Ralph
By Eunie Guyre
The first time he showed up outside my door, I asked, “Who are you?”
He answered, “Raallph”, just like that.
“What a strange voice,” I thought.
It was apparent early on that Ralph had no family. Judging by the way he always hung around our house, he had no
friends either. He rarely spoke except to announce his arrival, so it was hard to get to know him. Frankly, he
annoyed me just showing up whenever he felt like it. Many times I ignored him, but he never got discouraged.
While we were putting a new roof on our house, Ralph climbed the ladder and sat up there for hours to supervise
the job, then came down, taking his customary place on the porch. He never offered to help, but he didn’t interfere
with the work either.
My husband Ben didn’t mind him hanging around once in a while, but we were all forbidden to let Ralph into our
home. After all, we knew very little about him and he was rather unkempt.
We gave him a handout sometimes and he was always grateful for that. One particular morning, quite unexpectedly,
my heart went out to this poor guy and I invited him into the kitchen. I became overwhelmed by his presence. While
I washed the dishes and talked, he listened. He was a good listener. It was nice. He allowed me to snap his picture
that day.
Soon winter was upon us and the weatherman predicted a blizzard. Since I had not seen my friend for a while, I
worried about him and hoped he had found someone to share his life.
The night before the snow began to fall, our friend climbed the steps to our porch and the kids ran to put their
jackets on to greet him. They gathered some old towels and tee shirt rags, brought them outside and piled them in
the corner of the porch. Gratefully, Ralph positioned himself on top of the mound and purred contentedly. They
covered Ralph and the pile with an overturned cardboard carton.
As the storm raged, I paced by the windows on and off during the night. I wasn’t sure why I tried seeing out through
the frosty pictures blocking my view of the porch. Wishing I had been more persistent in bringing our border into
the house, I slept fitfully until daylight finally broke through the darkness.
The next morning, the snowdrifts were so high, most of the neighborhood was buried. We couldn’t open the front
door leading to the porch because the snow was piled halfway up just under the handle.
Ben pushed his way out the side door with much difficulty, but managed to wade slowly along the driveway, pushing
the snow with his belly, leaving a wake behind him. Because the porch steps were buried so deeply, he turned the
shovel over and swiped the snow off to where the rose garden was hidden. Thirty minutes later, he trudged his way
to the overturned box in the corner of the porch. Lifting it, Ben uncovered our buddy Ralph, dry and content on the
towels beneath him. This wonderful black cat was a true survivor!
He disappeared for long periods of time until we almost forgot about him, then reappeared for a while, delighting us.
Several months after his last visit, as we watched TV, the sound of screeching tires brought us all to our feet. We
got to the door as a car swerved near our mailbox across the street. Barely breathing, we thought we would find our
Ralphie in the road. The kids and I raced over, but thankfully, found nothing.
The next morning, as Ben left the house for the office, he found Ralph lying in the corner of the porch. He was
obviously dying and we knew there was no hope of saving him. Our family gathered around him as he gave one last
look around before going still.
Ralph, I believe, was an old soul who came in and out of our lives for reasons I never figured out.
By Eunie Guyre
The first time he showed up outside my door, I asked, “Who are you?”
He answered, “Raallph”, just like that.
“What a strange voice,” I thought.
It was apparent early on that Ralph had no family. Judging by the way he always hung around our house, he had no
friends either. He rarely spoke except to announce his arrival, so it was hard to get to know him. Frankly, he
annoyed me just showing up whenever he felt like it. Many times I ignored him, but he never got discouraged.
While we were putting a new roof on our house, Ralph climbed the ladder and sat up there for hours to supervise
the job, then came down, taking his customary place on the porch. He never offered to help, but he didn’t interfere
with the work either.
My husband Ben didn’t mind him hanging around once in a while, but we were all forbidden to let Ralph into our
home. After all, we knew very little about him and he was rather unkempt.
We gave him a handout sometimes and he was always grateful for that. One particular morning, quite unexpectedly,
my heart went out to this poor guy and I invited him into the kitchen. I became overwhelmed by his presence. While
I washed the dishes and talked, he listened. He was a good listener. It was nice. He allowed me to snap his picture
that day.
Soon winter was upon us and the weatherman predicted a blizzard. Since I had not seen my friend for a while, I
worried about him and hoped he had found someone to share his life.
The night before the snow began to fall, our friend climbed the steps to our porch and the kids ran to put their
jackets on to greet him. They gathered some old towels and tee shirt rags, brought them outside and piled them in
the corner of the porch. Gratefully, Ralph positioned himself on top of the mound and purred contentedly. They
covered Ralph and the pile with an overturned cardboard carton.
As the storm raged, I paced by the windows on and off during the night. I wasn’t sure why I tried seeing out through
the frosty pictures blocking my view of the porch. Wishing I had been more persistent in bringing our border into
the house, I slept fitfully until daylight finally broke through the darkness.
The next morning, the snowdrifts were so high, most of the neighborhood was buried. We couldn’t open the front
door leading to the porch because the snow was piled halfway up just under the handle.
Ben pushed his way out the side door with much difficulty, but managed to wade slowly along the driveway, pushing
the snow with his belly, leaving a wake behind him. Because the porch steps were buried so deeply, he turned the
shovel over and swiped the snow off to where the rose garden was hidden. Thirty minutes later, he trudged his way
to the overturned box in the corner of the porch. Lifting it, Ben uncovered our buddy Ralph, dry and content on the
towels beneath him. This wonderful black cat was a true survivor!
He disappeared for long periods of time until we almost forgot about him, then reappeared for a while, delighting us.
Several months after his last visit, as we watched TV, the sound of screeching tires brought us all to our feet. We
got to the door as a car swerved near our mailbox across the street. Barely breathing, we thought we would find our
Ralphie in the road. The kids and I raced over, but thankfully, found nothing.
The next morning, as Ben left the house for the office, he found Ralph lying in the corner of the porch. He was
obviously dying and we knew there was no hope of saving him. Our family gathered around him as he gave one last
look around before going still.
Ralph, I believe, was an old soul who came in and out of our lives for reasons I never figured out.
New Hampshire Writers Pet Stories
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