For days, Old Lady Smallcanyon complained of weakness. She had seen 84 winters without an illness. She had walked miles after her flock of sheep. She said her body ached and vision blurred. Medicine men were called upon and they came and went. “She has Lightning illness,” one proclaimed. Another diagnosed a Skinwalker witch infection. Finally, it was determined that it was old age and nothing more. She had lived long and seen much. There was nothing more to be done and the shamans shuffled away helpless. “Prepare for her a death bed away from the hoghaan and keep her warm” was the instruction left with the family of Old Lady Smallcanyon. They didn’t want nor could afford to desecrate the living hoghaan, otherwise the place would have to be abandoned for spirit contamination.
The family worked together and constructed a shelter of pinyon and juniper boughs and built up bedding for her comfort. They built a fire nearby and the youngest grandson, Blue Bird, was chosen to stay near and keep the fire going. The family and relatives from a ways off came and held a wake in the family hoghaan. Sad and tired faces exchanged glances and soft conversation droned. This would be a long night.
Outside, north of the hoghaan, Old Lady sang her dying song in weak moans. Blue Bird stared into the fire to seek strength and courage. Old Lady sang softly:
By the light of the east I will travel
Into the dark’s gentle caress
By the shimmering blue of the south I will travel
covered by dark’s heavy cloak
By the golden glare of the west I will travel
by age’s restless steed
Into the mystery of the north I will travel
blessed with darkness’s new visions …
Mosi’ the sheep camp tomcat strutted into the circle of firelight as the soft song moaned on. Mosi’ moved about freely within the sheep camp. He slept up near the stovepipe on the domed roof of the hoghaan. He was resourceful as a family cat. Reptiles and rodents were kept at bay with such a big cat moving about silently. Mosi’, like all cats in the company of a home, was considered a seer into the spirit world and the wild ghosts were hesitant to invade the living with Mosi’ about. Like the firepower that protects the hearth, so was this cat. Mosi’ purred and rubbed against Old Lady’s bedding.
Back at the hoghaan, in the glow of the kerosene lamp, the elders nodded their heads and small children clung to their mothers. The others snored in their sheepskin comfort.
Mosi’ came inside unnoticed and purred in the corner darkness.
Old Lady Smallcanyon’s weakening voice faded with the fire. She laid her head down to the red glow of the late-night embers. She waited for death’s cold grip.
Blue Bird had nodded off to sleep.
Sometime late in the night, she awoke to the sound of scratching on dry cornstalks in the nearby field. The sound of the scratching seemed to be getting clearer and came from all sides.
In the weak glow of the embers’ light, she saw small figures scurrying about the edges of the darkness. Fiery red eyes darted all around her among the sagebrush and snakeweed. Powerful medicine plants now hid these terrible creatures of the night. As they crept closer, she saw that they were mice and rats. Death had come this night in the guise of these filthy creatures that are associated with mortality. No owls or bats need be involved. Old Lady tried to scream them off, but no sound escaped her throat.
Old Lady stared in horror into the darkening mass.
“Meow, meow!” A terrible new sound broke through the night’s threat. She shuttered as something big and furry landed upon her bedding.
“Meow, meow!” Stiff-legged and with an arched back, Mosi’ let loose more screeches and yowls. He clawed at the approaching mass of rats, he snarled and hissed as he stalked the space between Old Lady and her tormentors. He tore into the moving ground. He snapped and pawed left and right as rats went flying into the still hot and glowing embers.
Old Lady Smallcanyon mustered up all her strength and sat up, watching this drama as little bodies caught fire and the fire rekindled itself. Blue Bird had retreated deeper into sleep.
The rats retreated back into the dark. For a long while, Mosi’ stayed with Old Lady. She held that cat the rest of the night.
In the morning, she was still very much alive, revived as she arrived at the doorway of the family hoghaan.
“Yii’ya’ hiin,dii” (Oh horror of horror). “Old Lady’s ghost is already upon us,” a cry arose from the slumbering figures. Blinking and rubbing their eyes, the relatives sat in utter confusion and fright as Old Lady took her place on the west side of the hoghaan. Blue Bird came rushing into the hoghaan, wide-eyed and frightened. “They took her in the night. They took shi’ma’saani’” (my grandmother).
“No, my children, I am very much alive. Death did come in the night in the form of rats but Mosi’ here fought them off all night. Death loosened its icy grip on me,” Old Lady stated in a strong voice. Murmurs arose among the family and everyone started talking at once. Old Lady raised her aged hand and spoke: “I have had quite a night and now I am hungry. Any mutton stew and fry bread left from yesterday?”
This is based on a true story. Among the Diné, it is believed that the cat treads easily in both worlds and that it is good to have one … or two. But not 20.
