Part 8 – The Torch Passed
The collar was old.
Faded to the color of dusty bricks, the tag dulled by time and weather. But the name still showed—barely: Socks.
Marlene turned it over in her hand, thumb tracing the tiny crack near the buckle. She had buried this with him. Tucked it deep beneath the blanket with the box of gifts. No one had touched the grave.
She looked toward the hill.
Still undisturbed.
Then she looked at Shadow, now standing near the porch steps, tail swaying low and slow like tall grass in the breeze.
“You didn’t dig it up,” she murmured.
Shadow stepped closer.
Not begging. Not demanding.
Just waiting.
She crouched down and showed him the collar.
“You sure this is yours to carry now?”
He leaned forward and pressed his nose against it.
And with a slow breath, Marlene slid the old collar over his head.
It didn’t fit perfectly—hung a little loose, sat crooked on his neck.
But it felt right.
Like the memory of a song sung softly at the end of a long day.
That afternoon, the porch filled again.
First came Harlan. Not with fanfare, not with noise. Just the slow, respectful gait of an old friend checking in. He stood by the steps, lowered his head, and huffed once in approval.
Then the cats returned—this time in a group.
The one with the torn ear brought a crumpled bit of foil.
The youngest, a gray tabby, chased a dry leaf across the porch and dropped it by Shadow’s paw like a mouse offering.
He sniffed each one, gave a soft blink, and didn’t move.
But he stayed beside the blue mat.
Didn’t run. Didn’t wander.
By dusk, the possum reappeared, this time dragging an old ribbon—pale green, frayed at the edges. It placed it neatly beside the blanket and sat there for a moment, unmoving.
Shadow stepped forward and lay down beside the ribbon.
And for the first time since Socks passed, the porch felt complete.
Inside the house, Marlene wrote a letter.
She hadn’t written in a while—not since Brandon left.
But this one wasn’t for family. Or old friends.
It was for the mobile vet clinic.
Dear Dr. Lyles,
I thought you should know… he’s not just another stray.
He’s part of the watch now.
And I think, somehow, Socks chose him.
I’ll be needing another batch of heartworm meds.
And maybe a checkup appointment next week.
She paused.
P.S. — He answers to Shadow.
But I think he hears something deeper when I whisper “Socks.”
Maybe he hears both.
Over the next week, Shadow’s rhythm settled into place.
He rose before dawn and sat by the porch steps as if waiting for something only he could see. He followed Marlene to the mailbox, always three steps behind. He returned to the porch every time—never exploring too far, never pushing his luck.
At night, he’d curl up by the door, just within reach of the inside, but never past the threshold unless invited.
Marlene eventually left the door open.
He came in, sniffed the corners of the living room, then lay by the fireplace and slept with one eye half open.
Watching.
Always watching.
One morning, the ribbon was gone.
So was the foil, the leaf, the comb, and the marble.
All offerings—vanished overnight.
Marlene checked for wind, raccoons, even Harlan.
Nothing was disturbed.
But something had changed.
In their place sat a single object.
A flat piece of bark. Light gray. Weather-worn.
And etched across it—scraped with claw or tooth or nail—was the faint outline of a pawprint.
Not perfect.
But unmistakable.
Socks.
Marlene sat on the steps and held the bark in her lap.
Shadow came and lay beside her, resting his chin on her slippered foot.
She said nothing for a long time.
Then she whispered, “I guess even memories leave gifts.”
That night, a windstorm blew through Jefferson County. Old shingles rattled on the roof, and tree limbs groaned under the strain.
Marlene watched the porch from her bedroom window, heart thudding—not from fear of the weather, but fear that Shadow might vanish into it.
But when she stepped out with a flashlight and coat, he was there.
Pressed against the door, body firm and unmoving.
Protecting the house.
The porch light flickered and went out.
But he didn’t flinch.
He stayed.
Even as branches fell.
Even as thunder cracked.
He stayed.
The next morning, with leaves and twigs scattered across the yard and mud crusting the porch steps, Marlene opened the door and gasped.
Shadow was there.
But beside him, in the exact spot where Socks once lay—
Was a trail of pawprints in the dirt.
Two sets.
One ending at the grave.
One beginning again at the porch.