We have two cats, sisters, who have always been rather timid. When we first adopted them from the pound, they were terrified of us. They soon grew comfortable allowing the children to handle them, but it took much longer for them to not run and hide whenever an adult entered the room. One of them, Cry Baby, has gotten much less skittish in the three years we have had them. Tigger, always the more frightened one, has made progress, but not as much as her sister. She is much more relaxed around me, though, than she is around Keith, most likely because I am the primary one who feeds her.
In November, we moved from the only house they ever knew to my mother-in-law's while waiting to close on this home. It was not the best of arrangements, as it was smaller than they were accustomed to, and they were not allowed outside. They never really relaxed there. It was like they knew it was not their "forever home."
It took longer than we had anticipated, but we finally closed on this home in April (praise Jesus!!! I give Him all the glory, honor, and praise!!!). Any pet owner knows you don't let your animals out at a new home until they have become acclimated to the inside. The stress of everything may scare them off, and they may not know where to return.
Well, the bold cat, Amore, was ready to go out within days. It was a gradual thing, even with him, as this property is much larger than our old one and it's surrounded by trees, open fields, and perhaps more vocal wildlife than that to which he is accustomed. Amusingly, his first time out the back door was punctuated by a bird who seemed to be mocking and taunting him. He came running back in, hair on end, tail puffed out, clearly unnerved, at the very least. Keith and I laughed and narrated for him. Yes, at his expense. Hey, it was funny!
Over the next few weeks, the other cats have worked up the courage and followed suit, gradually expanding their territory in the great outdoors. Cry Baby has seemed to gain boldness from watching Amore's ventures and has become fairly adventurous in her own right. Last Wednesday evening, all four of our "old timer" cats went out the front door when I opened it. Abbey was only out for a few minutes before she returned to the safety of the inner sanctum. Amore stayed out all night, coming back in as we all left for work and school. Cry Baby and Tigger were still no shows, even after Tropical Storm Adrian moved through, pummeling the area with inches of rain. When I arrived home from work, I asked everyone if they had seen either cat, to which the answer was no. I made the comment that I would wait a day before looking for them. Both Keith and Keilley informed me that I should check the barn loft because they had seen Catfish, our hound dog, at the foot of the stairs barking when they arrived home.
When I fed the cats their first canned food in days and neither Tigger nor Cry Baby showed up, I knew for a fact they were not anywhere in the house. Since it was forecasted to rain more that evening, I caved and ventured out to look for Tigger. I wasn't overly concerned for Cry Baby, since she is so much more adept outdoors than is her sister. I was, however, a bit worried about Tigger's well being, so I grabbed a towel and headed to the barn.
The whole trip across the yard, I called, "Kitty. Kitty... Tigger..." in low, soft tones, intently listening for her sweet, unassuming meow. I continued calling as I carefully, quietly climbed the stairs to the loft, still listening out for her little voice. I crested the top of the stairs and softly crept into the loft, persisting in my gentle calls. I peered into dark, shadowy corners, onto crowded shelves, and beside the trashcan, continuing my calls, hoping to hear a return call. I had faith she was up there, bolstered by what my husband and daughter had told me, otherwise, I would not have stayed so long with no answer. Armed with the knowledge that Catfish does not just randomly bark combined with my awareness of Tigger's personality, I would not give up; I just knew she had to be up there, somewhere.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was closer to six or seven minutes, I heard it. It was tiny, but it was audible, and it was coming from behind me. I turned, fixing my eyes on the area from which I believed the sound had emanated. I called out, very softly and sweetly, "Tigger..." And there it was again. Her tiny, sweet, frightened meow. My heart leapt in my chest! Towel in hand (in case I needed it to wrap her in, to spare me from being clawed and shredded), I tiptoed across the wood planks toward the source. I called again, "Tigger," almost in a whisper, and she answered, louder than before. I was relieved, excited, happy, and nervously apprehensive, all at the same time. I cautiously approached, continuing my soft, comforting tones as I did so. Although I still could not see her, her meows enabled me to pinpoint her location. After moving a few items, I spotted her. She was tucked in a tiny triangular space atop a large cooler, behind another, and under the tin roof. When I moved the smaller cooler, exposing her, she panicked and ran to another hiding place, but I did not give up. I had found my prize! I kept speaking sweetly to her, even as she desperately tried to hide. I kept my distance, but I kept closing the gap. I followed her wherever she went, always calling, speaking, comforting, reassuring her. Finally, she came out, exhibiting clearly submissive behavior (I know cats), but still fighting her intense fear. Each time I would reach for her, she would move out of my reach, never ceasing to meow. I knew she was grappling with her instinctual drive to run, run, run, but I also knew she needed rescue. After all, she had never been up stairs before, and I'm sure she had not yet taken the time to figure out how to climb back down. She was hungry and had most likely been traumatized by the extreme weather, especially if she had been up under that tin roof during the downpours! She knew I had never hurt her and she knew the few times I had managed to touch her or pick her up, there had been a reward afterward, yet she was fearful. I made a sort of sudden move to catch her and she hid, growing quiet. The silence was deafening.
I cried out to Jesus. Yes, I did. He cares even about the little things. I asked Him to please give me a strategy to capture my sweet kitty. I heard Him say, "Meow to her." I know. You are probably laughing, or at least chuckling a bit (I did, for a split second), but I did it. I meowed. Immediately upon hearing my meow, she replied. So I meowed again, and she again replied, louder this time. Again, I meowed. She meowed back and ventured out from her hiding place, a little more at ease than before. We continued this exchange until, finally, she allowed me to pick her up. I didn't even have to use the towel! (It was a last resort, anyway.) I could tell she was still scared, but she had surrendered, and remained calm the entire time I carried her down the stairs (that was the part that had me really nervous). I could sense her fear, but she had somehow stifled it, or someone had. I spoke gently to Catfish before we reached the bottom of the stairs, telling him to stay away, and he minded. I kept reassuring Tigger the whole long walk through the barn, across the yard, up the stairs onto the deck, and into the house, where I finally let her down.
Wow. Sweet victory! For both of us! Can you see a picture of our Lord and Savior in this? I couldn't help but make the correlation. He pursues us, to the ends of the earth, no matter how well we have hidden ourselves, no matter how frightened we are, no matter how we think we don't need Him, He pursues us. He is relentless in His desire to bring us home. He calls to us, sweetly, softly, gently, drawing us out of ourselves, out of our fears, out of our hiding places... He does not give up on us! He cannot. He knows where we are and He meets us there. He speaks our language, a language we can understand. He does not quit and walk away when we reject Him. He knows what we need. When we finally surrender to Him and His love, He wraps us in His arms and holds us close to His heart, loving us and continuing to talk to us. He carries us and leads us to the place He would have us be.
Some of you may be saying, "Okay, that's a stretch." But is it? Really? How long has He been calling you and how long have you been running? How far away from Him do you think you are? Can I tell you something? You are not so far away that He will not come looking for you. You are never so far away that He will forget about you. Maybe you don't know Him at all. Maybe you have never asked Jesus into your heart, to be your Lord and Savior. You can do it! No matter what "cooler" you have found to hide behind, what dark attic you have taken refuge in, say the name of Jesus and He will move mountains to be with you, to pull you out, to bring you home.
