My "Christian" Cats

Our black and white cat, Katzie, reigned as queen here for years. She did what all queen cats do: lay on the porch in the sun, got fat, and caught mice only when she felt like it.

Then Hansie came and her life changed completely. Instead of living in peace and plumpness, she was on the run, flying headlong around the corner of the house and scampering up a tree with Hansie behind her taking the corner on two wheels and woofing ferociously.

Katzie began to spend most of her time in the pine tree or on the porch roof. Instead of nibbling whenever she was hungry, she ventured to her food dish on the porch early in the morning and late in the evening when Hansie was locked up. And if Hansie had eaten all her food and no one remembered to replace it, she went hungry.

I was feeling worse and worse about this but didn’t know what in the world to do. The final straw came late one evening about a week ago when I went out late to feed her and saw that she had already been there and left, a line of timid, disappointed, wet pawprints leading across the porch to her cat dish and back off the porch.

Then she disappeared. We figured she had finally had enough. I felt like we had somehow betrayed her and she was out there starving in the rain. Paul said I must be desperate for something to feel guilty about if I was this guilty about a cat. The children and I prayed about her, acknowledging that in the grand scheme of things this cat was nothing compared to children dying of malaria and starvation around the world, but still, she was our cat and we were worried about her.

Paul thinks one house cat is far too many, but I announced unsubmissively that I don’t care what anyone says or if she smells or sheds, if Katzie ever shows up again she is going to be a house cat until we can train Hansie to stop chasing her.

Meanwhile, Pigga, who as you recall was saved from an oily, wet death under the oil tank and/or being eaten by Hansie, continued to prance around the house, eat well, and leap for backpack straps and anything else that dangled.

Then about two days ago while Paul was driving his truck to Kropf Feed, he called me and said he just saw Katzie beside the road, alive and licking herself, between our place and Coffeys’. He thought I might like to know.

Awwww, what a softie he is inside that stern exterior.

I walked down the road and there she was, sitting on a piece of wood down in the ditch, skinny and wet but ok.

Now she eats all she wants, sleeps on top of the freezer, and gets all the love she can handle.
But she doesn’t get along with Pigga. They arch and spit and swipe at each other, circling around the food dish and glaring at each other.

I don’t get it. Both were saved from a cruel enemy and a miserable fate and brought into a place of peace and plenty. I thought surely their shared gratitude would make them friends for life.

How like some of us Christians, rescued from a merciless enemy and a terrible end, and in our shared salvation we cannot find the gratitude that makes us get along.

Quote of the Day:
"I don’t have any potential energy much less kinetic energy."
--Emily. (I feel like that in the morning too.)