My Boys

We have three cats at our house. We didn’t intend to have three cats, it just worked out that way. I'd long since given up on having pets, because of too many losses on our busy street in New Jersey. In fact, as a young adult, I developed a pretty intense allergic reaction to cats . But on Halloween 2001, a parishioner put an adorable kitten in Sarah’s Halloween bucket when we went to their house. Sneaky, eh? At first, we politely gave him back. But after going home and thinking about it we decided Sarah needed a pet. We had fish, but she couldn't snuggle up with them very well, or play with them. We named our new caramel-colored kitty, Carmel. I took a lot of Benadryl for awhile, until suddenly, strangely, I wasn’t allergic to Carmel anymore.
Carmel has always been a little neurotic. When we first got him, he scratched me up pretty good whenever I tried to hold him. He'd climb over my shoulder and down my back, digging his nails into my skin like a rockclimber with spikes on his feet. He’s the one cat who runs as soon as the doorbell rings, and doesn’t come out until the company is gone. When we have people stay overnight, he lives under our bed and sneaks out during the night for the essentials. He doesn’t like to be picked up, but if you sit still awhile, he will come and settle on your lap. If you’re having a bad day, he’ll even come and snuggle up next to you and purr. He’s a great Comforter. He knows when you need a warm, fuzzy body on your chest. But the relationship is always on his terms.
A year later, we decided Carmel needed some company, especially when we were at work all day. So sure enough, his mother had had another litter, and we got Dobby (named after the house elf in Harry Potter). Carmel took to Dobby immediately, as if he knew they were half-brothers. (Their mother got around a lot) Dobby was so small at 6 weeks old, that we were afraid Carmel might eat him-- but he didn't.
Around the same time, Sarah was taking piano lessons from a woman in Tunkhannock, PA, who suddenly passed away. Jean had four cats. As an attempt to help Sarah with her first real loss of someone she loved, we asked to adopt one of Jean’s cats. Thus we got Scooter, a beautiful, long-haired black 6 year-old Persian cat with yellow-green eyes. Scooter wouldn’t have anything to do with us or the other cats at first. He hid behind the piano for months-- again, sneaking out at night for the essentials. We couldn’t coax him out for anything. We figured he’d just live behind the piano. Until the next spring of 2003, he got out of the house through an open window where the screen wasn’t in tightly. We were all heartbroken, because we couldn’t get him back in. Well, I secretly was relieved. His indifference to our kindness was annoying to me. But I acted like I was heartbroken, for Sarah's sake.
He was outside for three weeks, after which we had pretty much given up on getting him back. But one day, our babysitter managed to grab him while coaxing him to the door with tuna juice (his weakness). Ever since he was back in the house, he was suddenly much more affectionate. He allowed us to pet him. He climbed up on the arm of the chair and stuck out his head for some strokes, and even began to PURR. He’s rather pushy and demanding about affection, actually, and will approach us and push his head against our hand, and if we don’t pay attention, he’ll give us a little nip to get our attention. “Pet me! Now!”
But it wasn’t until this past winter, after we’d had him for over 4 years –during which we forced him to move halfway across the country-- that he started to put one paw on Larry’s lap. Then two. Then the upper half of his body, until finally, Scooter tentatively put his whole body on Larry’s lap. And started to purr. He won't sit on MY lap, mind you, but we still felt this was a major breakthrough. I guess he's still sore that I didn't try harder to get him back in the house.
I didn’t used to like Scooter. We’ve had to get used to each other. But I understand him now. Many people that I love have been through some tough times, including myself—loss of someone we love, or some kind of emotionally trying circumstances—that leave us raw or weakened somehow. Maybe a little less trusting. It takes time for us to get back on our feet again; to reach out again, to trust and feel safe again. God understands that, and gives us time to heal, to grow, to take another step closer, to open our hands a little bit more, until we’re ready to put our whole selves and souls into God’s hands and feel ok again. It may even be awhile before we relax enough to start purring.
Scooter reminds me to be patient with myself and with other people. We’re all doing the best that we can, and sometimes just need a little loving patience and gentleness to find our way again in a very tough world. Then we can curl up and sleep peacefully again, trusting that God’s lap is safe and sure around us, providing us a safe place to live and grow and love. And take a good, long nap.