Let all that I am praise the Lord;
may I never forget the good things he does for me. Psalm 102 :2 NLT
Our first cat-love was a green-eyed blonde. She came into our lives when friends moved in across the street. Her name was Buffy.
Buffy had been a street cat before her adoption and preferred the out-of-doors. And perhaps because of her rough life, she expressed emotion with tooth and claw.
At first we took no particular interest in her, especially since I has shown allergy to cats and would sometimes develop congestion when I visited her home. But then summer came, and her people hired my son to cat-sit whenever they were away. He would feed her and let her in or out. And in. And out.
This was a satisfactory arrangement for everyone. Buffy got competent, loving care; my son earned some money, learned about animals and (dare I say it?) developed responsibility. Good stuff for a young teen.
Even Buffy approved. She soon figured out how to get maximum attention. She would meow at our back door, and it became our responsibility to figure out if she wanted to go back in her house and finish her breakfast or if she just needed a back rub. Everyone in the family got involved in the puzzle, playing the game in a highly competitive style. The cry, “Buffy’s here!” was frequently accompanied by a concerted dash to the door.
On one occasion, when both families were gone, others were deputized to care for her. They went to her home at the appointed time, but no Buffy. After repeatedly calling her name and searching the area, they finally found her: waiting for us in our back yard.
As time went on, Buffy and I developed a relationship. She would sit in her driveway, looking toward our house. When I saw her, I would come outside and she would run eagerly across the street, meowing a greeting. Then we would sit and scritch and talk. Rather, I sat, scritched her and talked. She accepted my attentions as her due, then wandered away to eat grass. But I remember one very special time sitting in a lawn chair having my fingers lovingly groomed by her rough pink tongue. I was almost afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.
After several turns of cat sitting, an amazing thing happened. Buffy came right into our house! At first she came timidly just inside the door before turning and bolting for the outside. But soon curiosity overcame caution. She began to come farther and farther in, investigating the bathtub, inspecting the beds. We held our breaths as we watched.
Finally one day, after checking the view from every open window, she settled on the couch for a nap. We were enchanted. We found ourselves tiptoeing around so as not to wake the cat. When she left, we anxiously anticipated her next visit. I even bought a yellow rubber mouse toy of our “surrogate cat.”
But as charming as she could be, Buffy remained wary and short of temper. We never knew when she was going to bat, scratch or bite. In spite of his love my son was afraid of her, touching her gingerly and always ready to snatch his hand from danger.
And Buffy was not our cat. As soon as her people returned, her visits across the street decreased, her trips into our house stopped. Whatever our feelings, she no longer needed us. How sad, we sighed, as we watched for glimpses of her. She does not love us like we love her.
Lord, I’m amazed whene’er I see this world so unaware:
Though people may reject Your love, they don’t reject Your care.
Accepting blessing as our due, we on Your bounty feed,
And often do not come in prayer unless we have a need.
Help us remember all our days Who makes the rain to fall
Upon the just and unjust man: the Lord, who cares for all.