After four-months, two buyers, one-storage unit, and many boxes packed, unpacked and now packed again, we have finally sold our home. As of last Thursday, it no longer belongs to us and now we’re under the gun to pack it up (again) and move forward. Even though most of our stuff can fit in oversized cardboard boxes and moving trucks, there are a few things I can’t take with me that I’m going to miss deeply, our neighbors.
Last year when the windstorm stole our electricity for a few days, I was trying to make my way out of the house with my 5-year old daughter at 8 a.m. I was at the height (width?) of my pregnancy and it was all I could do to wobble from point A to point B. As I opened our front door to usher my daughter to the car, our cat, Zebra, darted into the house like he was running from the police.
My daughter shrieked in terror, “Zebra’s got something blue in his mouth.”
I could only imagine what my cat was running through our house with as he sped through the kitchen and down the stairs to our basement. At the time, our basement was in demo-mode. There was wall paneling stacked on the floor, rolls of carpet that had been pulled up, and a hundred nooks and crannies where a cat could hide. To top it off, there was no electricity to light the basement and look for him amidst all the refinishing rubbish.
I left my daughter standing in our front door and chased our cat as fast as an eight-month pregnant woman can chase. Zebra had run into our bedroom (the only finished part of the basement) and was hovering over what appeared to be a flapping, barely alive bluebird just inside the door.
The poor bird was obviously close to death and making faint chirping sounds while wacking one of its wings against our floor. Zebra sat perched in front of it to guard his catch. It was like a “Twilight Zone” episode of Tweety and Sylvester, only in color.
At eight months pregnant, the sight of the halfway dead bird that was about to be eaten by our cat in our bedroom almost caused me to throw up on the cat, the bird, and the newly installed bedroom carpet.
I kicked at my cat to get it as far away as possible from its prey; and, then stood above it trying to figure out what my next move was going to be.
When we had tried to leave that morning, I noticed that my neighbor across the street from me was buzzing about in her driveway. I yelled as loud as I could at my daughter to ask the neighbor if she could help mommy, ‘Right away!’
She came right over expecting me to be in labor only to find me gagging and pointing down at the bluebird.
“Would you help me get this bird out of my house before the cat has it for breakfast? I can’t do it, I think I’m going to be sick,” I felt like the biggest, helpless, girlie girl in all the world. Seriously, I’m not the type to ask for help all that often. I kill my own spiders and usually don’t have a problem with removing other dead rodents that our cat leaves on our back patio. But the sight of this massacred animal on top of the fact that I could barely bend over made it impossible for me to remove the paraplegic songbird.
Without a thought or hesitation, my neighbor grabbed an old towel and had the bird gone before my nausea. How often do you have a neighbor that will dispose of an almost dead body for you? How do you repay a favor like that? I have no idea, but her swift actions will be remembered.
I’ve lived on my street since I was five years old and have had the great fortune of knowing two of my neighbors from the very start. A few came later (around ages 12 and 13); and, I met the neighbor who removed the dead bird for me just four years ago when I moved back into my childhood home. I look forward to meeting new neighbors, but will undoubtedly miss my current crew with all my heart.
Amy Gesenhues is a freelance writer who lives in Floyd County. You can read her daily commentaries at www.AmyWroteIt.Wordpress.com. E-mail her directly at amy@amywroteit.com.
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GESENHUES: Like a good neighbor
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