A Cat Finds A Homestead
One dark morning as I flipped the porch light on to walk out to the bus stop, a small shadowy movement caught our attention near the trash can. My first thought was that it had to be a raccoon but then our youngest exclaimed, “Mom. It’s a cat!” Little did I know this cat would find her way from being a stranger, to a friendly outside farm cat, then move inside with us.
Who’s the lucky one?
It is said 13 is an unlucky number… and black cats too… but I don’t believe in superstitions. It had been 13 days since this little black had come in the cold of December and began visiting us on the porch or out in the yard more frequently. She called our porch her resting place at night, up on a cushion and behind a pillow to block her from the wind. I had picked up a microwavable heater to place, wrapped in a blanket, under her for those particularly cold nights.
The search for an owner.
During this time, we had knocked on neighbors doors, posted and posted with lots of social media shares… and got no response. No one knew of her. No one seemed to be missing her. We took her to the vet, who found no chip. They said she was a “lucky find.” Our cousin said black cats are usually the last adopted at a shelter… but I can’t understand why. The things that are the least popular can be the most worthwhile.
We kind of wanted a mouser anyhow.
We now had a “farm cat.” We have our share of field mice around. She had to be an outside cat because I have tested “off-the-charts” allergic to cats from a specialist. As a few more days came to be, we suddenly lost our beloved dog, “Dodger.” Our hearts stung at trying to find our days with her absence. There were days our hearts were so heavy, we thought they might fall out of our chests. When I would go outside for a breath of fresh air, this little black cat would gently come to nuzzle her face on my leg, or jump to my lap, then raise her paws to my shoulders. When I look back, I do believe it was God’s timing. God’s grace. God’ comfort and love to lead us out of deep sorrow.
The cat gets a name.
As a strong storm was brewing outside, I found myself anxious, hoping our little black cat, whom Chris had now nick-named, “Snowball,” was safe. I had brought her inside a handful of times to the safety of our bedroom to see how she behaved. She was perfect. My cat allergies have been little to none, for some blessed reason-which is better than luck. From that stormy night on, she has been living in our home. We don’t know where she came from, nor do we know her story, but we do know she is a part of our family story now.
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