You never know when your life is about to change; it just happens. You're going about your day to day routine, then suddenly, as you're walking past the greenhouse, you look down and see a kitten huddled behind the door, all hunched and cozy in the sunlight. A Siamese kitten, with a beautiful smokey little face and ears.
She sat there, unafraid; a good sign, and she didn't run away when I knelt down to speak to her. I'd never seen her before, and as far as I knew, she'd never seen me, either! But at that moment, we began the intricate dance of moving from strangers to friends. She knew she liked me the moment I scratched behind her ears.
"That man knows how to do an earicure!" she must have been thinking, as she positioned herself for more.
I petted her and released her, assuming she was a neighbor's cat, and would be gone the next time I saw her. But hours later, she was still there. Same spot, same position.
I pointed her out to my wife, when she got home from work. It went from, "I wonder whose cat she is?" to, "I think she might be a stray..." to, "I think she's trying to adopt us!" to, "Do you think God is trying to send her to us?"
Now you have to know my wife. After 35 years of marriage, and raising three kids and one husband (who's only about half raised), a dog, several cats, a couple of rabbits and assorted hamsters, lizards and other life challengers, she was all done with pets! No more! One husband too many already ... no more!
The kitten, I'd have to say she was a "spring kitten", probably no more than five months old, judging from her size, was not in the best of shape. She moved slow, and seemed sick. She sneezed a lot. We tried to ignore her; maybe she would get tired and go away. Go back to her home, wherever that was. She moved into our garage overnight. The next morning when I went out there, I was startled to see her laying on an old tablecloth I had covering up some of my canvases. I felt sorry for her; she hadn't gone home, she had no home, she was hungry. I went and got her a little cream. She lapped at it, but couldn't drink it all.
Later that day, she was still hanging out by the garage. I feed her some chicken scraps. Her appetite still was not normal. "Maybe she goes home to eat. Someone else must be feeding her," ventured my wife, "because she doesn't seem that hungry!"
Over the next two days, she was still hanging around, sleeping in the garage overnight, and hanging around the back door like a hobo waiting for a hand-out. Then she began to show some interest in coming indoors. I let her in for short visits, to see how she would behave. My wife was not happy. "I don't want another cat!" she protested. She'd call the animal shelter, she'd check around, send out a mass email. "Anyone want to adopt a stray kitten? She's Siamese ...?"
No takers, thanks just the same. Even the animal shelter; "We're full up; no room in the inn." I had to go away for a few days on a trip; my wife said that if she couldn't find her a home, then maybe I could keep her. You see, I love cats, and have always owned them or wanted to. The last cat we had, Bart, was a Siamese mix; all black like his black cat father, but all lean and long like his Siamese mother. He was a good cat, well house trained and respectful of my wife's things (like her Christmas tree, which made him especially good!) But he wandered off on one of his evening strolls, and never returned. We never learned what happened to him, but at the time he went missing, there was a rash of missing cats in our town. Someone was criminally stealing cats, to what purpose, we never found out.
I returned home from my trip, and Sasha was still there. "If we take her, you're paying for everything!" said my wife, over and over. "Allright," I agreed.
A week had now gone by, and the moment of decision came. My wife reluctantly agreed. "I guess we can keep her." I knew she must be feeling sorry for her, at least a little. So I went around town, purchasing the necessary things, and returned home. I brought the kitty in, and announced the good news. She didn't seem that surprised.
We now began to discuss name options; what shall we call her? "How about Smokey?," I said. "No, we need a feminine name," answered my wife. Later, she thought of one. "What about Sasha? I kind of like that name."
"Yeah, Sasha; that's a good name," I replied. Also a good omen, I thought, that she was the one to name her. And so Sasha stuck. She's still trying to learn it, as well as a few other house rules, such as "No scratching on the Furniture!" and "No scratching on the Oriental Rug!" and "No pooping on the Carpet!", which, if she doesn't learn to do soon, will endanger her room and board arrangements! "I don't know if we can keep her ..." is a daily mantra from my wife; but she still hasn't found it in her heart to put her out.
The funny thing is; Sasha follows her everywhere. She's under her feet in the kitchen, she's in her coupon clipping, she even spent forty-five minutes in my wife's lap while she was outside trying to fill up water balloons for a Sunday School lesson. Sasha insisted on cuddling up with her; would not be dismissed! I think that was the one that won my wife over!
Now she sits with her on the couch, and sleeps with her in bed, cuddled right up next to her head. She thinks she's her Mom. She knew, she must have known who she had to convince that she belonged with us!
The truth is, Sasha adopted us. Plain and simple. We didn't adopt her, we weren't looking for a cat, my wife had made it plain that I would have to "get over it" about wanting a cat. It was her turn now; no more animals. But I wonder if God did send her to us? One of His little helpless creatures, who needed a home and a family and companionship? Sasha is the most cuddly cat I've ever had; she loves to be social, she sits with us for movies, she needs us! And I'm reminded that the Bible says, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, ..." and I believe God knows what's best. He sent a wonderful little stranger to our house, and now Sasha has a home.
At least, until she does one wrong thing too many, and my wife's sympathetic intincts give way to her pragmatism!
Pray for Sasha.
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