Nine Lives of Summer

Arthur sat on the porch swing, old Barnaby the cat curled warm against his thigh, purring like a tiny engine. Across the yard, his grandson Toby pitched a baseball to his sister, who swung and missed, sending the ball rolling toward Arthur's feet.

He picked it up, feeling the familiar stitching under his thumb, and memories washed over him like the first warm day of June. He remembered the summer of 1958, when he'd played for the mill team, championships on the line, his hands blistered from throwing curveballs until his arm ached. Old man Henderson's pool had shimmered blue and perfect beyond the backstop.

They'd won the final game that year, and in the celebration, someone had left the gate open. Henderson's prize Siamese cat had streaked through the crowd, spooked by the fireworks, and tumbled straight into that pristine pool. Young Arthur had fished the sodden, furious creature from the water, his uniform soaking up chlorinated water as the cat shook itself dry all over his new shoes.

He laughed at the memory, and Barnaby lifted his head, blinking golden eyes.

"You wouldn't have liked swimming much either, would you?" Arthur scratched behind the cat's ears.

Across the yard, Toby scooped up the baseball and tossed it back with a perfect, easy arc. Arthur's heart swelled. The same motion, the same grace as his own father had shown, teaching him in this very yard sixty years ago.

The pool in the backyard had a crack in its bottom now. The baseball glove in the hall closet was worn and oiled. The cats who'd kept him company through all his years—each one different, each one somehow the same—had taught him about attachment and letting go.

Wisdom, he'd learned, came in recognizing the patterns. The ball always came back. Summer always returned. Some circles completed themselves whether you willed them or not.

He closed his eyes, listening to the children's laughter against the evening crickets, the cat's steady heartbeat against his leg, the ancient rhythm of a game that had taught him everything he knew about patience, about failure, about getting up to bat one more time.