Treasured morning snuggles

 

After hours of searching on foot, calling shelters, driving ever so slowly down nearby streets, praying, crying, and finally knocking on almost every door on my street to show them a picture of my missing kitty, I walked the final stretch of my street toward home with a stiff, terrified kitty in my arms. And so much relief in my heart.

I think I knocked on at least 20 doors, met neighbors I've sadly never met before (very nice people, by the way), and as I stood waiting for someone to answer at one house, I noticed a man arrive home with his children at the next house. I almost decided not to bother them because they'd just gotten home, but then I changed my mind, knowing I had to try every single house. They had a larger porch area than most, uncovered, with absolutely nothing on it, except for an old t-shirt thrown in the corner by the wall.

I knocked and heard one of the kids say, "Who could that be?" The dad answered, "I have no idea."

When the man opened the door, I introduced myself as their neighbor from down the street, and I showed him a picture of my kitty and said, "I lost my cat."

He glanced at the corner of his porch, and said, "That one?"

I said, "What one?" Then I saw where he pointed to the corner by the wall, under a dark t-shirt, two little eyes buried in black fur looked out into space, not even at me. He little body didn't even move. I wondered immediately if he was dead or dying, and if they just laid him in the corner, not knowing what to do with him." 

I knew those little eyes immediately, and as relieved as I was to see him, my heart sank thinking he might not make it. Especially when he didn't respond at all to seeing me or hearing my voice. My little kitty, normally full of boundless energy and personality, sat there in the corner stiffly, completely unresponsive. The man said he'd been sleeping there all afternoon and hadn't moved, so they put a t-shirt over him to keep him warm.

I rushed over to him and asked, "Is he sick?" 

He said he didn't know, that he tried to feed him some food (some fish), but he wouldn't eat.

I said, "Yes, this is my cat." I had some of his treats in my hand, so I put them down for him, but he didn't budge at all. He just looked at them. So I scooped up his trembling body in my arms, and he remained in a stiff little ball, still completely unresponsive to me. 

The man looked apologetically at me and said, "I'm sorry. If I had known he was yours', I would have given him to you." Super nice people.

I thanked him and walked away with my baby in my arms, just hoping he wasn't terribly sick or hurt. After we passed a house or two, he finally started to loosen up a little and lifted his head as I walked. I was just so thankful to have ended my pursuit having found him, walking back home with my precious little kitty. I wondered if I might need to call a vet as soon as we got home.

As we walked up the path to our house, he didn't feel so stiff anymore, and by the time we reached our door, he immediately started to squirm, so anxious to get inside. I set him down, he sniffed a few things around him, and then he quickly scarfed down the treats I put on the floor for him. I fed him his canned food, and he ate it up right away. I gave him a bath and snuggled with him in front of the heater while his fur dried. 

He jumped up on his favorite spot on the couch, curled up by a blanket, and slept there for the next several hours. He moved about a bit more slowly than normal, but by evening, he was meowing again and purring like crazy, When it was time for bed, he snuggled up in his normal spot on a sleeping bag tucked behind my bed on the windowsill, and we fell asleep together like always. 

This morning when I set down my coffee and he jumped up into my lap, I held him and snuggled with him just a little bit longer, so thankful to have him back home, so thankful for the way God guided me to that house at just the right time. Had I gone there even just a few minutes earlier before they had gotten home, I may not have even noticed little Boots over in the corner under the dark t-shirt. And he was obviously so traumatized by that point that he wouldn't have responded to me. 

I think God might be telling me to stop taking those tender moments (and those that I love) for granted. This comes on the heels of not being able to get in touch with someone I care about very deeply (my son's biological brother) for over two months, and finally hearing from him on Thursday of this week. It also follows after my husband and son being gone for three solid weeks, in an area that had very spotty cell-service, so we had very minimal communication at times over those three weeks. No lie, I really struggled emotionally as each day and week passed. I held my husband's arm a little tighter as he sat beside me in church last night. I communicated with my son through texts a little more purposefully while communicating about my search for the cat. I made sure to take the time to respond with more emotion and detail to my other son's brother, who I'm so thankful to be back in contact with after two months of not knowing anything about him.

I absolutely despised the stress of not being able to reach the ones that I love so dearly, kitty included, but I will admit that I treasure them a bit more now that I had to live without them briefly.