I love all of God’s creatures.

Well, ok… not all.  But most.

Have I told you lately about the bats in Sierra Leone, Africa?  They have a six-foot wingspan.  Six-foot!

But I don’t actually mind cats.

We had TONS of outdoor cats growing up:

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(Thanks to my mom and dad for digging these photos out of the scrapbooks and scanning them this weekend.  Also, thanks to my mom for allowing me to start choosing my own hairstyles in the fourth grade.  Not a moment too soon, friends.)

See, I do like cats.

I will admit, I mostly like when they live outside, but I also love how independent they are.  They are literally one of the easiest pets to own.  Growing up, we’d just put a bucket full of dry cat food and a bucket full of water in the cat pen.  Every few weeks, we’d give them more… easy as that!

I also love how useful they are.  We rarely had trouble with mice when I was a kid.  We lived in the country on five acres surrounded by corn and bean fields, but I can only remember a few mice actually making it into our house.

 

As adults, Chance and I actually had a cat of our own for a while when we were at our previous ministry and in our previous home.  His name was Howard.

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The Reverend brought Howard home… but not without asking first.

Chance called from a friend’s house one day and said he wanted to bring home a “kitten”.  The “kitten” was “very small and very cuddly,” he said.

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The above photo was taken a week after said “cuddly kitten” came home.

The cat was probably four or five years old…

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Regardless, I let the cat live in our garage.

Howard ended up being the most inbred, insane cat I had EVER met.  His tongue was too big for his mouth, so it always hung out.  He had perpetual sinus infections and would “sniffle.”  He refused to sleep on the bed of towels and blankets we made him, but instead he slept in Chance’s toolboxes – not appearing to notice the nails and screws poking him.

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Despite that, we kept Howard as our pet.

Eventually, we bought Allen (our Shih-tzu).

Allen was not inbred and was a sweet puppy.  An actual puppy.  Not a puppy-disguised-as-a-full-grown-dog puppy.

Allen took precedence over the crazy cat (they hated each other) and we eventually gave the cat to Chance’s grandparents.  At their house, Howard would lay in the horse feed and bask in the sun.  According to Chance’s grandfather, Howard would even climb onto the horse’s back and relax (you can’t make this stuff up…)

The last day Howard was seen was the day Chance’s grandparents poured the concrete foundation for their new home.

May Howard rest in peace.

 

So, you can imagine my dismay when this happened last week:

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The Lord knows I do not need one more creature to take care of…

I do not need to feed another mouth or respond to someone else’s cries.

I’m good.

I’ve got the Reverend, the high-maintance dog, and the insane Bulgarian.

I’m good.

Not to mention the newborn who will be gracing us with his presence in three months…

Like I said, I’m good.

 

Despite my protesting, I did agree to allowing the cat to stay with us until the snow storm passed and we could find the scrawny thing a good home.

In the meantime, Nasko named the cat “Cinnamon Roll.”

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Thankfully though, an angel from church and her family responded to my desperate pleas on Facebook yesterday:

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They came and picked up the cat today.  They even said they were interested in keeping her name, Cinnamon Roll!  I think she will be very happy in her new home.

And thus ends the most recent event in my essay on the history of cats in my life.

 

And thus also ends the reason why we do not need a cat (in case you are my future children and I sent you to this blog page as evidence…)

 

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