I've always been a pragmatic person and never believed in the supernatural. But a recent incident, which can only be described as mystical, forced me to radically reconsider my own worldview.
It happened about a year ago. It was that special spring-March weather, when the scorching daytime sun began to melt the accumulated snow, which still trickled down from the roofs in thin streams, and by evening a light frost would set in, causing the water to freeze again on the growing icicles.
As usual, I was rushing home, going over the details of today's meeting in my head, which were, to put it mildly, not entirely positive. And if I didn't come up with some unexpected move tomorrow, the contract deal could fall through, and with it, my bonus. Frankly, I was only rushing to get my mind off work. A fresh head in the morning would surely come up with something, and going over options late at night is not at all productive. Especially since my favorite team, Zenit, was supposed to be playing a soccer match that evening! The guys were doing well and should have won the cup. Despite all my caution, I still lost my focus and stepped into a puddle. The meltwater immediately soaked through my light city shoes, which didn't improve my mood. To avoid catching a cold, I sprinted home even faster and decided to take a shortcut through the neighboring yard. Even though there were more puddles there, I had nothing to lose, and I could save a fair amount of time. And so, running past a five-story building, hung with icicles for every taste, I heard a demanding meow from the side and involuntarily turned my head towards the sound and suddenly stopped dead in my tracks.
In fact, there are a lot of stray cats living in our yards. Everyone had long since gotten used to their "singing," including me, and paid no attention to it. But this meow was something special. The cat pronounced it "Meow" clearly, with a light, familiar rasp, drawing out each letter, like a human. Only Barsik, whom I loved dearly as a child, meowed in such a unique way. He lived in the basement of our house. I dreamed of taking him home, but my mother wouldn't let me, as my little sister was terribly allergic to fur. All I could do was spoil him with sausages, bought with the money my mother gave me for school pies.
But Barsik had been dead for almost 20 years. And now this impudent, fluffy ginger cat with a spot on his nose sat right in front of me, literally freezing me with his gaze.
I stared at the cat, as if hypnotized, and childhood images flashed before my eyes: I'm nine years old now, walking home from school, with a sausage in my pocket that I'd bought at the grocery store around the corner for my pet cat. Suddenly, there was a loud thud from the side, and various shards of ice sprayed out, painfully stabbing my cheek. Turning toward the sound, I saw only a mountain of crumbling ice, and light snowflakes swirling from the roof, chasing a huge icicle.
My heart sank and my hair literally lifted its cap when it dawned on me that I would have found myself in this very spot in a couple of moments if I hadn't been distracted by Barsik's call. I immediately glanced back at the already-dark darkness near the entrance, but it was already empty.
I don’t know what it really was, but I still mentally thank God and Barsik, who literally saved me from death.
