For the last several days, Dad, Mom, Trissy, and I have been getting ready to have a bunch of the college gang from church over for a bonfire tonight. It's been going well, but we've been working on preparations for days now, and we're all getting pretty tired. And when you get tired, sometimes you get grumpy, and sometimes you do things you regret later.
Last Thursday night, one of our kittens (well, he's not really a kitten any more... more like a half-grown cat), Jack, was partly run over. He wasn't killed, thank the Lord (maybe it seems silly to thank the Lord for sparing a cat, but our animals are special to us, as far as animals go, and the Bible says He cares for the little creatures He has made). Jack was evidently laying next to one of our van's tires when Mom pulled it into the garage for the night. He's half deaf, and must not have heard the motor start up, and Mom forgot to blow the horn before she started. I was brushing my teeth when I heard her calling me, almost frantically, from the back door - Dad and Trissy were gone to help The Grandparents to bed. When I got out there, she said she'd forgotten to blow, and she felt a bump, and heard a cry. When she got out, she saw Jack stumble out of the garage and under the edge of the big pampas grass bushes growing by the patio outside. She was afraid to go look at him. We went out together, and there he was, laying under the over-hanging grass. He usually likes to lay there during the day anyway, and must have sought shelter there. Mom stood back as I went towards him, talking to him soothingly. He looked perfectly normal. But he just looked at me as I came toward him, like he was in a daze. He didn't purr like he usually does when he sees us. I picked him up carefully - I didn't know how bad he was hurt internally, but I didn't know how else to move him - and he pressed his face into the crook of my elbow. We took him into our mudroom and put him in a cardboard box with old towels in it Mom had washed to use as rags. Mom was almost in tears, and I felt about as bad for her as I did for him.
He wouldn't stay still in the box. He seemed confused and kept moving around trying to get comfortable, but he couldn't move his back legs - he just sort of pulled himself around with his front ones. The box was small, and he finally settled down a little bit. We kept stroking his furry head, and he'd nuzzle our hands, but he still didn't purr. And when he'd look at us, it was almost as if his eyes were innocently asking, "What's happening? I don't understand. Can you help me?" It sounds silly maybe, but it was sad - we knew he was hurt, but we didn't know how to help him, except try to keep him still and warm. And he was so brave - for a little cat.
Mom finally had to go to bed, but I wouldn't go until I'd heard him purr - that somehow seemed important. He's always purring and loves being held and petted; he's so, almost cheerful all the time. Cats in general just seem to be so stuck up.
I kept talking to him and petting his head for quite a while, and finally he purred just a little bit at me. When I left him, he seemed somewhat calmer, but Mom and I both got up during the night to check on him.
The next morning he seemed about the same, maybe a little stronger. We kept him in the box in the mudroom most of the day, then moved the box into the garage so that Murphy, our other little cat, could 'keep him company' and so that he could go outside if he wanted.
He gradually improved so that he could hobble a little bit on his back legs, but the step into the garage was a challenge for him, and he would hardly eat for several days. We fed him cat food soaked in milk, hoping that would be easier on his insides, because it seemed impossible that he wouldn't have internal injuries.
Now he seems almost back to normal - at least it's obvious he won't die from the incident. He's still pretty thin, and still sits kind of funny; instead of sitting on his back legs like cats or dogs usually do, he props himself up on his front legs, and his back half sort of lays stretched out on his side.
So when you're tired and grumpy, sometimes you do things you regret later.
Like snap at people who don't deserve it. We were all tired from the work of getting ready to have company, and I got snapped at, and I didn't deserve it. One of the hardest things for me to do is to take undeserved criticism with a gracious attitude. I'm working at, in return, simply keeping my mouth shut and not responding.
We needed ice, and I was asked to drive a couple of miles to the place and get some. Trissy was supposed to go with me to help me, but then maybe she wasn't, then maybe she was... I was tired and confused and irritated and just wanted to be by myself to 'cool off' anyway, so I just left. That is, I got into Tilly (my car) and started to pull out, then Trissy came out and got in anyway, and Mom told me to let her go with me. So I didn't have much choice.
You don't need to know all the unhappy details. Let's just say it wasn't a very pleasant trip to go get ice.
And personally, I returned in no better frame of mind than when we'd left.
I knew I needed to get over feeling sorry for myself, but I was hurt and angry and not sure immediately what the practical and honorable way to handle the situation was. I was hating myself, and very much not liking Trissy at the moment.
I went to the garage. Jack was laying on the rug in front of the mudroom door and looked up and 'meowed' at me as I walked up. Whether it was a greeting, or a complaint, I don't know, but it didn't really matter at the moment.
A sharp retort sprang to my tongue. I started to let out part of my bad temper on this little cat. He was just a cat, with no worries, who got to lay around all day, or do whatever he wanted, to his heart's content! What right did he have to complain and cry at me?!
But before I spoke, even as these accusatory words formed in my head, they accused me. What right did I have to complain compared to him?! He was just an animal, but still - I'd not been run over by a car and had my legs half-paralyzed. I'd not had so much trouble eating and drinking that I looked almost like skin and bones. I'd not had those things happen to me, and yet get up and get over it and keep going without crying about it.
I remembered his bewildered but patient look of trust that night, as he lay in the cardboard box. How he pressed his furry head into our hands as we tried to sooth him. How when he purred at us, we knew he was too brave to die.
Just a little cat, yet a creature God made. And one He certainly could use to teach another of His creatures - me - a humbling lesson.
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