An (already) well fed Blue Russian comes in for a snack showing off his collar and tag to the cats less fortunate.
A white cat with a bobbed tail nervously waits outside for a meal, but if I don’t see him he enters with great trepidation.
A beautiful little coon cat strides past the line, jumps in my lap, and demands food, drink, and petting.
Miss Kitty told them where to come for a meal, but she didn’t invite them to stay.
They assume it will be allowed…
I feed them, but I’m careful not to care for them.
I do not name them, because names given and accepted begin relationships
It’s too risky for me anymore.
Chester was unique…and we had a one of a kind relationship that is impossible to replace and difficult to endure its loss.
I still mourn him and miss him terribly.
I forget he’s gone sometimes and start to set up his dish the way he liked it.
Toys I think he would like are instinctively thrown in my shopping cart only to be removed at the checkout stand.
I make sure he has his own pillow, then remember why the pillow is empty.
I don’t ever want to feel this way again about another pet.
Still, they come.
They come not just needing a meal, but the comfort that comes from a meal prepared by someone who cares for them.
They come asking me to enlarge a broken and shrunken heart, to heal myself, and care for them.
They ask me to live life knowing that death is inevitable.
They demand I survive such by believing that resurrection is too.
Nothing like a Bible with fur…
The little coon cat is on my lap as I write this…her name is “Sam”.
Make your own application…