December 8, 2014
It was a beautiful fall day. The kids had promised Dad they’d get ALL the
leaves raked. He got home and it wasn’t done, so after dinner, despite the fact
that it was already dark, they donned headlamps and went out to rake together. A
thin little stray cat came up and mewed pitifully. Being the tenderhearted
people they are, they just
had to get her a bowl of warm milk.
She lapped it up so quickly that they just
had to get her
another. And some food. They played with her and adored her and named her.
“Starry” after the starry night on which they discovered her and her black fur
with a few little white specks. I was appalled, knowing that the cat would now
be hanging around begging for more. Indeed she did. She lingered right by the
door step and slipped inside repeatedly when I wasn’t vigilant enough to get
past with the two little ones and hauling Oli in the car seat. Elodie kept
warming up milk while I wasn’t looking and sneaking food to the little stray. Oh
dear.
Dad and the kids began begging me to let them adopt her. The fact that I’m
allergic was not enough to deter them; she’d be an outside cat, they assured.
Please, no, I have enough little creatures to take care of—adding a pet to the
mix is just too much. Five against one, they kept trying to wear me down—no
fair. Oh dear.
But I had hope—we were going to Texas for nearly a week for Thanksgiving.
Surely she’d get tired of mewing at our doorstep and find some new stomping
grounds. Then we wouldn’t even have to discuss the issue. We came back from
Texas and I think it only took her a day to notice our return and pick up where
she left off. Elodie’s love and commitment to Starry only increased. Aaron felt
that we were doing the poor cat a disservice by not feeding her real cat food,
and decided we had to make a real decision about the poor little creature: adopt
or send to the pound. We held a family counsel. I shared my very logical reasons
and doubts and concerns. The “Adopt Starry” side was not swayed. I shared my
deep-seated emotions: owning a pet is simply not how I was raised and I don’t
want to, at all! The emotional climax led to a sobbing Elodie running upstairs
shouting, “But I love Starry!” Oh dear.
After letting the emotions cool down, Aaron shared with me his concern that
without a pet, our children may end up with a hole in their heart where the love
of a pet should have been. Like the cold, dark hole I apparently have in my
heart. He spoke of the unconditional love he felt from and for his pets as a
kid. He spoke of the tenderness of taking responsibility and caring for another
creature. I conceded that if Elodie and Xander could commit to fully take care
of it without reminders from me and with the commitment to save up their own
money for her cat food, then I would be willing to seriously consider it. And
then the clincher from Aaron. He said that he thought that Xander and Elodie
should talk together, make a decision, and pray about it. How could I disagree
with that? Oh dear.
So Xander and Elodie agreed to discuss, decide, and pray. I was feeling
pretty relieved, because once money got involved in the discussion, Xander
decided that he’d rather save up for the fun stuff he wanted than spend all his
money on cat food. What a relief! Their wise father reminded them not to decide
too hastily, but to think about the poor cat and consider what was right, not
just what they wanted. After a couple of days, Xander and Elodie reported to us
that they had prayed about it and felt the right thing to do was to commit to
Starry and take on the responsibility of caring for her. Well, well, well, now
the Dahle’s have a cat. Oh dear.
Somehow it feels like I’m not being true to who I was raised to be. These
Fillmores don’t own cats. Come on. I loved the way I was raised, anti-pet
sentiment and all, and I guess I had subconsciously wished to raise my kids the
same way. Strange how I feel like I’m losing a part of me. The primary president
came over for a meeting and Starry tried to follow her in. She asked me if
our cat was allowed to come in. I had to tell her it wasn’t my
cat. It’s Xander and Elodie’s cat. I think I’m the kind of person who doesn’t
worry about what other people think, yet I couldn’t let her think that
I have a cat! No way! Not me!
To wax philosophical a bit, in Sunday School in Iowa, the teacher was
speaking of how Jesus’ friends and neighbors in Nazareth largely rejected him
because they were brought up with him. It was so very hard for them to let go of
their long-held notion that he was just a normal poor kid that they grew up
with. Because it was so very hard to let go of those notions they grew up with,
they missed an opportunity of a lifetime. This whole cat ordeal has caused me to
realize how many strong-held notions I cling to so tightly. I more than many, I
presume, since I have been called the “tradition Nazi” by some who know me best.
Perhaps what I’m supposed to learn from this cat ordeal is to let go, to open up
to other good possibilities that I had ruled out. To never say never.
I’ll never own a cat. I’m allergic. I don’t like them.
I’ll never have a gun in my own house. That would be terrible.
I’ll never marry a hunter. You choose who you marry, so you can choose not to
marry a hunter, right?
