August is a wonderful month for viewing God’s handiwork. After supper, I went outside to search for the bright streak of a Perseids meteor. I knew it was probably too early, but I needed to spend some time “talking” to God. As I searched the sky for “shooting stars,” reverence filled my heart. That vast universe was made by a Creator that knows and loves me. When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers What is man that Thou art mindful of him? Both of those verses come from Psalm 8:3&4. I’m humbled by the Lord’s desire for a relationship with us.
The sea breezes were making music in the trees. That sound never fails to comfort me. I don’t know why I feel closer to God beneath His stars, but nature is a balm for my soul. The voices of the nocturnal world are abundant here. I especially like to hear the eastern screech owl’s soft call. It’s a purring trill, or a soft horse-like whinny. There’s something called “taking in the forest atmosphere.” It’s for real. I need it as much as I need water.
When I was a child, we didn’t have air conditioning. The summers are brutal here in Texas. For some reason I don’t remember them being that bad. We spent many a summer night sleeping outside on cots. My dad made it an adventure. He would tell us stories or answer questions about any strange sound in the night. He never frightened us with scary stories. We always fell asleep before he went to his own cot. We felt safe with him.
So many memories come to me on the wings of those breezes from the Gulf. Some are painful, so I refuse them. I only want to remember the happy things from my childhood. There was one dreadful thing that came to mind that evening. My dad hated cats. Flashbacks of him shooting the ones that came to us made me sad. He would have killed the feral cats that I have loved.
There wasn’t a moon that night. The shadows were deep. One about twelve feet from me had a deeper hue of darkness. I knew it was Midnight. I had fed him before walking out to the coop. I wasn’t surprised by him. Even though he’s wild, he seeks out our presence.
He’s a rich, beautiful shade of black. His greenish-yellow eyes give me pause. They stand out in the shadows. His pink tongue and white teeth are also a stark contrast to his fur. His meow has always been soft, but he was silent while watching me talk to the Lord. Animals know. They understand way more than we could ever realize.
Midnight’s eyes are wary, but I see vulnerability. I fuss at him for spraying my flowers, for chasing birds at the feeder, and for stalking the squirrels. I tell him that he’s rude when he hisses at me as I bend down to feed him. I stay bent over and he just starts eating. Maybe that hiss is his way of telling me that he’s a force to be reckoned with.
When I named him, that should have assured him of his adoption. We’re his. He’s ours, but I wonder about owning anything as wild as the wind. I have absolutely no control over where he goes or what he does. The woods are full of things that will eat him or rip up his beautiful body. His back is healing from some encounter. There are also people in those woods who are like my dad.
We first noticed him hanging around the chicken coop. The rooster had let him know there was only chicken pellets for any meal he had in mind. I don’t think he’s fully grown, but I know very little about cats. The way he strolls across the yard reminds me of a panther. Feeling his presence that evening, I realized he was worming his way into my heart. I have tried very hard to not let that happen.
He’s not the first wild cat that we’ve shown compassion. These felines seem to step out of another dimension. They just appear in front of us. Fear of humans seems strong in their nature, but so is the need for our companionship. I see it in their eyes. Their body is poised to run, but hope shines brightly. They’re pleading for mercy, as they watch to see how we will react to them.
My daughter was about seven before I ever owned one of these mysterious creatures. She pleaded with me to let her have a black and white kitten that was trying to adopt us at the lake. We were fishing. He came meowing out of the dark. I remember looking at my husband for help and he had said, “It’s up to you.” The kitten was about six weeks old and appeared to be alone. She named her new pet Candy.
Ten years later, she rescued a gray kitten from fire ants. He was about four weeks old. Apparently, his mother had abandoned him beneath a large cedar tree near the house. He was screaming loudly in pain from the ants. His mama never came, but my daughter crawled through the prickly branches to save him. She was way too busy at seventeen to take care of a tiny, scruffy-looking ball of fur, noise, and claws. That fell onto me.
She named him Scruffy. He would hear me getting up in the middle of the night and he’d start yelling at the top of his lungs. I fed him milk from a doll’s baby bottle. I mixed it with rice cereal for babies, until he could eat cat food. He would crawl between my foot and my flipflop when I was sitting at my desk and go to sleep. I would sit there until he stirred from his cat nap. Needless to say, I fell hard for that kitten. We all did.
Scruffy turned into a beautiful Russian Blue. At least he looked like the picture of that breed. His name no longer fit, but we kept it. My husband had fenced in the backyard. He placed a hot wire around the top to keep out other cats and critters. Scruffy loved being outside. I loved watching him discover nature. Butterflies fascinated him.
He was my first cat-heartbreak. Heart aches for the many animals that have been in my life came early. Insight has shown me not to measure time with the feral cats, that we befriend. The Lord teaches us to live in today. Each interaction with them could be my last. Whatever time we have with them, they will know that they were loved.
I don’t have the heart to “tame” them. They’re wild and they’re free to roam and to hunt. I respect them too much to make them live any other way. It could work with a kitten, but not an animal that has tasted freedom. They would die mourning their liberty. It does bother me that they’re so jumpy. When they first come to us, danger comes at them from all sides. Simply closing the bag of food too quickly will make them run.
Midnight has lost some of his wariness with us. Our kindness seems to have given him peace of mind. He’s a little bolder when asking for food. There’s less hissing when I place the bowl in front of him. After eating, he rubs his body against the legs of the patio table or the chairs. From past experiences, I know our legs will be next.
My husband doesn’t mind that act of gratitude, but I do. They’re not vaccinated. When I was about two years old, I had to take shots in my stomach to prevent rabies. Back then the treatment was 14-23 daily shots. Those terrifying weeks were the start of many phobias. Right at the top is needles. Doctors are a close second.
Recalling this event has given me some insight into my dad’s hatred of cats. He was a free-roaming parent, but he loved us. I walked up to him covered in scratches. When he asked me what happened, I told him a kitty-cat had scratched me. We didn’t have any cats, but we lived in the country. Daddy believed it was a ringtail civet cat that I had disturbed somewhere. They live across most of Texas.
Kindness is like the ripples on a pond. I choose it, no matter how difficult or unwanted my efforts may be. Like the mud daubers that get into the house ever so often. They never seem to appreciates it when I catch them in a cup. They buzz loudly from the time of capture until their release outside. I’ve done it for years without getting stung. And that ripple . . . they kill brown recluses.
Dear Readers, thank you for spending some time reading (or listening) to my thoughts. If you came to my blog searching for the truth about God, I assure you that He is real. I encourage you to ask Him to reveal Himself to you. Constant, sincere, earnest prayer will never go unanswered. He will make Himself known to you in a way that will leave no doubt. Be patient. Always be respectful. Never, ever, give up. May God bless you, and draw you to Him. Amen . . . which means “so be it!”
Searching for God 