In the spring of 2005, I got my first kitten. Now I married a man who came with two cats but they were never really mine. This was my kitten. Of course I let my Lizzy name him and so he was dubbed Fluffy. Fluffy the black cat. He was all mine.
I would bury my dad that fall and we would move to a larger house soon after that and at some point, Fluffy became an outdoor cat.
In the spring of 2006, we were waiting on word about my Mother-in-Law. She had Alzheimer's and the end was near. On Easter Sunday, still missing my dad terribly, we got ready to go to church. The phone didn't ring with any news about John's mom, so we packed into the car and were on our way.
As we turned onto the main road there it was. Our black cat was now a part of the pavement. I promptly began to cry as did our girls. John and Jack (who was only 5 at the time) were our pillars of strength. John pulled the car over and scrapped the cat off of the road, wrapped him in a piece of a garbage bag he found and put it in the back of the car.
We drove home and John put him on the retaining wall and asked what I wanted to do now. I told him we should go celebrate the Resurrection, because that is what we do when our hearts are broken...praise Him anyway.
Our pastors prayed with us, we cried the entire service and received hugs from friends over the lose of our cat. I quietly prayed: "This is crazy! But how? You know how important that cat was to me. I don't understand. Why now, in the middle of grieving over Dad and waiting to hear about John's mom! You knew...You knew...I just don't understand."
We drove home, knowing there would be no egg hunt, but rather a burial for a beloved cat...
We pulled into our driveway and as we got out of the car, I caught Elizabeth's eye...she looked like she had seen a ghost! I followed her gaze and what did I see...
FLUFFY!
Ack! A cat Resurrection or Pet Cemetery, one or the other! John quickly ran to the garbage bag he had wrapped the cat in...we quickly discovered there was still a very dead cat in there!
Yes, we had scraped the wrong cat off of the road.
We spent the rest of that Easter singing, "The Cat Came Back" song because, well he did.
In the middle of our grief God allowed a respite of laughter that has become not just family legend, but neighborhood lore.
By the end of that year, we had a new member of our household named Mr. Maghoo, AKA: the dog who ate Poughkeepsie.
Fluffy was not impressed with Mr. Maghoo and he left. He went missing for about two weeks when he showed up on my neighbors doorstep. Mrs. Neighbor (Maggie named her. It made sense. She is a "Mrs." and she is a Neighbor" ergo...Mrs. Neighbor) took in the mangy looking Fluffy for the next three years. He chose who he wanted to live with and he was the happy/fat cat who use to live here.
Long post short: Fluffy died today. I cried.
I know God used a cat to heal old wounds in my heart. Silly, I know. St. Francis I'm not...but it makes me sad non-the-less.
"But You, O Sovereign LORD, deal well with me for Your name’s sake; out of the goodness of Your love, deliver me. For I am poor and needy and my heart is wounded within me." Psalm 109:21,22
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