Humor

---

For those of you who have feline-phobia -- stop reading NOW. I will not be held responsible for any psychological side effects!

That being said -- we have two cats living in our house. Lydia was rescued from under our front porch, born to a feral mama. She is an exceptionally beautiful calico, as well as the most elegant, agile cat I've ever known. She's also capable of bouncing off all 4 walls in a room in as many seconds. Her idea of affection is daring me to try petting her and then dashing away, laughing at my repeated stupidity. The other cat, Phoebe, was rescued by someone else and then given to us. She weighs about 127 pounds (oh, alright, 14), and has apparent short-term memory loss regarding when she has last eaten, because to her, every 10 minutes should be dinnertime. But she loves me with her whole heart, food or not. She curls up in my lap, wraps her front legs around my arms and gazes at me with true adoration. And if I don't make eye contact with her, she taps me on the face with her paw.

Two cats, both rescued by me, both loved by me. Lydia likes the benefits of living in a house, with food, warmth in the winter, toys and catnip. But the rare times she considers my existence, it's usually just to get something she wants. Even when she consents to be petted, there's always a look of suspicion, wondering what uncouth trick I'm about to pull on her. Phoebe, on the other hand, considers all the house benefits secondary to having her time with me, and she will chase me from room to room, until I sit down, so she can hang onto me and love me, and know that I love her back.

Two cats. One is an Isaiah 29:3 cat, giving "lip service." The other is a Deuteronomy 6:5 cat, who loves with all her heart. These two furballs are a constant reminder to me -- which kitty represents the kind of child I am to the One Who rescued me?

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE