Me Me MEEEooooow.
Loud, soft, constant, intermittent. No matter what the variation my cat only screams one thing: “Listen to meeeeee. I neeeeddd. And I neeeeed neeooooow. Serve meeeee NOW.”
Most of the time I know exactly what he wants: that perfect ear scratch, that comfortable spot on my lap (or computer), or maybe the door opened to his napping chamber. And most of the time he gets what he wants. (One notable exception are those 0’dark thirty early morning yowls that have me sending sock bombs his way to get my point across.)
However, there is one cry that has us frustratingly baffled: our senior feline meows for food that’s already in his bowl. Crying and carrying on, he moans until we follow him to his place setting and assure him: “Yep, there it is.” (At which point he always happily eats. Again.) …Um, was he not there when his yowl brought food to his bowl in the first place? And was he was not there a mere 5 minutes ago, when he purred and chowed and pretended life was cool? And was he not there the THIRD time we escorted his highness to his dish to show him that yes, in fact, his feast was still there, awaiting his presence?
(Could he possibly have Kitty Alzheimers? Not even kidding here.)
Yes, I know –in more ways than I care to admit — I’ve been duped. But lest you totally thing I’m that typical cat person. I’m not. My dad did a thorough job making us a “We hate cats” family. And quite honestly I will always choose a slobbery, devoted dog over a finicky, aloof cat. But somewhere between high school and adulthood I found myself short on canines, and in desperate need of a furry beast to pet my way through a crisis. And somewhere between despair and more tears, my sister’s deaf dingbat feline wormed her way into my heart, and I became a reluctant cat love…er…tolerater. Okay, so I’m not all cat mushy but over the years I’ll admit: there’s something obnoxiously endearing — and all too suspiciously familiar– about these “me” creatures.
Which brings me to today, because in the midst of a very one cat-sided conversation, I suddenly wondered:
Do my prayers sound all the same to God? Loud, soft, constant, intermittent and no matter what the variation, do they all say: “Listen to meeeeee. I nEEEddd. And I neeeeed neeOOWW. Serve meeeee NOW”? Do I wander through this world with seemingly the same request, trying to lead God by my little string of commanding persistence to show him what’s the matter? Does He sometimes lovingly throw sock bombs my way just to make his answer clear? Do I yowl at a full dish, thinking my cry and his showing up, have made it somehow magically appear … when it was there all the time?
And seriously, when all is said and done, doesn’t God show up anyway, just like me … simply because I love the stupid cat?
Me (eeowww) thinks so. (Isn’t that just so purrrrrfect?)