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| Him Kitty napping in the sun/Tad Barney |
Soooo not the morning I expected, yet I think I was open to
it. Open being the key word here. Maybe open and present.
I was jarringly awakened with my chest pounding. Thankfully,
it was 5:40 am, much later than I had expected. My alarm was set for 6 and I
soon heard the comforting sounds of my oldest closing the bathroom door, then
flushing. It used to annoy me, now I embrace it.
I was reminded of Sunday in worship just how comforting my
children have always been to me; not, of course, that that is their main
function in life. They certainly have their imperfect moments, illiciting
comments I’d rather not repeat here. When I ambled into worship, then, too, my
chest was pounding. I asked God for peace in that hour. No sooner was it off my
heart then I felt the whirlwind of nearby activity (my eyes were closed)
settling as each of my daughters took a seat beside me – bookends. And I felt
great and deep peace.
The residue of worship must still be with me as I lolled in
bed another 15 minutes, sat up to gently stretch and realized I’d experienced a
solid night’s sleep. A little more alert this morning, I descended the stairs,
debating whether there was time to make coffee before I swept the kids to the
bus and hit the pool. While I was measuring the coffee, the girls announced
that the cat was having a “spaz” attack. By the time I could turn around to
look, he was still and staring into space, his typical past-time at the ripe
old age of 18. Then I noticed the puddles and my heart fluttered. I have been
dreading this furry friend’s imminent end. He has weathered thick and thin with
me. Three years ago we thought he was a gonner after surviving what we believe
was a stroke. Him Kitty made a strong comeback: his constant circling to the
right and occasional staring at the fridge, the only tell-tale signs.
I cleaned up the mess, grabbed an old towel and cuddled him
in it. He purred, which signaled things were ok. I whisked the girls out the
door and returned to Him Kitty napping in the bay window. Nothing unusual.
Before heading to my studio, I asked my husband to bring up a litter box up in
case the cat couldn’t manage the basement stairs. I was finally out the door
when the unearthly distress cry cats make made me drop my wallet, keys and
laptop. My instinct was to return
to the living room, but I had just checked that cat and the noise was outside.
I looked and saw our other indoor cat staring out the porch door at our adopted
outdoor cat wrestling in the bushes. “OMG, the groundhog’s got him,” I thought.
I went closer and saw there was only one animal and no struggle. Patches was
experiencing a seizure. Tad had seen it once before and almost gave him
mouth-to-mouth. I spoke soothingly to Patches to let him know I was there and
perched on the edge of the deck as his white-with-black body thrashed in the
brush and branches. It broke my heart. I prayed and began to weep. He sensed me
there and I spoke again, softly, telling him not to worry about me. A few long,
excruciating minutes and he was up, at my hand nudging to be petted … as if
business as usual. Except that my heart was ripped to shreds.
I have been struggling with my own resiliency only to
witness the suffering of these two cats. It’s really made me ponder how our
society treats usefulness. I instinctively knew to tend to these creatures,
maybe only accompanying them as they suffered. God was responding through me
and, perhaps, I complied because I was opened and present this morning. Maybe
it was the worship experience or the fact I’ve been bumbling through a fibro
flare-up and empathetic.
However, I am beginning to think it’s because I have been
faithful in doing something my heart has desired for a VERY long time: offer
spiritual-nurture classes in my studio. What I affectionately call my Turtlebox
group. Our first three sessions have been on pain as teacher, opening to the
Divine and deep connection. I can’t teach what I don’t know so, in prepping for
these, I have explored all of those in myself and opened some wounds.
After a wonderfully long run of high energy and low pain –
enough to get Artsy Farsty, a non-profit art exploration for under-served,
local kids launched – I hit a blip and, I freely admit, sank into some self
pity, whining and yelling at God.
Perhaps, if I take the example of these two cats, I can pick
myself up and carry on. I may have a little pee on my tail or dirt on my coat,
but I can look at those as badges of survival and carry their wisdom with me …
out into the world.
• What has opened me recently?
• What affect do children and animals have in opening me?
• How have they been a comfort?
• What have they taught me?
• How can I carry their wisdom out into the world?
happily napping
in the sun,
circling only
to the right
or staring for
what seems like
forever at the fridge
I know my Him
Kitty is all right
when I cuddle
him and he purrs
It’s our signal
the constant
contact and
attention
from all
of us
jump-starts
his motor
doesn’t
Spirit do
the same
for me?
