The Animal Parade

by Vikki VanSickle

illustrated by Diane Yee

On the morning of the animal parade, I wake up early and pull on a pair of warm, wooly socks. It is cold for October. Clare sits on the windowsill, looking out on the frosty morning. Her yellow eyes shine and her tail twitches with excitement. Today, Clare and I are joining the parade.

           Every year, I watched the animal parade march by my house on the way to the church, where Father John conducted the annual blessing of the pets. I sat in the tree and waved to the parade on the street below, wishing I had a pet of my own.

Then one day Clare appeared on our doorstep. She was skinny and muddy and very loud. Mum said she was probably looking for food, but I know she was looking for me. Ever since, Clare has lived with us.

           At breakfast, Clare sits under my chair. Mum has made breakfast for us—Kibble for Clare, and bacon and eggs for me. Clare doesn’t touch her food. “Maybe she’s nervous. Today is the big day,” Mum says. I reach down to give Clare some bacon. Are you nervous, Clare? I whisper in her soft pink ear. Clare puts one paw forward and knocks the bacon from my hand. She gobbles it down and licks the bacon grease off my fingers.

          “She’s not nervous, she’s excited,” I explain to Mum.

           After breakfast I brush my hair. It is bright and orange, just like Clare’s fur. I give Clare’s coat a good brushing too, so that she will shine in the sun. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Clare bolts out of the bathroom as the water splashes in the sink. She does not like to get wet.

I find Clare hiding in the laundry hamper. The tips of her ears poke out from the pile of clothes, like two furry flags. The water is gone now, I tell her. Are you ready for the parade, Clare? She emerges from the laundry hamper, one whisker at a time. She brushes against my legs and leads the way to the front door.

           Clare and I wait on the front steps of the house. Clare sits on my lap, like a queen, and I am her big comfy throne. We both watch for the parade of animals to turn the corner and come down our street.

           I hear the parade before I see it. The dogs make all kinds of noises, from the deep, rich barking of the police dogs to the sharp yipping and yapping of dogs that are even smaller than Clare. The birds sing all sorts of songs. They sound clear and sweet, like church bells. Or like people laughing. Clare’s ears perk up. Do you hear a friend, Clare? Her whiskers quiver.

           It’s here! People and animals walk two by two. There are big dogs and small dogs, fuzzy cats and smooth cats. There are cages with birds, lizards, and hamsters. There is even a girl with a pony. Father John leads the parade with his dog, Charlie. I hug Clare tightly to my chest and together we join the parade.

           We walk behind a boy holding a sleek black cat, a true Halloween cat. Clare gazes at the Halloween cat. I can feel her heart beating quickly in her chest. Are you scared, Clare? Her claws grip my shoulder gently.

           Soon, we arrive at the hill behind the church. I find a nice spot for Clare and me to sit. Clare sniffs at the leaves and pushes chestnuts with her nose. “What a lovely cat,” a

woman says to me. She is holding a small white dog. “Thank you,” I reply. “She is the best cat in the whole world.” Clare rubs her soft head against my knees.

           The boy and the Halloween cat sit down beside us. The Halloween cat sits tall and serene, its eyes squeezed shut. Clare inches forward, towards the Halloween cat. The Halloween cat’s eyes snap open. They are yellow, just like Clare’s.

           “I’m Owen,” says the boy, “and this is Shadow.”

           “I’m Louise,” I say, “and this is Clare.”

           We shake hands as Clare and Shadow touch noses.

           Then it is our turn to receive the blessing. I kneel in the grass with Claire resting on my shoulder. Father John smiles and gives her head a little pat. When he speaks, a hush falls over the people and the animals.

           “Give us the grace to see all animals as gifts.” He dips his fingers into the water and touches Clare lightly on the forehead. I hold my breath.

           I imagine her jumping out of my arms and running across the hill to the safety of the trees. I imagine her swiping at Father John’s nose with her sharp claws. I imagine her flattening her ears back and hissing with a horrible snarl. But Clare does not do any of these things. She blinks at him and starts to purr.

           Clare sits on my lap and closes her eyes as Father John greets the animals and blesses them one by one. She tucks her front paws under her chest and tilts her head slightly, listening intently to Father John and the soft sounds of the other animals. In the late-morning sunlight, Clare’s fur shines like gold.