Sir, it has been a pleasure cohabiting with you these eleven years.
Monday, June 27, 2011
61 in Cat Years
Today is the Wookiee's birthday.
Sir, it has been a pleasure cohabiting with you these eleven years.
Sir, it has been a pleasure cohabiting with you these eleven years.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
When God Closes a Door, He Opens a Window
Lately, this trite phrase has kept popping into my head. When God closes a door, he opens a window. It has been said with such regular predictability that it's easy to forget that it's nevertheless based in truth.
I have two cats: Lulu is the indoor cat, and the Wookiee exists both indoors and outdoors. Someday I'll talk about the reasons for this distinction, but for now, I just want to focus on Lulu and her quest for the out-of-doors.
On nice summer days like the ones we've been experiencing lately in Western PA, I love to take a book outside, sit on my deck, enjoy the sun, and bask for a while. The robins squawk intruders away from their nests, the mockingbirds perch on the topmost branches and annoy their neighbors with travel stories, and the bees wonder if the scent of my sunscreen means I'm a flower.
Meanwhile, Lulu squats just inside the screen door and meows. This isn't cute little, "Hi, I'm here," kinds of meows. It's all-out, someone's-trying-to-kill-me, distressed meows. Occasionally punctuated with a claw in the screen for good measure. This cat desperately wants to be outside whenever I am.
Lulu's existence is defined by closed doors, and each time she makes a bid for freedom, slam! She's foiled again.
But I'm not cruel. When it's not so hot outside that we need the air conditioning on, and not so cold that we'd freeze in minutes, I like to leave a window open for Lulu to sit in so she can watch and hear and smell all the action outside. She knows the sound, too. Whenever I open a window, she comes bolting from wherever she was and leaps onto the windowsill, thrilled for this taste of the out-of-doors.
Recently, I've felt that all the doors I thought I would walk through have slammed in my face, just millimeters from breaking my nose. And I see the windows opening all around me, but am I running to see what they're opening onto? Am I dropping everything to fly onto the windowsill and peer outside?
It seems I could take a lesson from Lulu. True, her dearest dream is to be an outdoor cat and walk in and out through the doorway. But that doesn't lessen her excitement for the windows in her life that are opening all the time.
I have two cats: Lulu is the indoor cat, and the Wookiee exists both indoors and outdoors. Someday I'll talk about the reasons for this distinction, but for now, I just want to focus on Lulu and her quest for the out-of-doors.
On nice summer days like the ones we've been experiencing lately in Western PA, I love to take a book outside, sit on my deck, enjoy the sun, and bask for a while. The robins squawk intruders away from their nests, the mockingbirds perch on the topmost branches and annoy their neighbors with travel stories, and the bees wonder if the scent of my sunscreen means I'm a flower.
Meanwhile, Lulu squats just inside the screen door and meows. This isn't cute little, "Hi, I'm here," kinds of meows. It's all-out, someone's-trying-to-kill-me, distressed meows. Occasionally punctuated with a claw in the screen for good measure. This cat desperately wants to be outside whenever I am.
Lulu's existence is defined by closed doors, and each time she makes a bid for freedom, slam! She's foiled again.
But I'm not cruel. When it's not so hot outside that we need the air conditioning on, and not so cold that we'd freeze in minutes, I like to leave a window open for Lulu to sit in so she can watch and hear and smell all the action outside. She knows the sound, too. Whenever I open a window, she comes bolting from wherever she was and leaps onto the windowsill, thrilled for this taste of the out-of-doors.
Recently, I've felt that all the doors I thought I would walk through have slammed in my face, just millimeters from breaking my nose. And I see the windows opening all around me, but am I running to see what they're opening onto? Am I dropping everything to fly onto the windowsill and peer outside?
It seems I could take a lesson from Lulu. True, her dearest dream is to be an outdoor cat and walk in and out through the doorway. But that doesn't lessen her excitement for the windows in her life that are opening all the time.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Cats and God and Being Blind
About a year ago, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, when I heard something go THUD in the kitchen. "Lulu's on the counter again," I thought, irritated, but before my thoughts wandered to where I'd stashed the disinfectant spray, I started wondering what she had knocked off the counter that could have made that sound.
A sort of hollow, plasticky sound. An empty soda bottle? We hadn't had soda in the house lately. A Tupperware container? I didn't think I'd left any sitting out after I washed them last.
THUD!
There it was again. And I was sure we didn't have two of whatever it was lined up on the counter. I rinsed out my mouth and wandered into the kitchen, ready for anything.
Or so I thought.
It took me a while to find her, but I finally spotted Lulu in the corner of the kitchen, hunkered into a frightened crouch, facing the door of the corner cabinet, with a blue plastic watering can stuck over her head.
THUD THUD THUD!
In her blind panic, her senses dulled by an opaque plastic jug, my cat was trying to free herself by running her head against the cabinets.
Oh, you stupid cat, I thought, watching her battering-ram herself deeper into her prison.
Sometimes, I still regret not running to grab my camera to document the truly funny sight of my cat with a watering can stuck over her head, but in the moment, I could only think of how scared she must be. I hurried to her, cooing words of comfort, and pulled the can off her head to reveal her big black eyes and her little pink nose.
And, like so many times when thinking about my cats, I have to wonder: Is this how God reacts to us when we're terrified and blinded by our immediate circumstances? When all we know is that we don't know where we are, or how to get loose, or who's standing behind us, we panic and do the first thing that comes to mind. Even if it is slam our heads against the wall.
Oh you stupid cat. When we ram our heads against the wall and try to fix things ourselves, it only shoves the watering can tighter over our heads. Sometimes the only real solution is to sit still and say, "Help?" God's ready to free us with opposable thumbs.
A sort of hollow, plasticky sound. An empty soda bottle? We hadn't had soda in the house lately. A Tupperware container? I didn't think I'd left any sitting out after I washed them last.
THUD!
There it was again. And I was sure we didn't have two of whatever it was lined up on the counter. I rinsed out my mouth and wandered into the kitchen, ready for anything.
Or so I thought.
It took me a while to find her, but I finally spotted Lulu in the corner of the kitchen, hunkered into a frightened crouch, facing the door of the corner cabinet, with a blue plastic watering can stuck over her head.
THUD THUD THUD!
In her blind panic, her senses dulled by an opaque plastic jug, my cat was trying to free herself by running her head against the cabinets.
Oh, you stupid cat, I thought, watching her battering-ram herself deeper into her prison.
Sometimes, I still regret not running to grab my camera to document the truly funny sight of my cat with a watering can stuck over her head, but in the moment, I could only think of how scared she must be. I hurried to her, cooing words of comfort, and pulled the can off her head to reveal her big black eyes and her little pink nose.
And, like so many times when thinking about my cats, I have to wonder: Is this how God reacts to us when we're terrified and blinded by our immediate circumstances? When all we know is that we don't know where we are, or how to get loose, or who's standing behind us, we panic and do the first thing that comes to mind. Even if it is slam our heads against the wall.
Oh you stupid cat. When we ram our heads against the wall and try to fix things ourselves, it only shoves the watering can tighter over our heads. Sometimes the only real solution is to sit still and say, "Help?" God's ready to free us with opposable thumbs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)