I'm on a steep learning curve. And it's sprinkled with cat hair. For nearly a month now, this sweet moggie has found refuge in the garden at Crabapple House. At first I shooed him off, thinking he'd lost his way. You have to understand, I'm naturally afraid of cats. But he returned each day, keeping company with the five pampered chickens in our yard. When I found him in the hen house, I knew the poor thing must be a hungry stray. So I stepped out of my comfort zone.
I fed him. And fed him some more. Before I knew it, I was less afraid, and his head rested on my foot in gratitude. And it's not moved far in the days since.
Making his adoption complete, our new friend now has a name. Gilbert, after a favourite character from Anne of Green Gables. (Sometimes we even call him Gilly, which I'm sure would please one Aussie cricket loving gal I know, a great admirer of the retired Adam Gilchrist.)
And here's something else I've discovered since I became a cat lady. Until the Victorian era, a domesticated cat's chief occupation was keeping granaries free of mice. But when Queen Victoria adopted two blue Persians, the fashion of keeping felines overtook the fascination with opera house lapdogs... and as pet-loving people, we've never looked back.
But I'm here to remedy that with every meal, play, and scratch of his neck. Today, I even threw a ball of wool into the mix. I'm sure our afternoons will never look the same. Such fun, this unravelling and knotting of my garden in tangled threads.
Yes, this God delivered kitty-cat is here to stay. A reminder of how God hears the unspoken longing of our hearts and draws us into relationships of his making.
Does your lap hold a sweet pet? Where did you find your loved one?
Blessings for a wonderful weekend,
