern Oregon in a little town called Rogue River. She graduated from the University of Nevada, Reno in 2003, receiving two Bachelor degrees in Criminal Justice and Psychology. After college, she moved back to Oregon - the very state to which she swore she would never return – and, newly employed by the State, took up snowboarding, reading and writing again.

She created her very first book in the fourth grade (with a cover tied together with red string) full of short and silly stories. She has since joined the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators and had some work published in children's magazines.

She holds out hope for the moment when she can hold her book in her hands, with only her name on it (okay, maybe the illustrator can have their name on it too), equipped with a pretty front and back cover, preferably not held together with red string.