A life-long dog person, my home and heart were invaded a couple of years ago by two cats. The conventional wisdom on felines says they were just seeking better accommodations and a more attentive staff. I'm not convinced.
At the time, I had just lost my sweet companion of nineteen years; a Jack Russell Terrier named Cotton. She was a member of the family; a daily source of love and encouragement. I missed her deeply, but my husband and I had no plans to fill the vacancy she left. We were traveling more, spending time out of town, so it seemed silly to take on another dog. When you have a dog for nineteen years, it stands to reason you are going to take some vacations. She was lucky to always stay at home, well-cared for by my mother and sister while we were gone. As the “Gran-Dog,” she would spend the day in doggy day-care at my mother’s house, then be fed and tucked away for the night in her own home. Still, at every homecoming I could look forward to ecstatic displays of love and welcome. She might sulk and cower when the suitcases came out, but when they rolled back into the foyer, her cup ran over with irrepressible joy. Extended sessions of madly rampaging through the house were interspersed with jump-into-my- arms, kiss- my- face- all-over interludes. It took a while to bring her down out of the clouds when the family returned. After wearing herself out with happiness, she would fall asleep on my lap, her world blissfully righted by the presence of the ones she loved. Everyone should experience that simple love, to be missed palpably and welcomed like a returning hero!
The last time I held that little dog, the vet was standing by to ease her suffering, and I realized how she must have felt about those suitcases in the hallway. In a very sweet book given to me about grieving for lost pets, there is a passage about a “Rainbow Bridge,” a place where much-loved animal souls wait for their owners to join them on their way to heaven. While it has no biblical or doctrinal basis, I am willing to engage in it as hopeful thinking. God did after all fill an ark full of his creatures to carry them to a new dispensation, having deemed them good and vital to the workings of the world. If unconditional love is the fourth element of our universe, then I suspect the first dog was formed not of clay or human rib, but a tear-drop of this spiritual essence.
I am not ashamed to admit that saying goodbye to Cotton was emotionally wrenching, and the sadness of her loss lingered a long time. When you spend day and night with another soul, especially one that is always glad to see you, who fills your cup with affection and lightens your home with humor, the relationship is a vital part of your well-being. Loss leaves a hole that wants filling.
But now our nest was empty of children as well. We were traveling more and enjoying the freedom to go at the drop of a hat. It would be easier without making arrangements for pet care, and I wouldn’t feel guilty leaving an innocent little being sad and confused in my absence while I was out running the roads, having a good time. My mind was made up. We would not get another dog.
Conversely, as I made this conscious and practical decision, I must have been sending out some kind of fur-friendly pheromone. I had a regular visitor when Cotton was alive. Katie Cat still came around, and had been lingering longer and longer. I left food and water out for her and often sat on the porch to stroke her soft coat and give her some company. It wasn’t long until a scrawny young tomcat slunk out of the woods, homeless and hungry. He was nervous at first, but it wasn’t long before he was twining himself around my legs and competing with Katie for a scratch behind the ears. His black coat was rough and patchy, but he had mesmerizing emerald green eyes, and I named him Magic Tom. They needed me, and I could not resist.
It turns out, cats are not nearly as haughty and standoffish as we dog people think. They just require a more patient courtship. They ate up the attention, and with regular feeding and veterinary care, they thrived. Magic must have been very happy to no longer fend for himself in the woods. I guess he forgave me for submitting him to the necessary indignations (two cats are enough!) He settled in to a life of hunting by day, entertaining me with his acrobatics, and sleeping comfortably on the back of the recliner by night. He loves to be picked up and cuddled. Katie staked out my lap as her territory during morning coffee and evening news, and now I often awake to find her curled up beside us on the bed.
So our nest wasn’t empty very long. But I reasoned that cats would not mind our frequent absences like a dog would. As long as they had food and water and each other for company, they probably wouldn’t even notice we were gone, especially with my sister, the “cat whisperer,” giving them TLC in our stead. Boy was I wrong.
Katie manages, though when I return from a week away, it is clear she has been lonely. She follows me around, rubbing against my legs and leaping into my lap at the first chance, and won’t let me out of her sight for a couple of days. But poor Magic.
Last fall after being away for several days, I came home to some strange behaviors. The cats have always been responsible indoors, but suddenly I was finding Mr. Tough Guy, with his needle sharp claws and 15 pounds of solid muscle, peeing on houseplants and down the bathtub drain. Newsflash to me!—some cats get so attached to their owners they can worry themselves sick in your absence. He might still have the tom cat swagger, but it turns out Magic has separation anxiety to make my little dog look like a stoic. He can soldier on for a couple of days, but if I am out of reach too long, he needs medical attention.
My sister and I think it is interesting that it is just Magic who works himself into a tizzy. We have practiced amateur animal psychology and have come up with a theory. A stray for a long time, apparently Magic remembers abandonment and associates it with hunger, fear and desperation. While Katie has never suffered long and is secure in her surroundings, I guess Magic Tom knows how scary things get without someone around who values and cares for you.
Even our pets have a survival instinct, a craving for the one who loves them, meets their needs, gives them comfort and security. They know a good thing. They are grateful for the daily bread and seek out the presence of the person who has their best interest at heart, who holds them close when they are sick or hurting or lonely. As human beings loved by the Father, we have an even greater resource at our disposal for a life of peace and belonging.
Jesus, who freely and gladly redeems any stray who comes to his doorstep, said in John’s gospel, “…if a man loves me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.” and …“As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue in my love…these things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” *
Because the world is a busy clamoring place, and I am limited in my human vision and easily separated, lost; God often meets me wandering the woods feral and fearful. He extends his love and reminds me there is rest and sustenance in his Word. He promised he would not leave me alone and comfortless. It is only left to me to welcome his presence and abide in the love He has offered.
*John 14:23, 15:9-11
