Some people are dog people and some are cat people.
I’m a cat person.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Like the fact that it seems more manly to be a dog guy.
But I am firmly in the cat camp.
There are some things about yourself, you just can’t change. Some things you are hardwired to be.
More than a decade ago, we adopted a white feline with black spots named “Lady”. That’s the name she came to us with, and she even had a couple of heart-shaped spots behind her back paws.
She was a sweet young thing. And naughty at times. More than few times. But at some point, she became fully grafted into the life of our family.
There she was for all of our family gatherings and a few vacations. She hopped onto the table during meals. She messed up pieces on our game boards and ate portions of our puzzles. She left messes everywhere—everywhere—nuff said.
Lady even made it into a couple of Christmas card pictures along the way, and she eventually possessed a good number of nicknames, for some reason.
Lades. Lady Ladester. Wady Wadester. You get the picture.
She was always underfoot and waking us up much earlier than we wanted.
And we loved her, one and all.
On a bleak day, back in April, I got a call from my sister. Our mother was not doing well. She likely only had a few days left to live.
I was sitting there on the phone, despairing … as sad as a person could be, when old Lady—arthritic Lady—jumped into my lap and curled up. Just as comforting as anything you can imagine. Like the spirit of God coming to rest.
I will never forget that moment. Or, if I do, you can remind me.
Of Lady. Our precious pet, who left us last week—went to sleep or passed away … however I should say it. We were sad to lose her.
But grateful too, for this small and tender blessing. One of many, from the Father.