My mother passed away when I was eleven leaving her grieving family to raise a 5 year old boy. It was a collective effort but when I remember back it seems I was the “motherly” one. However, not sure about that, because knowing that Dad would never, ever go to a Cub Scout meeting; I too, wouldn’t consider interrupting my girlie life for such a thing.
But I do remember one very touching day when my brother, then 10 years old, was walking home from school and spotted a cat sitting in the middle of Hiway 72, which ran through our little Montana town. He brought the kitten into our house and excitedly said “She was asleep on the Hiway. I could barely see her – she looks just like the pavement! Can we keep her? She could have been hit by a car.”
It was my assignment to talk to Dad for permission and winning that battle made me somewhat of a hero in my brother’s eyes. We named her Amy. She was a cute little thing, all grey and furry.
I don’t remember what happened to Amy but I will always remember the look on my little brother’s face when he sweetly hugged a little ball of furriness that look ever so much like a furry piece of tarmac.
We all have our special memories and on this day of remembering, September 11th, I give you one that is not as gut wrenching as the one our country witnessed fourteen years ago. The memory of Amy The Cat.

September 11 WE WILL NEVER FORGET

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