Equinox, aka Eecky, has been our cat for 15 years. We found him and his 3 brothers and his feral mom, (who we named Lulu), behind our house. I did not want cats or kittens. My daughter wanted them very, very badly.
Our daughter prayed for a kitten even though I told her that no matter what she prayed we were not going to have one. (She had prayed for a baby sister and I found myself pregnant at the age of 45, and delivering a healthy baby girl at the age of 46–so she knew God heard and answered prayers. )
When her baby sister was 2 years old, God answered my daughter's prayers for a kitten. He brought her 4! There was one for each of my kids, with my oldest and youngest sharing a cat. (My oldest was 17 and would be leaving home in a year–and my youngest at age 2 was a little young to take care of a cat.) (You might be wondering why I agreed to keep them--it is because our family loves babies of all kinds--and once we saw them--they won us over.)
My one stipulation was that they could not be indoor cats–they would have to stay outside. (At the time, some of our family had allergies to cats.) They were all, "fixed" when they were of age, and had their shots. Lulu would go to a nice farm, as within a few months, she was already expecting another litter of kittens.
Eecky was gray with light gray and black markings and the most feral of all the cats. He loved being outside, and he was a fierce hunter. He was very skittish around people–but he knew we were his people, and he would come around us. He meowed very loudly to get our attention, and willingly let us pet him.
About 5 years ago, we discovered he had FIV, (like HIV but in animals). He came inside to live.
Eecky was very skittish when he first came inside, and not very well-mannered. He would jump up on the kitchen counters, and he would claw furniture. I would tell him, "No"---and he would cock his head like he was hearing me, and then he just stopped. Eecky was a very smart cat.
A few months ago, Eecky began demanding attention from me–demanding to be petted. He wanted me to put down whatever I was working on, and spend time with him. He would crawl into my lap, when I was sitting down and stick his head under my hand and move it around as if to say, "come on, pet me." Then he would purr as I pet him.
A few times I would be in the middle of something and I would be a bit impatient with him. "Eecky–I need to finish this, you'll have to wait." But then I would remember—maybe Eecky was trying to tell me something, and I would pet him.
I've heard that cats in nursing homes will go and lay on the person who is going to die, (they actually did a scientific study of this), and yes—there is something to it.
So when Eecky started spending all this time with me—-I thought—Maybe I am going to die soon–and Eecky is trying to be with me.
However, it wasn't my death–it was Eecky's. Eecky had a stroke, (deep vein thrombosis), and he lost the ability to use his back legs. His body started shutting down and rotting away. We had him put down on September 18th–the day after Sean's death.
Somehow—Eecky's stroke and decline became woven in with the grief I had over losing Sean–and I bawled and cried and howled and grieved over Eecky the cat.
This isn't the first time a pet we have had–helped us to grieve the loss of Sean.
Our son gave us a beagle puppy, for Christmas a few months after we lost Sean. This puppy became my daughter's special dog. This beagle–named Snoopy, (Sean loved the character Snoopy)--died when he was 4 years old. We still don't know what he died of–the vet could never figure it out. My daughter and I sat in the animal hospital, crying and crying and crying. (I missed my cousin's wedding, sitting with this dog–in the animal hospital, besides my precious daughter) feeling in some way like I was losing my son all over again.
I have come to look at these events as things that God uses to relieve us of toxic emotions, built up inside of us.
I grew up stuffing my emotions, eating my emotions—not listening to them, and not processing them in a healthy way.
Our animals and the love they show us—such unconditional love—and the loss we experience when they leave—that has really helped me to grieve—to do the work of grieving–to not shut it out—because it hurts so badly—and connected to that—to not shut God out—-because God can go into the pain–like no one else can—and He can heal it–He can comfort. But first, He touches it—and that hurts—the touching of it hurts.
Thus, I draw back. Thus, I shut down. God is gracious. (That's what the name of Sean means–God is gracious.) God is gracious. He finds a way to touch my pain, to draw it out, and relieve it. God is so gracious.
This is a particularly long blog for me—telling stories of my pets—but all my stories point to the One who makes and creates us—to the One who loves us–to the One who grieves with us.
He hasn't left us in our pain alone–He is with us. God is with us. God is gracious. God is gracious!!
May We Be Encouraged!
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