The Cat Who Loved Beethoven
THE CAT WHO LOVED BEETHOVEN
How things begin is often a mystery. Only after they’ve been going for a while do we realize they exist, and only then do we wonder how they started. But by then it’s usually too late to find out. No one noticed in the first place. Or if they did, they don’t remember. And if they do remember, they won’t tell you.
But I did notice something one day. And I do remember it. And now I’ll tell you how it all began.
It was that uncertain December time when fall has ended but winter hasn’t yet begun. The morning had been grey, damp and dismally quiet. Even the sun had hardly gotten up when the dawn awoke it. And now as the overcast drearily thickened, the sun just sat there, waiting for the afternoon to end so it could turn the light off and go back to bed.
But that was outside.
Inside a fire roared in the big old fireplace — and the whole living room was ignited with sunniness. The room was like a summer day when everything seems possible and time is not in any hurry. Indeed, the fire was so radiant I couldn’t help but wonder if the sun wouldn’t like to come inside and warm itself up a bit before nightfall.
Just then the rest of the family came bounding in the room back from Saturday shopping.
“Oh, a fire!” the children cried. “Can we have hot chocolate! Can we have hot chocolate!” Well of course they could. The whole point of cold weather is to get deliciously warm.