Just a few more things to do on the computer before bed. I glanced down at my feet, expecting to see Mocha, our chocolate Lab.
But the floor was empty. Mocha was gone.
For 12 years he’d been my constant companion. Although Mocha was “my dog,” Hazel, my wife, loved him just as much. Mocha and I played catch with a Frisbee and explored the woods near our rental house in Rockport, Massachusetts.
When I let Mocha off his lead in the woods he rushed around, sniffing everywhere, digging into the dirt and flinging himself into stinky vernal pools. The mess was worth it for the fun we had. The kind of fun you can only have with a dog.
The clock on my computer read 10:35 p.m. When Mocha was alive and I worked late like this, he rested his muzzle on my arm, gazing up at me with his big brown eyes. “Do you want to go to bed?” I’d asked him. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
Once he was sure I was okay by myself, he bounded up the stairs. I couldn’t help but chuckle thinking about it now. Those big brown eyes of his communicated more than I could ever say with my mouth.
It was those eyes that had drawn Hazel and me to him. The other puppies in the kennel rolled around playing. Mocha sat at attention looking up at us with those eyes.
I hadn’t been the best owner to him at first. I got impatient when he made mistakes or had accidents, but Mocha’s warm brown eyes were always forgiving. He’d grown from a puppy into a dog, and I’d grown to be a slightly better person because of him.
One day quite unexpectedly Mocha became disoriented. Next morning he was almost immobile. The vet said he’d had a series of strokes and wouldn’t recover. He took his last breaths in my arms that day.
Even then, Mocha’s eyes said it all: I know you’re trying to make it better. Don’t worry. That was Mocha. He always needed to know I was okay.
“You’re still thinking about Mocha, aren’t you?” Hazel asked when I came into the bedroom.
“He was kind, patient, full of joy. He made me want to be that way too.”
“We’ll have to be sure not to forget those lessons,” Hazel said, rolling over to turn off the light. “Mocha worked hard to teach them.”
I won’t forget you, Mocha, I thought as I drifted off. But I wish you were here to encourage me.
I fell asleep and dreamed. It didn’t seem like a dream. It felt real as could be. I was in my bedroom, where I had just gone to sleep, only Mocha was with me. I hugged him tight, feeling his warm body, his breath panting happily in my ear. I felt his ribs under my hands, his fur, his beating heart.
Am I dead? I thought. How else could Mocha be so truly here and alive with me?
I looked into Mocha’s eyes. Eyes that had always told me what I needed to know. I know how much you miss me, Mocha seemed to say. I want you to be happy. I remembered the wish I’d made before I fell asleep. Mocha was still encouraging me!
The dream stayed with me. Sitting at the breakfast table I shut my eyes and I felt Mocha in my arms. I longed to take him for a walk on his leash, or explore those old woods together. Have the kind of fun Mocha taught me to have. The kind of fun you can only have with a dog.
I still hadn’t gotten used to Mocha’s absence when I was awakened at midnight by a loud, piteous wail that pierced the air.
Hazel and I hurried down to the backdoor. Outside was a tiny kitten, scrawny and hungry. We couldn’t leave her unprotected in the dark with coyotes in the area. We put her in a pet carrier for the night.
The next day we took her to the vet. She was literally covered in fleas. “You ought to leave her outdoors,” the vet said, “while the fleas jump off her.”
Back at home, Hazel suggested we let her outside. The picture of a hawk appeared in my mind. “Keep her in the carrier,” I said. If Hazel had asked me to explain myself, I couldn’t have. The kitten enjoyed the refreshing air from inside her case.
Later I stepped out to check on our fuzzy guest. Not a few feet away a hawk perched on our bird feeder! “Somebody’s looking out for you,” I whispered to the kitten. Was it the same angel who sent me my dream?
We named her Amber Lee. It was nice having a new animal in the house, even if a cat was very different from a dog. Or so I thought.
Amber Lee sat at my feet while I worked at the computer. She chased the reflections the stained glass mobile made on the kitchen floor—much like Mocha chased a Frisbee!
One afternoon I put a harness on her to see if she would walk on a leash. Amber Lee was tentative at first, but before long she was walking proudly as any Labrador. Hazel couldn’t believe it. Neither could our friends.
“I thought only dogs walked on leashes,” they said.
When we took Amber Lee to Rockport for her first walk in the woods, she took the lead up the trail. She sniffed, dug into the dirt and hopped over stones.
I could almost feel Mocha beside me, his eyes telling me all I could learn from this kitten: kindness, patience, joy. The kind of thing I’d once thought I could only get from a dog. Amber Lee and I returned to the house, happy and exhausted.
“The other night I dreamed Mocha came back,” Hazel said once Amber Lee had fallen asleep. “I hugged him, like I was saying goodbye. Then he turned into Amber Lee.”
Hazel’s dream seemed to prove what I’d suspected. It was no coincidence Amber Lee came to us. Mocha must have convinced the angels we needed another pet to love. Not a dog like Mocha, but a kitten who could teach me about finding joy in unexpected places, unexpected animals—and unexpected friends.
