Halloween. My favorite night of the year. The one night when the weirdos get to walk around in public without anybody asking questions.
A few months ago, my daughter and I were taking one of our country walks.
We passed an old farm where a farmer whoβd lived alone had apparently passed away. He left behind 25 or 30 cats, wandering around the property with nobody looking after them.
My daughter, being the bleeding-heart animal rescuer she is, declared this a full-blown emergency. We brought food for a couple of days, but nobody showed up. So a midnight, Navy SEAL-style rescue operation was launched.
Three kittens came home.
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Iβm a farm kid. I know what comes with taking care of animals, and I wasnβt exactly looking to open a feline retirement community. But when a daughter sets her mind to saving something, a grown manβs logic doesnβt stand a chance.
One of those kittens was barely a few days old. Tiny, abandoned, and needing a little help to make it. We nursed her back to health. Orange and white, with black splashed across her like an inkblot.
I named her Pumpkin.
And hereβs the funny thing about this little creature: she fits in the palm of my hand, but sheβs a pretty good reminder that the things that matter most arenβt always the biggest or loudest.
Sometimes itβs a daughter who still takes walks with her father. Sometimes itβs a helpless little animal that needed somebody to care. Sometimes the best thing that happens all week wasnβt on anybodyβs calendar.
We spend so much time worrying about the state of the world that we forget to notice the little lives happening right in front of us.
Maybe thatβs where the magic is. Not in some grand Halloween spectacle, but in the small, unexpected souls that make us stop, open our hearts, and remember what all this living is supposed to be about.
Happy Halloween.
