Possumblog

No, we don't have one.

A kitty. But more about that later.

First up was to get to church, which we did, and where I found out that I would have to sub in Rebecca and Jonathan's class for their regular Sunday teacher. I teach them on Wednesday nights, but since the Sunday teacher has a different book, and since I didn't know about it until I got there, even though I COULD have looked over one of the kids' books before class, I COULDN'T because I didn't know, so I was stuck with winging it.

Looked it over for a minute or two--the topic was Job, and how ol' Bildad the Shuhite was a self-righteous hypocritical crank, and how you have to beware of hanging around with such people, because they're wearisome and tend to make you less faithful.

Bildad was one of those sorts who believed anytime someone got smote upon by bad things, that they must have been doing something bad themselves--in his mind, he figured since his family didn't get their trailer hit by a tornado, and all of his herds were fat and happy and didn't have the spavins or the epizootic or the mange, he was doing pretty well by the Lord. Which is pretty much what a lot of people seem to think about what goes on today.

The best thing I know to refute such thinking, both by Bildad and various modern idiots, is Luke 13: 1-5, and Matthew 5:44, 45. Natural calamity happens, both to the good and the bad, and so it's best not to try to justify the way you live just because you've managed to avoid trouble. Likewise, just because trouble comes doesn't necessarily mean it's something you did. And be careful who you choose as your friends.

Of course, I can never tell how much of that they actually heard, and how much just sounded like "blah blah blah GINGER" but maybe they got something out of it. I always make a point after class when everyone else has cleared out of asking Rebecca and Jonathan what they learned--Rebecca: "Bildad was a jerk."

Well, there you go.

After church, on to the other side of the county to visit Ashley's other grandparents, made more interesting this time by the addition of a kitten they had stuck in a cage in the back yard. Catherine, our resident cat-wrangler, could barely be restrained from bursting through the door to go mess with the little thing, but we did manage to get her to wait until after lunch.

After which, out the door she went.

Seems the little thing was a stray, but obviously one that had been around people. It stretched and played in the sunshine, and Catherine, and then Rebecca, both came out and played with it through the cage. "Can we have it?!"

"Well, it's not OUR kitten, and second, we don't have a place it can stay, and keeping it in a cage sure isn't the best thing for it."

"Can we have it?"

::sigh::

"No, Catherine--did you not hear what I said?!"

"Yes, but I want a kitty I can keep at our house."

"Well, this ain't the one--let's keep it here and you can come visit it."

"Awwwww."

Pretty soon the other stray cat that calls the place home came around and flopped down, so Catherine went and messed with it so it couldn't sleep, and I went on back inside after a while to read the paper.

Sometime later, Catherine and Rebecca came in and watched some television, then went on back out again, once again to vigorously rub the kitties.

I got up (after dozing off once or twice) and went out to see what they were doing--Catherine was sitting on the swing with the kitty in front of her, holding the poor thing around its ribcage and under its arms and appearing to squeeze it like a bag of icing. Pitiful thing looked like it was going to pop from the pressure. "Cat! Sugar, hold the kitty nicely so you don't hurt him--er, her, whatever it is. Look, hold under its little chest and let it sit its feet down in your hands--See?" I demonstrated the proper method of not squeezing the life out of a cat, and she said "Awwwww--it's so CUUUUUUUTE!" Upon reestablishing possession of the feline, she proceeded to squeeze its upper chest with one hand whilst bundling its hind legs together and squeezing them together tightly. "CAT! Ease up a bit!" I moved her hands a bit to give the kitty some room, which allowed it enough breathing space to squall and grab hold of the back of my hand with its little precious needle-sharp claws.

"Why's it doing that, Daddy?"

"Ow--oooh--because it's uncomfortable in the way you've got it held and it's trying to get away!"

"Oh."

Ashley's grandmother was sitting outside and taking all this in, and after the kitty got calmed back down some related that earlier while I had been inside, the bigger stray cat had been playing with the kitten--"Oh, they're big buddies--Blackie come up and started playing with it and grabbed it up with both its paws and just licked it and loved all over it!"

Well, that's nice.

I went back in and it got about time to leave, and so I started rounding everyone up to go, and went back outside to the back yard--"Watch, Daddy! Watch them play!"

Catherine had put the kitten down beside Blackie the big cat, and sure enough, Blackie grabbed up the kitten with its paws, and drew it in close, and started licking--and biting, and scratching, and generally trying to consume the kitten as if it were a chipmunk.

"CATHERINE! MOVE, baby! He's not playing, he's trying to hurt the kitten!" The kitten was mewling and crying and trying to fight back, and the bigger cat started doing the back-leg-rabbit-hopping thing cats do with their claws, so I broke up the little lovefest and Catherine scooped up the smaller kitten and said she was going to put it back in its cage. "MEAN OL' CAT!" Boy, if looks could kill--she shot that mean old cat a look that would peel paint.

"Can we take the kitty with us?

Persistent little cuss, isn't she?

"Catherine--"

"I know--I just thought I would ask more times."

And thus ended yet another trip across the county, one bright side of which was I filled up with gas and it only cost $2.559 at the Pilot truck stop at East Thomas. Lowest I've seen it anywhere in town lately, and really makes me wonder why fifteen miles east on I-59 it's $2.759. Sure, we maybe all uptown and high-tone now, but I really prefer cheaper gasoline.

Anyway, back to the church building so the kids could do some kind of activity. I hung with them for a little while, but finally had to go off and meditate quietly in the auditorium. I.e., sleep. And couldn't break out of it very well at all. I kept nodding during the sermon, too, and I know it's very noticeable. I try to make it look like I'm looking for something on the floor, but when I fall into the floor, I think people suspect it might be something else.

Home, supper, bed, and now, here I am.

It was quite a weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at October 24, 2005 01:25 PM