Cats

 My cats are weird.

(I think all cats might be weird.)

And they have such different personalities.

 

Annie Mae is spicy and aloof.

Sigma Ray is docile and loving.

 

Annie Mae will only eat turkey directly from my hand.

Sigma Ray will only eat turkey off the floor.

 

Annie Mae will only drink water from her personalized water bowl upstairs.

Sigma Ray will drink water from anywhere, including my dad’s cups.

 

Annie Mae will only eat cat food if it’s been freshly poured into her bowl.

Sigma Ray will eat cat food anytime it’s available.

 

Annie Mae refuses to let you touch her pretty, fluffy belly.

Sigma Ray doesn’t care if you touch his belly, his nose, or his tail.

 

Annie Mae stirs if you come upon her sleeping.

Sigma Ray sleeps hard and long and just keeps right on sleeping if you come upon him.

 

Annie Mae likes boxes.

Sigma Ray doesn’t know what to do with them.

 

Annie Mae likes to hunt.

Sigma Ray is a lover, not a fighter.

 

Annie Mae is calm and content with the ground.

Sigma Ray is spastic and curious and climbs all over everything.

 

Annie Mae knows her name.

Sigma Ray does not.

 

Annie Mae will sometimes respond when I say “comeeer, baby.”

Sigma Ray just looks at me like I have a hole in my head.

 

Annie Mae is a secret purrer.

Sigma Ray purrs very loudly and makes no secret about when he’s happy. 

 

Annie Mae has sort of figured out my schedule.

Sigma Ray has not.

 

Every day, when I come home from work,

Annie expects me to come upstairs

So she can sit beside me

While I do my blackout poem.

If I don’t immediately do this,

Then it throws her off, and

She acts out of sorts until I do.

I think this is funny.

But it warms my heart.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

My cats are weird.

And I bet yours are too.

Or your dogs.

Or your bearded dragons.

Or your hamsters or ferrets or snakes or cows or any other pets that you have.

 

Pets are some of life’s greatest blessings.

Amen?

And amen.

 

Pets

 

 

One of my friends had to have her dog put down last week.

The dog lived a good life.

She was well-loved and taken care of.

She brought joy to my friend and all who knew her.

But it was time for her to go.

She could barely stand up.

She was sleeping all the time.

Her bowels had left her.

Putting her down was the right thing to do.

Yet it was so hard.

And my friend cried.

And I cried, too.

And then I went through all my pictures and celebrated the dog’s life.

And I memorialized her in a tin art,

Because that’s all I knew to do.

 

I read an article about an Hispanic author who wrote a book for Day of the Dead.

I briefly talk about Day of the Dead in October when discussing Hispanic Heritage Month,

So I decided to buy the book.

Come to find out, the book is written to remember a pet.

And my goodness it is sad!!

Both Shauna the Art Teacher and I cried as we looked through the beautiful pages,

And we didn’t even read the text!

Later, when showing the book to another friend,

I cried again.

It’s just so sad.

 

Pets provide us with snuggles.

They provide us with talk therapy.

They provide us with companionship.

And they reduce our stress by making us slow down to pet them.

 

Pets become part of our lives.

They reserve and move into a special place in our hearts

That will never be forgotten,

Even after they leave.

 

Bullet the Dog is 19 now.

He will likely leave soon.

His devotion to my dad and the happiness that he’s brought for so many years

Is something that can’t be replaced.

 

Annie the Cat is three-ish now.

Hopefully she’ll live a long life

And learn how to control her razor claws

As she continues to become domesticated

And demand turkey and pets.

 

Tell me about your pet.

Tell me something that brings you joy.

Tell me something you remember about a pet who has gone before you.

I think sometimes it’s hard to remember because it hurts.

But life is kept alive through memory…

And our pets deserve that,

For they are a gift from above.

 

Amen.

 

Room At The Table

 

We had an unexpected guest at our table yesterday:

Annie the Cat.

Used to, when the family came, Annie would hide the whole time.

Recently, she’s become more adventurous and been more of a presence.

Yesterday, she firmly planted herself in a dining room chair and

Did not move when we all convened in the dining room for dessert.

The whole family gathered round the table,

And there was Annie,

Asleep in my seat,

Vaguely listening to family conversation,

As happy as she could be.

