Recently my cat became infested with fleas even though he was on one of those popular monthly flea meds.  I ignored the signs: his scratching, the thinning of hair around the ears.  Surely it was just a case of dry skin that a few doses of flax meal should ease. I mean, he was on medication. So it couldn’t be fleas. Right? Not exactly. Apparently his fleas had become immune to the medication. 

His infestation spread throughout the house and before I knew it I had a full blown problem on my hands.  The fleas were everywhere! Now what? For my cat, a shave, flea bath and a new prescription med. For my house, the big guns had to be called and the house turned upside down while the exterminator treated every nook and cranny. But I had bites too, so in addition to slathering myself with Benadryl, every day I had to vacuum, wash my bedding, wear socks to keep my ankles from getting chewed until suddenly it all seemed like a . . . well, like a war. It was me against a tiny irritating enemy.

“How could something so small inflict such chaos?” That was the question I kept asking myself.  Now that the war is over and my cat is fine and I have my house back, my reflection is less tainted with frustration and I see a larger principle here. Flea bites are annoying. But they also hurt and can cause disease. And we all have fleas in our life; those irritating things that keep pricking us, things that are nearly invisible or appear too small to warrant our attention.  Things like the annoyance we feel over our boss never saying “thank you”; or those disrespectful looks and words our teenager dispenses whenever we offer correction; that rough shove of a spouse during a disagreement; that extra glass of wine at dinner.  All seemingly minor but, if not dealt with, can grow into larger issues like not doing your best at the job or quitting it before you get a new one thereby leaving your family in a lurch; like a teenager suddenly out of control; like that occasional shove turning into spousal abuse; like that extra wine becoming a full blown alcohol addiction.

We need to deal with the issues in our lives while they are still small. And apply remedies where needed. To ignore them or pretend they don’t exist is not an answer for they can grow until, to our regret, they turn our life upside down.

Until next week,

Sylvia

My kids bought me a Ragdoll cat.  No kidding, there’s actually a breed of cat called Ragdoll!  They are mostly white, long-haired beautiful cats with sweet, lovable dispositions that make good companions.  They are so relaxed they actually go limp when petted, hence the name. The one downside is they don’t like to be left alone.  The perfect cat, really, for someone like me who spends a great deal of time in a home office and could use the company. 

And so my family and I took the long trek to the breeders; I with a brand new carrying case and cat toy; my grandchildren with an assortment of names: snowball, sugar, fluffy . . . .  But instead of getting a female, like I planned, I fell in love with a male who had the most beautiful blue eyes and cute chocolate colored tipped ears. The seller, being a good breeder, wanted to give him a thorough grooming and going over, so I couldn’t take him home as planned. But this week I’ll get Cody.  That’s the name we settled on. 

So as I wait for the big day, I ponder the goodness of God.  He has created such wonderful things for us to enjoy, not only nature in all its beauty, but other creatures as well; creatures with diverse personalities and qualities.  He made something for all of us, even the most discriminating.  We just need to take time to enjoy it: that sunset, the trees with their changing colors, the birds overhead, the scurrying squirrels, the . . . .

Until next week,

Sylvia

Over the years I’ve had many cats.  And though they’ve all had different personalities they’ve been extremely lovable. Then came Nutmeg.  Don’t get me wrong, I do love her.  She’s a big part of our family, and has been for nearly nine years. But she’s far from the sweet, compliant cats I’m used to. 

The basic problem is she wants her way in everything: what she eats, where she sits, what time she comes in or goes out.  And if she doesn’t get it she’s not above hissing, biting, deliberately upsetting something on the counter, or taking flying leaps off a high place to land near your head.

She’s smart enough to know how to be an anarchist, but not always smart enough to know what’s good for her.  She doesn’t understand, for instance, that her favorite food produces crystals in her urine so she can’t have it anymore.  Or that it’s not good for her to go outside when the pest control man is spraying. Or that I can’t work when she sits on top of my keyboard.  (One of her favorite positions is in front of my monitor and sprawled over my keyboard. She actually deleted some of my text last week!)

But because I love her even during these times she’s decidedly unlovable, I try to be patient without encouraging or rewarding her bad behavior.  After all, it’s my responsibility to train her. And that’s a challenge due to her strong rebellious tendencies.

And all this to say, sometimes we’re not lovable either. And most of the time we want our own way, even when it’s not good for us. And just as I don’t stop loving Nutmeg when she’s less than what I’d like her to be, so God doesn’t stop loving us because of our failings. And how patiently He trains us! Even during those times when He allows unpleasant circumstances to enter our lives. It is, after all, His duty to discipline His unruly children.

And in the end, aren’t you glad He does? There’s nothing so unattractive as an out of control, disobedient child . . . or cat.

Until next week,

Sylvia