We Are God's Cats

I've never directly asked them, but I'm reasonably sure my cats don't understand me.

They don't get why I only feed them one scoop per day, or why I don't let them roam freely outside.  They don't comprehend the idea that household furniture has other uses besides being their scratching posts.  They can't understand why they only get rich, tasty human food on special occasions. 

They can't fathom why I seem leave them for hours a day, why I yell at them when they eat each other's food, or why I hurt them by brushing the knots out of their matted fur.

In their little cat brains, the ideas of rules, vet visits and treats withheld must all seem like senseless punishment.

My cats love me because I love them and provide for them, but they often don't have a clue as to how I operate. 

Sometimes I try to reason with them, but they can't speak my language.  Every now and then a word like "no" or "come" gets through, but they can't discern the nuance of complicated messages. 

They try to communicate back to me, but they just make the same noise over and over again.  Of course, I usually know what they really want, but it would be nice if to hear something new from them every now and then. 

I can tell by their voices and posture when they are scared. I try to comfort them. I tell them that things will be ok, and that I have everything under control. 

I tell them that moving to a new place might be scary, but they'll love it when we get there.  I tell them that their cat carriers might not be comfortable, but that their confinement will just last a little while. I try to explain that the vet visit might hurt a little bit, but the pain is worth it in the long term. 

I say all these things, even though they can't understand. 

Sometimes they seem glad to know that I am there with them, even when they can't grasp what is happening or why.  I wish they could understand me.  I hate to see them suffering.

One cat hisses at me sometimes when I enforce a rule she doesn't like. I'm not threatened by her; I just find her ridiculous.  We both know her life is much better with me in than without, and that she wouldn't last very long in the wilderness. 

One time my cat--aptly named Trouble--broke the rules.  She left the porch and wandered away. It was only a few minutes before she was pawing at the door desperately begging to get back inside.

Another time she hopped into my neighbor's bushes--the ones she always finds so enticing--and she came back with fleas.  She didn't like that experience. Or the ensuing flea treatment. But she's still prone to wandering back to those same bushes if she goes too long without hearing my voice calling her back home.

Our other cat, Sebastian, is a better cat citizen than is his sister.  He's prone to eating things that make him sick, but he's generally more obedient and less likely to steal food, start a fight or wander away.  I don't love him more than his sister, though. While I want my cats to be nice to each other, my love for them isn't based on some kind of merit system. 

I love my cats because they, at some level they can't totally understand, want to live in my house and be my cats.  When they sit in my lap and purr, I forgive their numerous misadventures.  I clean their messes and remove their crap because their companionship is worth it. And sometimes, I like to just sit back and watch them do cat things, like chase bugs around or stretch out in the sun.

When my cats can't understand what I'm doing, sometimes I just have to ask them to trust me.  When they seem unsure, I hope that they'll somehow remember that I've never steered them wrong. 

I'll never be able to explain to them  how I'm different than they are, how they were created, or intricacies of the world beyond our house.

I can't give them everything they want, and they ultimately won't like it if I did.  But if they stay in my house and take what I do give, they'll ultimately have what they need. There will be good times and bad, but we'll go through it all together, and we'll comfort each other until the end.

I don't claim to understand God.  God is at least as far above my understanding as I am above the comprehension of my cats.

But when Heaven looks down on us, I can't help but think that we must look an awful lot like God's cats.