Simba Knows | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Simba Knows | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kenn Love
05/20/08
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES

When I opened the front door one rainy October night in 2000 to bid my wife adieu so she could begin the night shift, from under our daughter's car, two tiny bodies emerged squalling with wide eyes and pink mouths. The short-haired kitten immediately made for the seemingly proffered open door, gave me a sensible squawk on the way by, and curled itself into the smallest ball I'd ever seen on the couch, falling instantly asleep with a fading motorboat purr. The other kitten, a longhair, required a bit of coaxing but acquiesced without much effort. It however, went under the couch, mewling pathetically.
In the past, I'd always been suseptible to the charms and the needfulness of strays, making sure they followed me home, whether on foot or by car, but these relationships never lasted for one reason or another. The two kittens were different. They had found me. At that time, even though I was married and had a job and house and truck, I was the stray, lost in my world of drugs, lies, sin. The prodigal son, the wandering sheep seperated from the ninety-nine, the poster child of a lover of my own sin. At least kittens could, with little coaxing, take care of themselves, something I should have learned from them, but didn't.
I spanked them voraciously when they were "bad". I took the time to love on them when I felt they deserved it. I changed the litter box only after succumbing to my wife's repeated supplications to do so. I longed for the unconditional love of a dog. The longhair grew up wary of my shadow, unable to procure a desire for lap affection. Somehow, Simba, the shorthair bonded with me in a way that leaves cats their trademark enigma, their devotional disinterest.
These sweet days I grasp today, Simba and PK (the longhair) also seem to be born again along with me. Without any professional help, they are both healthy, playful, active, affectionate. They seem to exude a peace about them, even taking into sublime consideration the near-constant presence of my two-year-old granddaughter, who doesn't yet differentiate the handling of a stuffed animal with the real thing. Simba will enter my writing room, place his two front paws on my leg, and tap me with the right one. It looks as though he may just want attention, but I seem to think sometimes that it's a little more than that. Maybe an attaboy. Maybe a how's it going. Maybe he's just making sure that Jesus Christ is still my top priority, and that he ranks as a close second. I don't know for sure. But Simba knows.

PREVIOUS ENTRY | NEXT ENTRY
SUBMIT YOUR ENTRY FOR THIS WEEK'S CHALLENGE

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.

If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE

JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.