Blessed Are the Kitties
As we prepare for Thanksgiving, Vicki reflects on her thankfulness for the feline beings that truly make her house a home and fill it with love and laughter.
When I was little, I had an intense passion for doggies. I felt a burning desire like none I had ever felt before to have a little puppy of my own. My second grade teacher had edited a series of nearly twenty books about different breeds of dogs, and I basically learned to read by reading every single one of them. It gets worse. Yes…I had imaginary doggies. In the summer, I would make tables of my fleet of imaginary doggies, listing out their names, gender, breed, and age. One summer I counted more than 100 imaginary doggies. (I was an only child.) In third grade, after lunch every day, my best friend, Molly, and I would go to recess saying a prayer that our parents would get us dogs. Molly eventually got a beagle. I got a fish tank.
My husband had similarly traumatic experiences being denied a puppy as a kid and being given instead gross, floppy, unfriendly, eat-my-own-babies fish. On our first “date” (the term for this outing is disputed in our household), I definitely remember a moment when he revealed to me his own desire to one day have a little dog, and I thought, “I want to marry this man.”
Once we got into our first parsonage, we suddenly realized that we were free! Our parents and landlords could no longer dictate the species-make-up of our family. It was time to go to the animal shelter. We discussed dog breeds, we looked up directions, we got in the car, and we were finally ready to get ourselves a puppy! Well…due to our dog-hating parents, neither of us had ever spent much time with dogs. As we walked into the animal shelter and found ourselves surrounded by big, loud, slobbering pit bull mixes, both of us began to come to terms with all that having a dog really meant, and we both had the same thought…having our hands one plastic bag away from the fresh, warm poo of an animal that was not tiny and human was just not for us. So we ventured into the cat room.
In November of last year we acquired our first kitty. We had already picked his name: “Hussein.” We picked his name on election night, after everyone on Facebook had changed their middle names to “Hussein.” We thought it would be a fun tribute to our fearless leader. (The anti-racism dork in me also thought that a cute, loving, little kitty might also chip away at any of our unconscious stereotypes about kitties named “Hussein.”) When we got Hussein, we were all ready to play with him and cuddle with him on our laps and hold him tight. Well, little Hussein hid under an old couch for several days, tolerating our curiosity, as we impatiently cut off the top of the couch so we could visit him. (We were pretty ignorant of how you are supposed to gradually introduce kitties to new houses.) Now, he is very comfortable in the house, but he is not the cuddling kind. He hates being picked up and never ventures onto laps. Hussein takes after his adoptive mother. He’s kind of uptight.
A few months ago, we decided to get Hussein a little brother. This one we named “Yatou” (pronounced yaw-toe), after…me! “Yatou” is what my parents used to call me when I was still under their roof. In Mandarin it means both “maid” and “duck head” (they told me about the “maid” part, but I had to find out about “duck head” on my own). It’s a little girls’ nickname, but kitty Yatou will never find out. As soon as we let him out in his training room (we did it better the second time around), Yatou immediately humped up his butt (“Pet me, please!”) and jumped up on our laps! Yatou and Hussein are as different as two little kitties can be. These little bros could be straight out of the kitty Bible—the younger brother definitely got all the charm, courage, looks, balance, discipline, speed, and first rights to the wet food.
When Yatou came home, we discovered a whole new side of Hussein—a side heretofore witnessed only at the vet while getting a temperature “probe”: hissing and growling Hussein! Oh, he was so mad. We kept them separated for about a week, and they were very angry kitties. But one day we just let them loose…and they sniffed…and then they chased…and then they played…and then they licked and wrestled…and now they do each other’s hair and have matching BFF bracelets!
It’s a beautiful thing to see two kitties, so different, named out of two different cultures, who once hated one another, finally come together in love and peace. It is just one more reminder of the kingdom among us.
Thanksgiving to you, O God, for family. Thanksgiving for covered litter boxes and plastic scoopers. Thanksgiving for superglue to repair broken things. Thanksgiving for blankets to cover scratched-up couches. Thanksgiving for scratchy tongues and head-butting kittens. Thanksgiving for all that makes a home. Amen.
I love the pictures, but more than that I loved the deceptively simple allegory of two cats who have stolen your heart. What wondrous love is this, indeed!
Vicki, I love your story of coming to “own” pet ownership. I have to say in defense of dogs, though–the human society experience CAN be overwhelming! It’s the pack mentality. I wonder if you’d feel differently about one nicely behaved dog in your home?!
So, which is which?
Thanks for talking not only about the relationship you have with the cats but the literal and metaphorical relationships they have with one another.
Awwwwww, I love it! Having always had cats (and various other pets) I too give thanks for all that it means to have pets as a part of the family and household. I will have to mention the BFF bracelets to my girls and see if that inspires them to be nicer to each other. 🙂 Thanks for sharing the sweet pictures, too!