| Sunny Side Up November 26, 2003 �2003, Kathleen Gibson Remembering how to be loved When the Preacher and I took vacation two summers year ago we left our great white cat, Moses, at home. A friend checked on him daily, but he avenged our absence by repeatedly using our futon as a latrine. That vengeance cost him one of his nine lives, and his behavior since has been impeccable. Before vacation last summer we checked him into a kennel. When I dropped him off he huddled in the too-small cage with the chicken-wire door and watched me, his eyes like bowling balls. I wanted to grab the cat and run. "We're taking him with us," I'd tell the Preacher, waiting in the car. He'd have said, "You're crazy, but let's go." But I didn't, and he didn't. We just drove away, kind of aching. True pet lovers will understand. Four days later I called to see how he'd adjusted. "He's not eating much," said his keeper, "but he purrs when I change his cage." Later, I dreamed he died. We returned to a different cat. His drooping belly had vacated his premises. And he'd lost something else. His lion's heart. His stuffing. His hubris. His feline chutzpah. Moses the Mighty had fallen. For the first several days, he was actually polite. He purred whenever we looked his way. He didn't leap up on counters, or snoop in cupboards. He never opened any doors. If we picked him up, he stayed up, but never approached on his own. He jumped at sudden noises. He lurked alone in the basement. He didn't come running when we called his name. His shadowed spirit affected us all-even worried the dog. I told a cat-lover friend. He chuckled. "He'll be back, just give him a few days." On the third morning, Moses began to return to us. When I called him he came galloping. On the third evening, he jumped up on the couch beside me. On the fourth morning he didn't report for work at 8:30 when I did, but he punched in at 1:20. Jumped up on the rocking chair in my home office, just like he used to. At coffee break time he tried - and failed - to jump up on the bathroom cupboard for his drink of running water. So he took an alternate route. Toilet first, then cupboard. And waited, like he always has, for me to turn on the tap. He was beginning to remember. In this place he's not just one of many. In this place is spread his own little kingdom. In this place are people who know him completely. In this place he's not just cared for, he's cherished. I wandered from God once, in the secret paths of my spirit. For a year. Then came back. But I'd forgotten the delights of his company, the gift of his presence, the feeling of being cherished. No longer at home in his heart, I had to learn to be loved all over again. I know a little of how Moses felt. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |