Moni's Legacy by Ellen Elliott

My cat Moni spared me from disaster, and possibly saved my life. I was working at the dining table that day finishing the ritual of tax return paperwork.

Moni was sweet natured and intelligent with an acutely instinctive awareness of her environment. Excluding woodpile mouse-hunts, dinner excited her most. She would stand upright on hind legs as I fixed her dinner, dropping to four to dodge moving feet. Late in life she developed a habit I abided the best I could. She began loudly announcing her anticipation of dinner, snubbing available kibble. Not with plaintive meows, but yowls! Loath to encourage it, I refused to feed her early.

Occasionally the reason for her caterwauling was a mystery. That Sunday before tax day I’d settled into work around noon. Moni began her maddening cries shortly after. She wasn’t in physical distress and nothing would quiet her. Determined to complete my paperwork, I continued at it for two hours despite growing irritation.

Finally, my patience depleted, I threw down my pen and left the room. As I did, an explosive crash sent glass flying throughout the dining room. The light fixture I’d been under just seconds before had fallen and hit the table, bursting into razor-edged shards.

Moni did receive dinner early that day – tuna served with praise and gratitude.

A few years later Moni died at age twenty. A scar remains in the oak table top, a reminder of her close at hand. And, I note from where I sit, close to my heart