Now, there is one unalterable fact in this house…the cats will get fed.
There has never been a day when the cats did not get fed.
The cats are fat in testimony to this truth.
Miss Kitty understands this and simply sits in Zen like peace while awaiting the opening of the Fancy Feast can.
She knows that since she was adopted that there has always been food.
She trusts that this provision will continue.
Chester does not understand this, nor does he trust me or the process.
He howls as if he didn’t eat four pouches of Whiska’s a few hours ago.
He paces nervously,often running between my feet and causing me to stagger about like I’m drunk on Friskies.
When I bend down to put his food in the dish he thrusts his head in it, knocking the pouch from my hands and depositing ‘Salmon feast supreme” on his ears.
He wolfs it down because he evidently thinks I may take it away…as if I have a use for half eaten bowls of cat food.
Perhaps he thinks I’ll take it out of spite for some undefined sin.
Maybe he thinks that he better get all he can because it may never be feeding time again.
One cat believes that I’m a good owner, one is not so sure.
I may be good today, not so good tomorrow…
I’m a lot like Chester.
God has kept me for 58 years thus far, but I have my doubts about today.
Tomorrow is too terrifying to contemplate.
It’s beneath my dignity to whine…out loud.
I don’t trust, I hope.
Sometimes, I think I have to do a bunch of stuff to get His attention.
Sometimes, I think that I have to make sure that I’m being heard,but I’m rarely convinced that I have been.
Sometimes, I think God is as fickle as a Facebook “friend’.
Sometimes, I think I’m kinder than God.
We’re both going to get fed.
Chester is already full.
Make your own application…