Friday, September 17, 2010

Mama Cat


When I first moved to where I live now, there was a skinny looking orange cat that started coming around. Being one who cannot stand to see a skinny animal or one mistreated, I started putting feed out each day.

Rarely was there a day even on weekends that Mama Cat didn’t make sure I was up by 6am. She was like the mama who gets the kids up each morning for school; thus, I named her “Mama Cat”.

If I was not at the back door by 6am each morning to give her, her morning portion of feed, she would meow and meow at the back door. If that didn’t work, she would go to under my bedroom window and start her hollering. She knew exactly what time it was when I opened the shed door where the food was kept. She patiently waited until her scoops were made then would follow me back to her bowl.

Mama Cat never let me touch her. She never allowed me to hold her. She would come within 2’ of me, sit, stare, meow – but that was the minimum distance. I would talk to her, her head would move side to side, she would yawn, but all the time, I think she understood me. It was a silent relationship in some manners.

People are kind of like that. Some have walls built up around them. Maybe they’ve been hurt in the past, maybe they don’t know how to give love themselves. I don’t know. People and cats are strange like that.

After Hurricane Rita, by then I’d been here for fifteen years, there was no sign of Mama Cat. I figured the 125 mph winds had blown her away if she hadn’t succumbed to the wind and rain.

One morning, some nine months after Hurricane Rita, I heard her meow at the back door! I was thrilled to see her, even though she was ragged, skinny, hair missing – she was still Mama Cat. I headed to get her something to eat – she meowed again – a strange sort of meow – I sat down on the stairs. For the first time, Mama Cat came to me, brushed against my legs, allowed me to pet her. She started walking away, turned, gave me a silent stare for what seemed like minutes, and walked away. We’ve never seen her since.

I think that was a God thing – she came back to bring me hope that things could be rebuilt, joy in seeing her for a last time, and peace knowing she survived. And, I think she came back to thank me and to tell me good-bye.

I believe that in the end, if we all do good things, we may not be thanked by those we help – but somewhere down the line – we will be blessed by others.

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