Just been chasing a feral moggy. In my pjs. In torrential rain.
We’d just congratulated ourselves on peeling him off the sofa and into the cat box, when he worked out how to unpick the front grill and made a bid for freedom. Cue what felt like hours cajoling him back with a combination of threats, strokes and (mainly) cat treats.
We weren’t locking him up for the sake of it either. He’s had a lump on his head for a few days so we thought we’d get the v-e-t to check him out. Despite the fact we have fed him, stroked him and generally poured out love since he arrived, you’d have thought we were trying to kill him. Instead we wanted to make sure he was doing ok.
Strikes me that this is very like my relationship with the Lord. My understanding of the real world is as finely nuanced as that of a tiny feline brain, convinced that everything revolves around me and that my Owner’s role is to feed and stroke. The Lord has shown me nothing but grace and love – yet the moment I feel even slightly uncomfortable, I’m running from Him or mewing and scratching in His face. When bad things happen, I can’t ever see beyond the short-term and it seems impossible that any of it could be used for good – let alone my own.