By sister initiate Corina Gallegos Zenteno,
Santiago, Chile (Originally in Spanish)

One night, I was rudely awakened by a series of shrieks coming from the backyard of my house. I looked out of my window and sensed that the sounds came from a hidden spot in the garden. The following day, I was very surprised to discover a big black cat and an undetermined number of kittens in a box of books and old clothes placed under a pipal tree. Worried and astonished, I wondered what I should do with this unexpected "gift," and the only thought that came to me was to bring the cat into the house and give it water and food. I thought that once the kittens were weaned, I could give them all away, even the mother.

Days later, for some unknown reason, the cat moved her kittens one by one back to their birthplace. Perhaps due to the cat's forgetfulness, one of the kittens was left behind, and with bewilderment we took him in as a guest, not knowing what to do or how to take care of him. Carolina, my twenty-year-old daughter, took him on as her own and named him Martin.

For the first few days, we managed to feed him with a spoon. And afterwards, we made a milk bottle out of Carolina's eye-drop bottle. My son, Leonardo, graciously gave up his slipper box to make a cradle for Martin, but the kitten clawed and clawed until he got out of it a few days later. Carolina called him "son," and Martin, as though he understood, thankfully purred in response. He climbed around the collar of her jacket, where he rested happily under her hair. At other times, "his mother" picked him up and he extended his little arms, looking right into her eyes and purring as she talked sweetly to him.

My husband, who is sort of a grumbler, also was good toward Martin and, at one point, protected him from "Matusina," the white and brown cat of the house who did not look fondly upon him, thinking perhaps that the new kitten might take his place. Carlos, my other son, who is eighteen years old and not very tolerant, also assigned himself the job of occasionally feeding the kitten and lent him his guitar, which Martin accepted as a cozy cradle.

One Saturday in March, during my first group meditation after initiation, whenever I opened my eyes and saw Master's photo, the image of Martin came to my mind. After meditation, I went quickly home, where I found Martin quieter and weaker than he had been before. On Sunday I was awakened in my bedroom by my sobbing daughter, who held me close and cried while announcing that Martin had passed away. Tears also rolled down my cheeks as we held each other close. I wrapped Martin in a white handkerchief and placed him in a little coffin made from a tea box. Unconsciously, I placed his body on a picture of Master, while I put away bottles, spoons, and anything else that would remind my daughter of him.

The next day, I asked my younger son to bury Martin under the same pipal tree where he had been found. Today, when I see the yellow leaves of autumn fall on Martin's grave, I am reminded of the happy times we shared together. Master, Your lessons are truly unpredictable and unexpected! Martin, in his short life of twenty days, had managed to sow the seeds of the sweetest and tenderest compassion in the hearts of our family members. To us, this was a real life-changing experience. Thank you, Martin; you will forever remain in our hearts.