Do You Get Territorial?

My One-Eyed cat, Jack, taught me something else last night.  You can read his whole journey of healing here: Jack’s Story

Are you ready to see something strange and wonderful about these little cats?  Well, they each choose a child to “protect” in the night.  Louie curls up by the oldest daughter, and Jack guards the youngest.  Every night at bedtime, they assume their posts in each respective bedroom.  It’s been this way all year. 

Last night, the girls want to have a sleepover in the oldest daughter’s bed.  Jack innocently follows the youngest wherever she happens to be sleeping.  But Louie is the alpha male cat, and this is his territory.  Normally, he’ll hiss and claw at Jack if he even dares to approach the bed.

Jack has an assignment, though.  He’s on a mission to guard the youngest, so he dutifully curls up at her feet right next to where Louie guards the oldest.

A staring contest ensues.  Jack’s one eye doesn’t even blink. 

Finally, Louie recognizes Jack’s purpose here.  No fighting, no clawing.

As I tuck the girls in for the night, I realize that Jack has a specific role now that everyone acknowledges and supports.  And in the midst of this service, enemies are brought together.

There’s something more important than our need to control or our need to be territorial. Jack knows this.  He risked the danger to do what he was supposed to do.  And Louie let him, risking his own position and power. 

And in case you’re wondering where Snowflake serves in the midst of all this, well, she’s recovering from a Bridal Shower where she sat peacefully on the couch in a bridal veil.

And then she came to sleep at my feet. 

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Journal:  Am I afraid to do certain things because it’s someone’s “territory?”  Do I need to let others serve even if I think they are in my “territory?”

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The Next Step

My one-eyed cat, Jack, has taken another important step.  

Remember how wounded and sick Jack was?  How unattractive and miserable?   We brought him home and gave him all the love we could.   He’d lost his ability to purr.  He couldn’t even meow.  His whole kitty identity seemed withered and dying. 

Then one day, he found his purr again, deep and rich and wild.  We were petting him, and we heard the slow chug, like some distant train coming from a far-off country.  He’s purring!  Then, nearly a year into his recovery, he stood in the kitchen, proud and tall, and let out his first meow.  That kitty self was back. 

The One-Eyed Cat Serves

It gets even better.  Yesterday, I walk into my bedroom, and I see the once lonely and wounded kitty in a warm embrace.  He’s holding another cat.  He’s holding her still and bathing her face and the back of her ears!  As I watch this display, I realize that Jack’s journey has reached yet another point of healing. 

I snap a picture of him and think of what it means to care for somebody.  The once-wounded cat is now serving others.   

Living with flair means that we don’t stay wounded.  We press on, find ourselves again, and discover where we might serve.  Even if you’ve had a loss that changes how you see everything (and limits you), there’s hope towards a journey of healing-turned-ministry.  Maybe that’s the best kind.  Maybe Jack is particularly good at caring for other cats because he’s come back from the worst. 

The One-Eyed Cat and His Friend

Maybe I’m particularly good at helping folks live with flair because I lived without it for so long.  How could I not offer an embrace, hold you still for a moment, and speak out whatever words might help make today meaningful? 

 

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