The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.

~2 Peter 3:9 KJV

You came to me in a shoe box from Patti’s barn.

You were a feral kitten, afraid of your own shadow, and especially of mine. I held you in my lap as Daddy jerked the stick shift over the rough country roads. I turned you loose in a basement filled with greasy car parts, Mama’s washtub, and clutter. You made a mad dash for the cover of Daddy’s long workbench. I called, “Here Kitty, Kitty” and brought you a bowl of warm milk. You were tucked deep under the bench. I could barely see the white tip of your orange tail as you curled in the corner. “Here Kitty, Kitty.” You didn’t move a muscle.

I wanted to feed you, give you a soothing rub. I longed to hear your kitty purr. For hours I sat and waited. Sometimes I spoke soothing words but mostly I just called, “Here Kitty, Kitty.” You must have been hungry. Late in the evening, your green eyes shone in the shadows as they peered out into the darkening basement. “Here Kitty, kitty.” You retreated to your corner. Perhaps tomorrow, I thought, as Mama called me to supper. I slipped out the door and left you to your own devices.

In the morning, the bowl was empty. I brought fresh milk. “Here Kitty, Kitty.” You turned as if to sniff the fresh warm milk wafting on the musty basement air. You padded to the edge of the workbench. I must have moved. You quickly retreated to your corner. There I sat again, waiting hour after hour. Sometimes calling, mostly sitting, just letting you know I was there. You crept to peep from under the workbench again. Gingerly you placed one paw into the sunlight streaming from a window onto the cement floor. I barely breathed. Then you ventured another paw. Your eyes never left me, questioning the safety of the open space. You crept out to the warm bowl of milk that by now was only lukewarm. Your tongue lapped into the milk but your eyes were on me. I smiled and reached to touch your ruffled orange fur. You skittered back under the bench.

Another hour and you crept to the edge of protection again. When you came to the bowl, I sat still. I waited to hear a purr. When after a few slurps your motor began, I reached out again to touch, not to rub but to touch. Just the light touch of my hand on your back sent you scrambling again. This time it took only a few minutes and you returned to the bowl. I tried again when you cranked up your motor. This time you allowed my hand on your back. You allowed the light rub across your head. Your eyes were on the milk. A trust, a bond that belonged to no one but the two of us began.

You were a good kitty, using the litter tray I placed near your hide-out from the beginning. You didn’t climb or scratch or destroy. Dare I let you into the yard? Only when I could put you into my lap and hear you purr because of us, did I trust that the door could be opened.

You were a good kitty who came when I called. You caught the mice as your country mom had taught you. You scratched up trees to escape the dog or chase a squirrel. You wound around my tanned legs and rubbed your soft head against my hands. I fed you and played yarn-ball. You allowed me to dress you in doll clothes. I held you, read you stories, stroking your fur, and listening to you purr. You were my kitty, and I was your person. We bonded in a musty basement with a warm bowl of milk.

For he saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succoured thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation

~2 Corinthians 6:2 KJV

The Lord waits patiently for us, in a similar way as I waited for my feral kitty. He takes care of us, drawing us to Him. He desires that special bond with us. In 2 Corinthians, Paul writes, “For he saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succoured thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2 KJV).

Friend, today can be your day. Permit the Lord who loves and cares for you deeply, to draw close.

How has the Lord shown patience and reminded you that He wants you as His own?

Father God, thank You for loving me and waiting patiently for me to respond to your love.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hey Kids:

I hope you read my kitten story. Feral means it’s a wild kitten. It’s not used to having someone hold it or pet it. Have you had an experience with a pet? Try writing it down. I wrote my story several years ago. It wasn’t until today that the Lord showed me the connection between my kitten story and my life. We all run from Jesus. We don’t want to turn our lives over to Him because we want to be in control. When my kitten gave in to be my friend, we enjoyed a special friendship. Giving in to Jesus, and repenting of our sins will give us a special friendship with the Creator of the Universe and the Savior of our souls.

Genre: Non-fiction

Copyright 2021: Feral: Gail Cartee: All Rights Reserved


Gail Cartee: Feral — No Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

HTML tags allowed in your comment: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>