It was a cold winter. My husband broke up with me. Our 35 years of marriage ended. Shocked, angry, sad and anxious, I packed up my few things, including flower seeds harvested from our flower bed — I loved flowers and was quite good at growing them. Carrying the personal belongings, I rented a small house and moved to a neighborhood where I didn’t know a single person.

The day after I moved in came proof that at least one of my new neighbors was friendly. I found a gift bag beside my back door. Inside were a square basket (designed for feeding wild birds) and three cakes. The note that accompanied it said, “I’m Julie. I live in the house right behind yours. I don’t know if you’re a birdwatcher, but we have lots of them in this neighborhood. Enjoy!”

I hung the basket on a tree branch outside my kitchen window, where some beautiful wild birds found it within minutes. Suddenly, I felt a little less lost and lonely. That was, until the very next day, when an unexpected winter storm came in. Ice and snow covered my driveway and the steep (陡峭的) road in front of my house. Tree branches bent under the weight of the snow, threatening power lines. Temperatures dropped sharply. Although I knew that pacing the floor and rubbing my hands wouldn’t change anything, I paced and rubbed anyway. Even if workers from the local traffic department cleared the roads, they wouldn’t clear my driveway. How would I get to the grocery store? And if the electricity went out, how would I stay warm? I had a fireplace but not a stick of firewood.

The snow finally stopped falling, but the temperature was still low. While shaking in my front yard one afternoon, I noticed my across-the-street neighbor clearing his driveway using his shovel (铲子). I introduced myself and learned that his name was Jerry. “I don’t have a snow shovel,” I said. “May I borrow yours when you’re finished?”

“Of course,” he told me. “I’ll leave it beside your front door when I’m done.”

Several hours later, I went outside again.

Spring arrived, and I decided to grow flowers to repay my neighbors’ kindnesses.

It was Christmas Eve morning, and I awoke with a mission: to find my lost cat, Baby-Girl. As I got ready, I could hear icy rain pelting the windows. Baby-Girl was out there somewhere in the storm; I could just feel it. Sure, it had been a couple of weeks since she’d gone missing, but I still had faith. This was the season for miracles, after all.

About two weeks ago, my sweet kitty disappeared from my parents’ house in my hometown. Baby-Gil had been staying with them while I was between apartments. At the time, I lived and worked in another city. I was staying with friends until I rented my own house. Baby-Girl had gotten out of my parents’ house the day before I was set to drive back home to pick her up.

My dad and I had spent that entire visit searching for her. Dad was a “realist”, which meant he spent a whole lot of time trying to prepare me for the worst. “She’s either been hit by a car or been taken in by someone who found her,” he said. I rolled my eyes. He could do with a little more faith!

Besides, though I couldn’t explain it, I knew I’d see Baby-Girl again. She could survive all on her own. If any cat could do the impossible, it was my Baby-Girl. Even after I returned to my house without her, deep down I had this undeniable feeling that we would be reunited one day.

Now, home again for the holidays, I was determined to pick up my search right where I’d left off. I grabbed Baby-Girl’s cat carrier and loaded it into the car, and then asked my dad to drive me to the shelter.

At the shelter, a staff member took us to see the cats. We walked through rows of cages. My eyes scanned cats of all colors and sizes. None of them was my Baby-Girl. Then I noticed a room farther back. I pushed ahead. “Sweetheart, that’s where they keep the cats that just came in,” Dad said. “Your cat wouldn’t be in there.”