Missy  PRO

Missy

Dear Heavenly Father,

I don’t’ know if you have any special place set aside for the small creatures in your future plans, but, I would like to ask a favor of you; that is, if you feel I’m worthy of entrance into your Kingdom.

I know that your eye is on the sparrow and that not one thing in nature happens by chance, but by Divine design and command. You know all things, and yet it pleases you when we come to you in prayer: expressing our gratitude and joy, laying out our fears and worries, and crying out in our pain and anguish. This is going to be a little of all of that, Father, so please bare with me. So you don’t’ need the story, but, it is going to help me to tell it anyway - I’m sorry if it takes up too much of your time.

When I went hunting and camping this fall, I was blessed with an opportunity to harvest a deer on the first day I arrived. I have always felt a certain remorse and a twinge of guilt for killing anything I’ve hunted, and will offer a little prayer at the time and always show respect to your creation by making the wisest use of its flesh, fur or feather. This bounty left me with time to pursue other interests for the remainder of my trip. As camp cook, my responsibilities include taking care of and preparing the meals for the group, seeing to the evening fire in the wood stove (if needed), filling and lighting the lanterns at dark so my comrades can find their way back. This year, my duties were expanded - we had decided to eat “off the land”, taking with us only carrots, onions and potatoes - it was my task to round out the menu with camp meat.

I enjoyed hiking the hills and trails of autumn in peak color despite the cold and wet conditions we were encountering. I had many opportunities to shoot small game animal that were in season, but to be honest, I determined it was better to watch then wound - my heart just wasn’t in it. I fulfilled my duties reluctantly and sparingly; after all with a few extra potatoes added no one would miss the meat. I came back to camp early one afternoon with a brace of squirrels to clean and prepare for dinner. After laying the field dressed animals on the counter of the cook trailer, I went into the tent to secure my gun in its case. Flinging my hunting jacket onto my co, I turned to make a fire in the stove. From underneath my coat something moved. Thinking that a raccoon had gained entry in search of food, I reached for a log on the woodpile with which to defend myself and quickly pulled the jacket up off the bunk. There she was. Startled only slightly from having been fast asleep in the warm, dry folds of my sleeping bag was a scrawny, pint-sized dark tabby cat. We regarded each other casually - as if both recognized instantly the inherent right of the other to occupy the space. Neither future consequence nor immediate action was considered for quite some time. We just kind of looked each other over for a bit.

I would like to be able to say that there was a period of consternation with much shooing and maybe some stick shaking - with perhaps some mild cursing thrown in for punctuation. But, I would be lying if I said any such thing occurred. I went immediately to the cooler and retrieved the last of the breakfast milk in a Styrofoam bowl and brought it back to the tent and proceeded to build the evening fire serenaded by the staccato notes of one very satisfied cat. That cemented our relationship thoroughly and despite the complaints and harsh words of my companions, that cat slept with me every night from then on and always came out to greet me when I returned each evening - never following me into the woods.

I had determined that it would not be fair to leave the cat alone in the place we found her (she having found us) seeing as it was some distance back in from where she might have originated - the farmer who was our host denied all knowledge of her and wanted her shot - that being the case, she must come home with me. After making any and all provisions inside the truck for cat-transport, wondering if she would freak out or be car sick, she simply saw me climb into the passenger seat and jumped right in after.

Clawing up a nice little nest in my buddies hunting coat in the back seat, she slept the whole three-hour trip back, including an hour stop for lunch for the two humans one of whom purchased a chicken fingers kids meal for the passenger in the back seat.

I was going to “surprise” my family with this new addition but was talked out of it by my companions. I think they wanted to hear shouting on the other end of the phone so they could tease me, but I assured them that no such thing would occur - after all we were cat-people - my wife would certainly understand the circumstances and welcome this new visitor with open arms. So all that remained was what to call her. During the week in the tent I had been attempting to get my boots on while she worried at the ends of my bootlaces. After several patient attempts to lace up I finally said,” Look here, Missy, you need to go outside and be a cat!” One of my tent mates heard this and said, “ So you named her Missy!” Good a name as any and better than most, I guess - so it stuck.

I remember the phone call on the way home announcing the new houseguest and how Rindia paused - then sighed - and not sounding at all convinced said she would see me when I got home. My buddy gave me a pet carrier when we returned to his house from vacation and in she went without any trouble. I talked to her on the short ride back to my house to try and soothe her but I think she was asleep. As we both entered the house, there was a quick flurry of activity in which four people and the resident male house cat prepared to greet the newcomer. Missy took it all in stride as she stepped from the open cage door, looked the place over once and sniffed out the food bowl. The next few days were a time of settling and acquisition as everybody had to get used to everybody else - things had to shake down to there own level - and pecking order had to be established. For the most part, Missy ruled the roost. She slept by my side every night and joined the ranks of the starving masses every morning - joining her feeble squeaky meow to the hearty tones of the other cats, one inside and two outside who demanded their meals at the same extremely early hour every morning. Rindia took the brunt of this new challenge with dubious patience. Many times I heard her half-heartedly complain, “CATS! CATS! Were up to our eyeballs in CATS!” as she herded them to their various feeding stations and doled out the victuals.

It was late in the first week when the first signs of real trouble began. Missy began to regurgitate everything she ate almost as soon as she ate it. We then noticed the she drank prodigious amounts of water. This was an intolerable situation to put up with and she was relegated to outside exile with the two yard cats. I was of the mind that she had a temporary gastric problem that would soon go away but was also aware of the many diseases that cats can contract. Nothing on the internet indicated that she was carrying the symptoms of anything serious, just that she was eating too much too fast in competition for food with the others. I kept sneaking her back inside to see if things might be better, but she continued to make a mess in the house - back out she went.

She thrived in the outdoors and ran up the hill to greet me when I got home from work.

I was a little concerned when I saw her spot something moving on the far side of the road and start to head off after it. I stopped her in her tracks with a loud “MISSY!” I assumed she would learn from the other two cats how and when to cross the road as I had seen them do for years, always aware of their surroundings. Occasionally, she would cross the road behind me as I went to get the mail. I would scold her and she always came right back when called.

As time went by she began splitting her time...

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