A tale of two kitties

At the risk of adding “Crazy Cat Lady” to my growing list of labels, I will today admit that we have two cats. They are brother and sister, and their names are Bucky and Socks. Bucky was named after an ill-fated American Idol contestant by my children, and Socks – well, you get it.

They are indoor/outdoor cats, kind of like Astroturf carpeting. Much to my husband’s chagrin, they have made a huge hole in the screen of the sliding door in our bedroom and they come and go as they please. Bucky is brazen and nomadic, but returns home for meals and a long afternoon nap. Socks is far more conservative, and she hangs around at home.

I was at the church one Sunday afternoon, hosting a Newcomer’s Luncheon (don’t get me started about that), when my children ran into the café excitedly and said, “Mom! Can we please get two kittens? Daddy says it’s fine as long as it’s okay with you.” The hopefulness in my children’s eyes, coupled with the fact that twenty potential new church members were staring at me, forced me to refrain from shooting my husband the look I wanted to give him. It was entrapment and he knew it.

The kittens had been rescued from a neglectful and abusive situation (yes, rescued by another crazy cat lady) and somehow Steve heard about them needing a home. We already had a dog, multiple gerbils, a rabbit and a young man trying to detox off of Methadone living in the house – not too mention the five of us. What was two more?

At first, the kittens produced and experienced all sorts of tension. The dog was unsure of them and they were unsure of the dog. We heard a lot of hissing. With three children, but only two cats, there were moments when I thought the felines might be dismembered, but each managed to stay in one piece. The cats themselves were crazy about the gerbils, but a few of the little rodents had heart attacks as a result of the looming felines. A few escapees even met a worser fate, and the cats left little evidence for forensic experts.

The kittens kept their distance at first, watching from across the room, and nervously jumping when anyone made a sudden movement. They needed to approach us on their own terms and in their own time. After awhile, and our patient care, they discovered that they (and we) were safe. Who knows what they had experienced before becoming Melchior’s, but now I can’t get them to stop sleeping on my head at night.

Now, years later, these crazy cats have taught me so much about wounded people. I have a piece of paper on my fridge that says, “Challenging behaviors are messages of unmet needs.” When we’re hurt, we are fearful and jumpy and unwilling to trust and often difficult to love. I know I am. But, wow, what happens when the world becomes safe! I think that may be the Christian’s main job in the world, you know? Just make the world safe for people in the name of Jesus. Think about it. Wherever you go, how can you make the world safe for everyone you meet? Listen? Go slow? Feed a stray? Hold someone? Patiently answer questions that you find silly? Pray with the dying? Learn someone else’s language? Accept the unacceptable? Lavish praise on someone else? Give someone shelter?

There are challenging patches, but the Melchior menagerie has just decided to love and accept each other – making our house safe – even when one of us eats another.