 

…

 

Yesterday, Christians gathered worldwide on the eve of this Christmas Day.

We celebrated the birth of baby Jesus

And talked of the joy of Christ.

I sang of Mother Mary’s labor of love,

And my dad reflected on the presence of Christ that

Is the ultimate present to humankind.

 

Meanwhile, I silently agonized over the reality that so much of Christmas is a lie.

Theologically, Jesus wasn’t born on December 25 and the wisemen didn’t appear to Jesus at the stable.

Non-theologically, we indoctrinate ourselves on songs of fictional characters

And hang our hats on a belief in a Santa Claus who doesn’t even visit the least of these.

We confuse story with reality and mesh it all together into one big, collective lie.

No wonder people have a hard time believing in God.

And no wonder people have a hard time holding to the hope of Jesus.

 

…

 

And yet.

There Annie was at the table.

A teenage mother from an unwanted pregnancy

Who found her way to our house

Where we took her in and gave her her best life.

And here we are on Christmas Day,

Remembering the birth of a real person

Born to a teenage mother through an unwanted pregnancy,

Whose story found its way to our hearts

Where we took it in and can now live our best lives…

 

Dear God: There’s a lot we don’t know. But this much is true: Jesus was real. And His life and  love can live within us and give us unexplainable hope. Jesus was real. And His life and love can compel us to make room at the table for everyone. Help us to make room for everyone. Amen.

Annie Mae Deaton

 Annie Mae Deaton is a spoiled cat. She came to us two years ago as a stray, teenage mama cat who was barely surviving. For some reason, she chose us, and our lives have not been the same since!

 

When she was a starving mom, Annie would eat anything placed in front of her. We fed her wet food and dry food and plates of turkey. Now, as a spoiled house cat who has full reign of the house, she eats only dry food and one piece of turkey a day—IF I hand-feed it to her! If dad tries to feed her turkey, she will not eat it. If I place the turkey on her food mat or accidentally drop a piece on the floor, then she won’t eat it. She will only eat it out of my hand. If I’m running late in the morning, oh, well! Annie must get her turkey :-).

 

While some cats have one favorite place to sleep, Annie can be found sleeping in numerous places around the house. In fact, she has at least one spot in every room where she likes to sleep— and it’s usually near the air conditioning vent :-).

 

On Friday night, as Heidi-My-Tin-Art-Partner and I were working in the studio, I stood up for one brief moment to get a different perspective on my piece. In that one moment, Annie hopped into my office chair and put herself to sleep for 45 minutes. I worked standing up 🤦🏻‍♀️. I know. I could have bravely moved her and sat back down, but I just didn’t have it in me because she looked so content.

 

I wish that I could say that Annie is a loving and snuggly cat, but I can’t. Her life on the streets left her very skittish. She is also a tortie, and I’ve heard that torties have tortitude :-). But when she wants to, she lets us pet her. And she likes it. Then, when she’s tired of being touched, she turns around and whacks the hand that loves her. And, don’t even think about trying to pet her pretty, fluffy belly. That is a no go!

 

…

 

I won’t let Annie go into the attic because she heads straight for the insulation and all the little crevices where she could get stuck. One night a few weeks ago, Heidi went into the attic to get some tin. Annie came out of nowhere and planted herself at the attic door. Heidi could not get out without Annie going in, and so I told Heidi to turn on the vacuum cleaner because it would scare Annie away. Sure enough, as soon as the vacuum cleaner came on, Annie ran away from the door and Heidi safely emerged from the hot attic. I did not want to use Annie’s nemesis against her, but I had to do it for her own good.

 

This is what love does, you know. It looks out for the good of the one who is loved while also, at times, maybe at a lot of times, spoiling the object of our affection to no end.

 

We love our Queen Antoinette (Annie) Mae Deaton. Unconditionally. I know that many of you love your pets unconditionally, too.

 

So friends: If we love our pets as much as we do, even when they are prickly and undeserving, then how much more must God love us?

 

God hand-feeds us in ways that we do not recognize. Every day. May we return God’s love like Annie returns mine when she hops into bed with me and curls up next to me and makes me stupidly happy in a way that I cannot describe.

 

Amen.