I am 12 years old. Many of my peers consider themselves already old enough not to believe in miracles. And I recently realized that everything is not so simple.
It was a cold winter evening. I returned home from school. I took off my backpack and undressed, I put the kettle on, and, after greeting my parents, went to turn on the computer. Brewing tea, I went into contact with friends. And for a long time communication could continue, but something alerted me.
Thinking, I realized that I was alarmed by the unnatural silence that prevailed at home. Nobody ran around, did not ask how things were at school, did not force them to do their lessons, did not swear for useless time spent on social networks and computer games. Then I remembered that my parents, when I went into the kitchen, ignored me, froze over something in the corner.
Deciding to find out what was the matter, I got up from the table and heard a thin, plaintive groan. I did not immediately determine the source. Going out into the kitchen, I saw my parents all in the same position as some time ago, frozen in the corner. Coming closer, I saw our cat Marusia, lying on the floor on a folded four-wool blanket. Near the blanket, wet spots could be seen. The cat lay, covering her eyes, and mewed plaintively.
At first I was frightened and, clutching my mother’s hand, I asked: “Mom, what about her?”. “Do not be afraid,” my mother replied without turning around, “our Marussi will soon have kittens.” Mom hugged me by the shoulders, and we stood together for a long time and, without saying a word, watched the birth of the kittens. Long after that, I was under the impression of what I saw.
And when, after a few days, my mother put a tiny, blind kitten in my hands, I thought: “Here it is, a small miracle, lies in my hands.” And then I saw a miracle also at night. The miracle of the birth of a new life. And then I realized that miracles exist, they surround us, we just need to look around and take a closer look at the things that are usual at first glance.