EPILOGUE

After I died, Ivy starting sleeping with cats. Mittens had always slept at the foot of her bed, but now she invited in all the cats and their kittens – even the outdoor cats that prowled around outside the brooder house terrorizing the chickens. Her room was full of cats.

Ivy was only six years old. Granted she had seen a lot in those six years. She had seen her daddy buried, a baby born and her sister drowned. She had suffered mightily at the hand of our Mama who grew more bitter every day. Her blows landed on Ivy frequently now that I was safely out of her reach beyond the grave. For Ivy, being alone was probably worse than being beaten. There was no one for her to talk to. At eighty-five her Aunt Sarah had just about run out of things to say and the baby only knew a few words.

I must admit, I was lonely too. I ached to talk to my sister again. I felt a twinge when I remembered how we used to lay next to each other in our twin beds. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we were quiet. Just matching our breathing to each other. Breathing in and breathing out in unison.

Being dead gave me access to everything but contact with no one. Sometimes I thought Ivy sensed me sitting next to her. I had learned early on that I could work my way into her dreams. But being in somebody’s dream wasn’t the same thing as talking to them face to face. I noticed that the cats knew I was there - especially Mittens. He would walk right up to me, stop and look right at me with his yellow cat eyes. When I reached down and touched him he would arch his back and purr.

“Have you gone crazy, cat? Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Ivy crooned. Then she would lie down on the floor and Mittens would scamper over and rub his whiskers against her cheek just like I told him to.