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“Hello, Lucy. I’m Andrew.”
In the space of a hummingbird’s breath, her expressions changed a dozen times, flitting through emotion after emotion. But not, I realized, the two emotions that I see most often in my assignments’ eyes: fear and anger. A blink later, and she settled on—self-satisfaction? For a second my eyebrows shot up—just a second, because my job calls for a countenance of serenity and reassurance. Just a second—but in the next second my mouth fell open because instead of tears or bargaining or even the relief I’m so used to seeing, she thrust her clamped fist into the air and hooted—or rather whooped, like a bronc buster landing an eight-second ride—whooped, “Hot dog!”
She bolted upright, victorious, staring right at me, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. The cat resting on her lap, guarding her, tumbled to the side but righted itself hastily, grumbling at the disturbance. The duvet shifted and though the room was cold, warmth filled the tiny bedroom, not from me, though the holy light surrounded me, but from her, the warmth of her joy. “Glad to meetcha, Andrew! So it’s true! All of it!” She shook her head in wonder. “Every last bit of it. Not that I doubted—“
She gave me a moment to respond as she caught her breath. “It’s true. And no, you didn’t doubt. Not a bit.”
“It’s time, then. I thought it might be.” Again she seemed quite proud of herself. “I’d been feeling off all day, you know? Didn’t even touch my supper.” She tilted her head, crowned with cat-whisker thin white hair, toward the tray on the nightstand, where a bowl, book, a pair of glasses and a phone waited. I could smell the chicken soup from across the room and my stomach growled. As her cat surmounted the pile of blankets, she continued, a bit puzzled now, “He knew. He didn’t touch his kibble. He knew.”
“Animals often do,” I agreed. The cat rubbed its head against her hand, flopped into her lap, then, purring loudly, blinked at me, the slow, I-trust-you blink. There seems to be something in an animal’s DNA that resonates with the holy light, or maybe it’s a universal collective memory that lets the animal remember that we come from the same place. I wonder sometimes if deep in their souls they can recall their ancestors gathering with strange humans around a manger and kneeling in complete peace.
Lucy noticed the silent exchange between me and the cat. “Oh, excuse my manners. Andrew, this is Mischief.” Her voice took on a bemusement again as she stroked the cat’s back. “I’d introduce you to him, but he looks like he already knows you.”
“It’s…one of God’s mysteries.” I had no other explanation. I came forward, into the splash of moonlight pouring from her bedroom window across the duvet and the orange cat. I held out my hand, palm down, and the cat stood to rub against my fingers.
“So there really are angels.” She worked her thoughts through a syllogism of her own making. “If there are angels, then there really is God, and if there really is God, there must be Heaven.”
“Yes. It’s all real.”
“And if God took the trouble to send an angel, then I must be going there. To Heaven.”
“Yes.” The light around me spread out and strengthened.
“And if He took all that trouble, then…”. Tears filled her eyes. “Then He loves me.”
My own eyes stung—just thinking about God’s love can do that to humans and angels alike. “More than you can imagine.”
“Then…there’s nothing to worry about any more, is there? Nothing to wonder about either. I mean, I had a thousand questions, before—I was a reference librarian, you know; a lifetime of questions! We can never get enough information. But suddenly,” she rested her back against the stack of pillows, “I don’t feel my usual burning curiosity any more. Just patience. And certainty. All the questions are…on hold.” She cocked her head at me. “Is it okay? People sometimes say my never-ending curiosity is annoying. I mean, I wouldn’t want to make a nuisance of myself in Heaven.”
I grinned at her. “It’s okay. God gave you that curiosity as a gift, so you could do the work He had planned for you here. And that work will continue in Heaven.”
It was her turn to raise eyebrows. “You mean there’s a library in Heaven?”
“In a way. You’ll see. And your gifts will have a purpose there, in the service of God.” I held my hand out to her. “There will be time for questions, and an eternity to learn the answers.”
She clicked her tongue. “Can’t wait!” But when she shifted her legs toward the floor, the cat cried, and Lucy gasped. “Oh! I almost forgot Mischief!” She scooped her pet to her chest. “Oh, Andrew! Mischief!”
I lifted my shoulders, signaling my lack of understanding. “I don’t…”
“Can I ask one favor? Before we go? My cat…he’s fourteen, you see, partially blind. Takes medication twice a day. I can’t—if I leave him, he’ll be scared and alone. Maybe for days. Please can we wait—let me call my sister—she lives across town—to pick up Mischief—and to say goodbye to me. Can we? Is it too much? Or can we wait until she gets here?”
I seated myself at the foot of her bed. “God knows everything you need, Lucy. He’s already sent an angel to bring Lilah here. An angel,” I felt a chuckle rising, “with a convertible.”
Snuggling Mischief—and I almost thought I saw him snuggle Lucy back—she sighed and rested her head. “It’s okay then. I had a hunch God loves cats.”
“We have time,” I assured her. I settled back too and crossed my legs. “Now, if you like, we can get a running start on those thousand questions.”
She grasped my hand as the cat fell asleep across her knees. “Hot dog!”