Miracle Cat

I believe in miracles, both big and small. Thankfully, I’ve been blessed thus far with a life that has not needed or requested any major miracles. My miracles have all been of the minor variety – but, oh, so many there have been!

Car trouble that didn’t happen until it was safe…Animals healed or, when lost, found…Loving homes found for all the cats, kittens, puppies and dogs that have ended up on my doorstep…Work showing up when it was most needed…Trouble or trauma that seemed inevitable, faded away…God is good, and He/She has been very, very good to me and mine over the years.

The most recent miracle that happened involved my elderly neighbors, the Petermans, a sweet kitty named Sarah Elisabeth, a well-placed phone call, and, yes, yet another cat rescue by me.

A month or so ago, my neighbor, John Peterman, left a message on our machine. He said a little yellow and white cat had “taken up” at their house. He wondered if it was mine. I didn’t return the call, because it wasn’t mine, and I’m a believer that every home should have a cat. I figured that cat had just found hers and I wanted the Petermans to give her a shot.

Then, one afternoon last week there was a flurry of dog activity on our back porch. I ran to see what it was, and caught a glimpse of a white tail, then watched as a yellow and white cat ran from my dogs, to scaled tall, thin tree not far from the house.

I ran after the dogs and called to Mr. Clark to put the dogs in. He did, and I went to check on the cat, who had climbed very high in the tree.

She was a little half-grown female, yellow and white, very scared and very friendly. She had no clue how to get down from the small limb where she was perilously perched. I tried the time-tested trick of opening a can of cat food and banging a little on the plate, right below the tree. She was clearly motivated, but couldn’t figure out how to get down. She managed to swing - and nearly fall - to the limb below, which was still quite high. She cried and cried, but wouldn’t - or couldn’t - come down.

Mr. Clark got the tall ladder and propped it against the tree trunk, Then, I held the ladder while he grabbed the cat. Boy, was she glad to be safe again!

I took her in, to Mr. Clark’s office (which serves as the rescued animal holding room), fed her and assessed the situation. She was clearly someone’s cat. She was well-fed, affectionate, healthy and she had a great big purr. Since we couldn’t keep her, I began forming the adoption plan - then it hit me. This was the Petermans’ cat!

I called - no one was home. I left a message. Later, I took the cat over to their house. All the lights were out - only the porch light on - no one was home. The cat spent the night in Mr. Clark’s office. The next day I left another message on Lou and John’s machine, and I walked her over to their house again, but it still appeared that no one was home.

We had appointments in Athens all day, so the cat spent the day in Mr. Clark’s office. If the Petermans didn’t return or respond soon, I’d have to come up with an adoption plan…Then, John called my cell. He said he’d not been able to understand much in my messages, but he had heard that we had a cat, and he wanted to “take a look at it.” I told him I’d bring her right over.

The look on Lou and John’s faces, when they opened the door and saw their beloved Sarah Elisabeth again would make the coldest heart believe in miracles.

It turned out Sarah Elisabeth had been gone for two nights, and they’d been looking for her - but with limited mobility - their search had been unsuccessful. Lou had been praying, and John had been hoping – and calling out the back door. But, as the third night approached, they had almost given up hope.

“We’ve never had a cat before,” Lou said. “I’ve never even liked cats, but Sarah Elisabeth is different. When she came to us she was so small and skinny and pitiful, and now look at her! I had no idea I would come to love her so much, in such a short time.”

And, Sarah Elisabeth was clearly right back where she belonged. She rolled around on the carpet, ate a little, roamed the house, then settled happily in Lou’s lap.

We had a nice visit, I gave them some cat care tips, and then I went home – so glad that Sarah Elisabeth and the Petermans were reunited once more,

These are the little miracles that mean so much - a tiny cat finds a loving home… an elderly couple discovers what an excellent companion a cat can be…I find the cat when she wanders…and, thanks to John’s message, return Sarah Elisabeth to the people who now so dearly love her …God is good!

Faith in the ER

I’ve been in an angry, sad, worried funk for months now.

My husband’s out of work - after 25 years of good, gainful employment in the homebuilding industry. For months, he’s been throwing his resume out there and “working his network,” so far to no avail. Companies he’s worked with for years are scaling way back, or closing their doors. His prospects are grim…our money is running out.

But, not too worry! The economy’s in the crapper, as well, and predictions of recovery have us months out - as if anyone knows what’s going to happen anyway…. After years of being firmly entrenched in the middle-class, our little world is melting away around us and I’m more than a little scared about how it will all turn out…This kind of situation – and thinking - can really suck you in, and bring you down….

And, that is why I am grateful one of my jobs is being an emergency room social worker a couple of days each week. If you ever want to a reality check, just spend some time in a busy ER. That’ll put your personal problems into perspective.

One of my duties is to gather the family when a patient is dieing, and to be with them as the process unfolds. Serious, daunting, humbling work – this. No matter how many times I am with a family through this, it amazes me – how sad, and real, and life altering each death is - for every family.

The other day a very elderly man came in, having collapsed, after a few days of a “real bad headache.” His family found him down, when they returned from taking his wife to a doctor’s appointment. “He was alright when we left,” his son said. “He had a headache, but he’d had that for a few days.”

