Every day, at the same time, the mother cat climbs gently onto the old wooden swing that hangs from the porch. In her mouth, she carries one of her kittens—soft, tiny, and full of life. One by one, she brings them all onto the swing, nudging them into a little pile. Then, she settles beside them, curling her body protectively around her litter as the swing rocks slowly in the breeze.
No one taught her to do this. She just started after her owner—an elderly woman named Mrs. Helen—passed away suddenly. Helen had lived a quiet life with her cats, finding joy in the little things: gardening, knitting, and swinging on that same porch swing every morning with a warm cup of tea and one or two cats resting in her lap.
The mother cat had always been closest to Helen. She was there during long afternoons in the garden and curled at Helen’s feet during stormy nights. So when Helen passed, something changed in the cat. She started carrying her kittens to the swing—perhaps mimicking what once brought them both comfort.
Neighbors noticed it first. “Every day, like clockwork,” one said. “It’s like she remembers.”
It became a symbol of quiet mourning, but also of love. The swing, once a place of warmth shared between a woman and her cat, now rocks with the next generation—still filled with that same love and peace. The kittens, unaware of the loss, simply purr and nap while the swing moves back and forth, guided gently by the breeze… and maybe, by memory.
Though Helen is gone, her spirit lingers in the routine, in the gentle sway of the porch swing, and in the loyal heart of the mother cat who refuses to forget.
Some say animals don’t feel grief. But every day she swings her kittens, and every day we are reminded—that love, once felt, is never truly gone.
