Our cat George is precocious, demanding and incorrigible.
George moved in with Jo and I (although he pays no rent whatsoever!) about a year ago after living with Joanna's sister Jodie for about a year before that. Prior to this, his story is a little less clear. It's possible he lived as a frat house mascot, spent time as a model for Cats & Kittens Magazine, or perhaps starred in a super-hero show on ABC about an unlikely and generally mild-mannered feline house pet. One thing we know for sure however, that a family locked him up in a shed (we discovered this later through craigslist) and after his escape he came to the sliding door of my parents home in the summer of 2009, pawing to come in.
And in he came, first to our home, and quickly into our hearts.
Still he's ruthless, intimidating, destructive and ... wonderful. Truly, he is the Marley and Me of cats. Although at times he's completely infuriating, other times he redeems it all through a sweet cry and rub against our leg. Even though he eats any flowers I buy for Jo, his incessant purring and sighs upon our lap confirms the truth of the whole debacle: as much as he loves and needs us, we're equally bound to him. Turns out he's a bit of an instructor as well.
Just yesterday I was up at 6, experimenting with a return to early mornings spent reading the word and praying for our family, the baby, all that is coming I can't see, and trying to align myself to a Source that is sufficient for the stress of a day on earth. Noble intentions - utterly confounded as George followed me from the bed and began his regular routine of ripping up carpet, sharpening his claws on the furniture, and tap-tapping things off the coffee table and hutch. Jo can tell you, I was so frustrated at the interruption that pens were flying his direction (though missing) and my hissing vilification of him was enough to wake her roughly 14 minutes before regularly scheduled.
It turns out he is quite the teacher indeed.
You could say I shouldn't have let it get to me, or that it's an exercise in controlling my temper. I know because in the moment I thought that too - taking deep breaths, trying to bend time like Neo from the Matrix, and who knows what else - to no avail. Twenty four hours later, I can mostly chalk it up to a loss of control, as humbling as that is. You know what I'm talking about, it's that part of you that longs for order and sanctuary like a Buddhist in his rock garden, sipping tea and smelling the wind... and reaching over to trim his bonsai tree every two years. Now really, is that so wrong?
Reality is, I've never been to a rock garden. I don't even have one of those little sand-things on my desk! Jo and I get ready in the rush of a single bathroom, drive to work in traffic, and bust our behinds all day long. When 5pm rolls around, we're lucky to have enough left over for a trip to the gym and dinner before our eyes involuntarily slide shut around 9:30. Sound familiar?
And yet, we're called to an existence of waiting patiently for the things that are to come. Not only are we not in control, but the earth itself is moving toward a new beginning, "as in the pains of childbirth." There is some of that in us too - a something that sees life as we know it as not quite right, that longs for things to be made perfect. God put that in us, but it's all too easy to let it work itself out in an unspoken standard of perfection in the here and now. We long for a easy commute, delicious meals each night, clothes that clean and fold themselves, cars that never break down, simple fixes, quick solutions... and even amiable, languid cats.
But we're not promised that life here; it may not come for another 10,000 years. In the meantime, I find some encouragement that each of these "hardships" points us in a way to a time when the longing in us and all of creation will be fulfilled. Even then however, it won't be our own control that takes over - thank heaven!
So Dr. George, thanks for the lesson. I'll see you in the morning.
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