“When I found him, I shook him and asked if he was alright,” the son said. “’I recken,’ daddy said…Turns out those were his last words.”

The man was very old, and pretty sick, and had a lot of medical problems. Yet, his death – as all deaths, I believe do – came as a terrible shock to his family.

They gathered, and cried, and prayed, and laughed, and remembered him at his best, strongest, and most stubborn. They stood gathered around his bedside, talking to him, stroking his forehead, patting his chest, watching him slowly fade away…

The hardest part of being with a family through this - for me - is watching the wife-now-widow sit next to the bedside, holding her husband’s hand, wondering, how - after all these years – to let that hand go and tell him, “Good bye?”

These elderly widows are proud and strong. They hold their heads high, and dab the tears from the corners of their eyes with dignity and poise. They sit - not seeming to hear what their children are saying around them - studying the face of the man they’ve shared some 50-60-70 years with. They know he’s gone, but, they don’t believe it. They realize life from here on out will be very different…

Many of these families don’t look like they have much. Their clothes and their faces tell stories of hard work, and long hours, for a lot of years. Many of them don’t believe much in doctors, or medicines, or anything except a good hard day’s work with some time spent with the family at the end of it. Their families seem close. Their faith seems strong. Somehow, you get the sense that faith and the closeness of their family will see them through.

I admire their faith and closeness, even as I cling to my own and try, once again, to turn my worried, rattled thoughts to, as the Phillippians (4:8) said, “…whatsoever things are true…honest…just…pure…lovely…(and) of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” It beats listening to those bleak economic forecasts, anyway.

Mr. Obama, Get a Greyhound

With the election finally over, we, as a nation can roll up our sleeves and turn to the challenges that lie ahead. One of the more heartwarming, admittedly minor, challenges is to get our collective two-cents worth in about what kind of dog Sasha and Malia Obama should adopt to serve as our nation’s First Dog.

There is rumbling about how fitting it would be the first family to rescue a shelter mutt, and I believe the Obamas have said a rescue dog is certainly on the short list of potential candidates.

Well, Mr. President (elect), here’s my advice. The idea of rescuing a shelter dog is nice, but be careful! You won’t know what you’ve ended up with for months. Over the years I have rescued more than my share of shelter mutts, and I can tell you, most of these dogs carry deep scars that only begin to manifest themselves as “behavioral challenges” months after the dog has settled in to your heart and your home.

There was Purdy, the expensive-electronic-device-eating dog…and, Buster, the I-bite-the-ankles-of-people-we-pass-on-a-walk dog…Greta, the I-eat-rocks-and-break-my-teeth dog…and Rosie, the I-rip-up-pillows-dog. One of them, whose name I don’t even remember, ate Mr. Clark’s brand new, eyeglasses, the day after he bought them…So, many worthy dogs, so much destroyed property!

In so many cases, the Heinz 57-kind of a shelter dog turns out to be a loveable, but unpredictable blend of too many breeds, and bad past experiences – not really First Dog material. After all, it is the White House we’re talking about. Wouldn’t it be a shame for some national treasure to end up chewed, or shreaded, or buried in the Rose Garden, especially after the mutt in question has moved in and stolen your daughters’ hearts.

Why not adopt a dog from a pure-bred rescue organization? You’re still saving a life – and, you know what you’re getting into. That’s the thing about pure-breds. Their behavior and temperaments are predictable

My personal advice, Mr. President, would be to consider adopting one, or maybe even two, retired Greyhound racers. They are easy going, calm, well-behaved, fairly low maintenance and tolerant. They don’t bark much and barely shed. They come pre-trained, and have impeccable manners. They are also elegant, and loving, and they look great in winter clothing – which I’m sure the girls’ would enjoy picking out.

I know all of this because one of my “grand-dogs” ( I don’t have grandchildren) is a retired racer, and she is a wonderful dog in every way. Lily started out as “Octavo.” She was born in March of 2005, and ran 49 races in eight months during her second year. Her race record was all over the map, which is probably why she was retired at just over two. She had 15 top-three placed wins and 24 last or near last place finishes.

When my son and his wife got Lily she was a tall, rail-thin, shy, near ghost of a dog. She was very well-mannered and highly trained, but there didn’t seem to be much spirit left in her. She never, ever wanted to run.

As she settled in, and learned how to do things like get in a car, and go up steps, and jump on the bed, Lily’s personality began to emerge. She started playing with her toys and sniffing noses with her cats. A little later, she started running again. This time, it was in Gramma Lorin’s big yard, round and round, in joyful circles, seeming to discover - maybe for the first time - that being born to run can be a good thing.

Now, a little over a year into her life away from the track, Lily is a fun-loving, rambunctious, but still very well-mannered goof of a dog with a lot of personality. She’s spirited and playful, but impeccably polite. She walks perfectly on her leash and never begs at the table. She looks elegant, prancing down the street in one of her winter coats, and watching her run is just a joy.
Yes, Mr. President, a retired racer, or two, would make perfect White House pets. Your girls would have fun dressing them up. Your guests would be charmed by their elegance and excellent manners. And, watching the First Dog gallop around and around the White Hounds grounds, well that would just be fun for us all.

Give it some thought anyway, and if you’re interested, go to: www.greyhoundadoption.org or the National Greyhound Adoption Program’s website.