Yesterday I was walking to class at West Chester University after parking my car in the parking garage. Still half-asleep and waiting for my Red Bull to kick in, I strolled groggily towards the building in which my classes are held. A melodic carnage of death metal blasted through my headphones, as I hoped that the adrenaline-pumping breakdowns would combine with my ever-nutritious caffeinated, liquid breakfast to pump some blood through my still-slumbering body.
If the metal and caffeine weren’t doing the trick, I was shocked into awareness as I turned a corner and walked right into a sobbing, elderly lady who’s attention was turned, for some reason, to the tree in front of her. I quickly ripped out my ear buds as I looked to make sure she was okay. I noticed the tears running down her cheeks and overwhelming look of fear in her eyes. “Oh Jesus,” I thought to myself “just what I needed this morning”.
“Ma’am, I am so sorry.” I admitted, “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. Are you alright?”
“No! Not at all! My poor Henry is all I ever had in this world, and now no matter what I do, I will never be able to bring him back!” she cried.
“God damnit” I thought to myself “neither of us are having much of a good start to our morning.”
Hoping to show her that her loss is just a natural part of the circle of life, I attempted to comfort her by reassuring that this ‘Henry’ is in a better place and is watching down over us. I noticed a gold cross hanging from her neck and quickly added that he is with God and that soon enough they would be reunited in heaven.
“No, no, no! He’s not with God.  He’s looking down at us, right now!” She pointed up to the tree “Maybe if you turned down that raucous hip hop garbage you’d understand. He’s right here!” she cried, pointing again at the tree.
I looked up into the tree and saw a young Siamese cat, much like my own cat used to look like. I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to listen to a senile woman rant about the loss of her husband, but at the same time reluctant to offer assistance, as I didn’t want to be late for class.
“Listen, I would love to help you, but I really need to go to class. I have a presentation to give that I stayed up all night preparing” I told her. But as I spoke , the look of fear in her eyes duplicated exponentially as she was hoping I would come to the rescue.
“Oh God, someone, please! Someone help me, please!” She screamed. The attention of a middle-aged man, who was walking by, as well as the attention of three young children playing were turned to the old woman’s pleas for help.
She begged them as they approacted her“My poor Henry simply will not come down from this tree! I have been standing here all morning trying to get him to come down. Will one of you please help me?”
Then, something about the look of fear in her eyes reminded me of the time my own cat had run away, and I could suddenly completely relate to the way she was feeling, as I remembered my own misery as  I sat alone on my porch the entire summer, hoping my beloved pet would return. I knew that helping someone in need is much more important  than my class. I hoped that my professor would understand.
I offered to phone the fire department, so that they could bring ladders to get the cat down. It took them what seemed like forever to get there, as every second that went by seemed like days, and I watched my class time go by, and with it, my opportunity to present my project.
When they arrived, the woman cheered happily and one of the firemen extended the ladder towards the tree where the cat was sitting. Minutes later, the firemen came down to the delighted lady with Henry in her arms. Or so I thought.
When the cat was returned to the woman, she thanked the firemen over and over again, and then asked if I would walk her to her house. I complied, to ensure that the cat returned safely to its home. When we got there, and opened the door, I saw what looked almost like a shrine on her fireplace mantle, with what seemed like dozens of black and white pictures of a Siamese cat.
“You must really like this cat” I said politely. I looked closer at the pictures and saw one of a young woman holding the cat.
“Oh yes, that’s my Henry! I got him when I was just a young woman.” The minute she completed that sentence, the back door to her house opened, and a young girl – about my age – came running in.
“Grandmom!” the young girl cried “Where did you run off to? I went upstairs to use the bathroom, and you were nowhere to be found when I came down. I was looking everywhere!”
“Don’t worry, dear. I was sitting by the window enjoying some tea when I noticed that Henry was outside. You know he’s never been allowed out. And then this wonderful young man came to help me, he called the fire department, and now Henry is safe and sound, see?” She bent over and pet the cat, as it purred and rubbed its cheek on the side of her leg.
“Grandmom, Henry has been dead since 1954. That’s our neighbor’s cat. Let it back outside”