In February, I wrote here about the loss of our dear family member Gato: about how he was a cautious animal whose whole story we did not know, who became a successful kitty with a home and a family who loved him, and thus did as well as a cat may.
All the love we poured into our relationship with him—and before him, T.R. and his brother Gordon—is an emotion whose existence demands outlet. As my character Jon Anthony said, we have love, hate, and indifference to choose. Only love’s work is life.
So it was inevitable that when the Editress, seeing signs of lonely nervousness in our remaining furbuddy Leo, we would adopt again. Through a worthwhile agency and no-kill shelter nearby, we asked for one of the cats who needed someone most. And we met Freddy.
He spent fifteen months there, shut in a small room with one other companion, as noisy families tromped through looking for someone to adopt. He huddled. He hid. He was grasped in ways he didn’t like to be transported and put on display for adoption, and doubtless hated every bit of it because he was terrified. Freddy wasn’t good at selling himself to prospective families, and when we saw what had happened to him it broke our hearts.
I managed to sit with him while the Editress looked over some other candidates. Freddy’s nose buried itself in the crook of my arm to make the overwhelming world go away. I heard and felt him purr for the first time under the strokes of a loving hand.
That was Leap Day. This is springtime. It’s said transition to normalcy in an adopted pet will take place in stages: three days, three weeks, three months. We’re not there yet. Freddy loves Leo, but remains terrified of being seized by humans, because his memories there are bad. He’s missing out on laps and cuddles and kisses, and we’re trying to teach him. We’ll keep trying.
He’s missing out because he doesn’t understand how to cat here. Fear is dominating his perspective, and it’s frustrating to those who love him. Love keeps trying. Like water, it seeps into every opening it can find, driven by its patron spirit. Hate employs harsher methods of implanting itself, for that patron is impatient to advance works of death, and trips over itself in its lust for destruction. Sometimes, it backs off to let the dry rot of indifference work from within instead, but in the long game, the effect of either strategy is the same.
Hate tries to hide. Not like Freddy did out of fear, but with the same strategy any predator employs: to overcome with a minimum of effort once opportunity manifests. It hurts the vulnerable and oppresses the hopeless until, it schemes, God’s work of life will be crushed to dust under the weight of engineered temporal adversity.
To the enemy’s misfortune, we are surrounded by the testimony of Creation as to the work of its Craftsman, and His light is everywhere, cutting through the darkness cast by His adversary; they contest for souls through the messaging of two patron spirits. One tells us, “Stop trying to understand. This was meaningless at the start.” The less brash offers, “Your perspective is not yet broad enough to discern My purpose.”
The latter’s seed of hope can find good ground through a crack in concrete, root, grow and spread its prison into space for a life. So it goes in a work driven by love, and love keeps trying while the hate fueling works of death consumes it bearer, sputters, and dies. It’s as true in microcosm as it has been in history, and shall be through the millennium to come.
The Editress is slowly working her way with Freddy, grasping and partially lifting him during the time he consents to be petted, soothing his fears, accustoming him to closer human contact and preparing him for wonderful things just ahead. She is patient that way. Her work is also life, as I’ve seen for the best part of forty years to my benefit and that of everyone she touches.
We are learning to cat, and learning to human. We are being educated to accommodate The Way Things Are and how to hear advice whispered by the voice of the Spirit. We are learning ourselves and delving deeper into the sufficiency of Christ. Because love elsewhere didn’t stop trying, we now understand more than we did, and give God the glory.
Choose to love. -DA
In production news, the Editress is finishing preparatory reading prior to this month’s launch of her editing cycle for Sean Ritter’s next release, Twenty-Four Hours to Midnight. Please check the tabs above for more information on existing titles, works in progress, and the timelines that will help you decide how you wish to read Jon, Sean, and Boone.