The Present
Seconds click by a tick at a time, hours a bit faster, years leap. Texas' morning on the porch with me lies buried in the folds of memory now, his bones crushed and turned to dust by earth and rock dug from our place here in the Texas hill country. Just another cat among thousands, but when their lives and the lives of the humans who loved them rub together, who can say but what a bit of eternity sparks into flame.
The Past
Having already lived eight of his nine lives, my cat Texas has survived into his dotage.
This morning he is keeping me company. Only his eyes follow me, back and forth, as I mop the front porch.
"Texas you’re Mommy’s precious baby boy, aren’t you."
He’s a chin-doddering old grandpa.
"Texas is the handsomest cat in the whole world, right?"
His coat is patchy and he walks with a limp.
"Texas loves his Mommy, so-o-o much, doesn’t him?"
I’m his meal ticket.
"Texas is my sweetie-comes."
He drools and he has bad breath.
For some, their love would long since have cooled for an object like Texas. But to me my pet seems less the old shoe to be cast aside- much more, my personal treasure.
"All I can say is Texas is one lucky cat to have you for a mom," my husband tells me when looks disparagingly at the raggedy old man. "He wouldn’t last a day on his own outside our fence: some coyote or fox would have him for dinner."
I lift my pet to eye level, careful of his dignity and fragility. "I double-dog dare them." Cuddling him a moment, I tug one ear and then the other. Gently, I put him down.
When he was kitten-size with out-sized paws and fluffy orange coat, Texas first lay hidden in a cave back of our property. My son found out his lair: we brought him in, sheltered and civilized him. He became part of our family.
From the beginning, the little scamp had power to call forth my most tender and protective feelings. When my son handed him over the kitten looked at me with large eyes that reflected a gamut of opposing creature responses: surprise, fear that almost instantaneously turned to trust, but mostly curiousity.
This morning I sense God’s presence and He tells me I have that same power over Him that bit of fluff had over me..
"There was a time when you also ran wild in the world, at the mercy of any predator on the prowl." He causes me to understand: "Just as you pitied a small, helpless creature of the woods, so I pitied you. I too took you under my wings and I became your refuge and your shelter."
Now I wouldn't be so foolish as to compare the earthly affections we humans feel for our pets to the illimitable love God has for His adopted children. But I do believe He drops tiny earthly beads of light affording just a glimpse of Heaven's rich borealis.
Unless Jesus returns in the meantime, or I go to Him, I too will grow old and feeble, like Texas. My chin will dribble and my fingers tremble at their task: my flesh will gradually weaken. But God’s love for me will never diminish, never grow old. When I have creases and dents, snaggles and snarls, Jesus assures me I will not lose my place in His heart. When I'm huddled under my blanket of old age and long for a touch of human kindness, He will make things better for me somehow: ease my path in ways I cannot now foresee. For when I peer into the lens of my latter years, it seems murky and foggy- and fearsome. But He promises. Nothing can stand in the way of His plans for the apple of His eye.
But I'm too serious, I drip with sentiment. So I'll return to the task at hand and rinse away the soapy gray of the boards I'm bending over. I must now take the spray nozzle to the porch floor, an act which would cause most cats to sprint for their lives. But Texas has his reasons not to get in a hurry.
To begin with, because I've never subjected his pumpkin-colored fluff to the indignity of violent wetting, he has little to fear from the spit of water needles. His life with our family began with a startled trust, and it appears it will finish with a more mellow version of that same sweet faith in the humans who took him in.
But more importantly: at his age moving too fast can be awfully painful.
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