A crisp October breeze tapped at the window, sending amber and crimson leaves dancing across the lawn. Sweetie rested on her fleece blanket by the radiator, paws tucked beneath her calico chest, watching a gray squirrel dig with great purpose and very little success.
Susan sat nearby with a mug of hot cider. At the top of her page she had written a line she loved: “Give a little, and receive happiness in return.” She smiled at it, as though the words had just offered her a warm seat by the fire.
“Sweetie,” Susan said, glancing over at her old friend, “what do you think of this one?”
Sweetie turned from the window to Susan, her eyes soft and wise. She gave a long, rumbling purr—the sort that made the radiator seem almost jealous—and began to dictate.
“I think it is a law of nature, Susan,” Sweetie said. “Look outside. The leaves do not deceive the tree, and they do not pretend they will stay green forever. When it is time to turn gold and drift down, they do so with grace, making room for the winter sky. I have noticed that people sometimes hide their own autumns, even though changing is simply another way of growing.”
She glanced at her own graying muzzle and gave a contented little chuckle, entirely at peace with her twenty years.
“And when I think about every being in every season,” Sweetie continued, her tail giving a thoughtful twitch, “I remember to make room for kindness. Consider the squirrel. In spring, I see him racing about like a tiny mayor with important announcements. Now, in autumn, he is a round and earnest keeper of acorns, though he does occasionally misplace his treasures. I find his busy heart rather charming.”
Susan smiled as the squirrel patted the dirt into place, looking pleased with his latest little mystery.
“A cozy philosopher knows that every creature is doing what its season asks,” Sweetie dictated. “I have my twelve-hour naps by the heater, and Cozy has his joyful kitten sprints. The squirrel has his acorns. Every being has a season, Susan, and each one deserves a little tenderness—and perhaps a polite reminder to label the pantry.”
Sweetie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the warm radiator, purring as though she had just settled an important matter of philosophy.
“When I offer patience to someone who is tired, old, lively, or simply finding their way,” Sweetie said, “I understand the universe a little better. We are all looking for a warm spot before the snow arrives, and we can help one another find it. I am giving a little, and I am receiving happiness in return. Except for you, of course—you are giving your time to keep my blanket perfectly arranged. Please adjust the fleece, Susan. My autumn bones require maximum coziness.” Susan laughed softly and brought over a warm towel straight from the dryer, honoring Sweetie’s autumn bones with excellent judgment.
