The Parable of the Little Black Cat
Most of the world has been sheltering in place for a month or so now. While in isolation, I am becoming increasingly aware of how easy it is to let life’s distractions, the media, and an urge to just numb out swallow my attention away from my first love, the Lord.
Recently, He illustrated to me how that makes Him feel. I’ve read in the Bible several times that He is a jealous God. He longs for a reciprocal intimate relationship with people; yet throughout history, humans have tended to prioritize anything but Him. And here I am, in isolation, glad that His consistent love for me will never change, but at the same time, I’ve been rather oblivious about how those lulls in my attention may affect Him.
I hope this parable helps you to see how God simply wants your friendship and love…and for you to be as attentive to Him as He is to you.
Enter Remington Emerald, aka, Remmy, a little black cat I adopted two months ago on Valentines Day. It is through a recent experience with him that I present to you
The Parable of the Little Black Cat
One day not too long ago, a little black cat was adopted by a human. This cat, who once lived in a cage in a large room filled with cages, was so thankful that he now had his own home and his own human. He had freedom now to explore and play and eat and sleep—and to love and be loved by his human.
He frequently found his human throughout the day to meow a greeting, purr at her feet, or jump into her lap to be snuggled and loved.
He also liked to look out the back door at squirrels and birds. His human thought, “This cat would like to have a platform to sit on as he looks out the window.” So she set a stool by the door.
Soon, she decided to surprise him with a special box—a fluffy platform with a toasty cubbyhole beneath—so he could be cozy and warm while looking outside.
The day arrived when the special box showed up at the little black cat’s home. He had become very familiar with his surroundings and his human by this time, so when the human set the wonderfully cushiony box by the door, he knew instantly that it was his.
Quick as a wink he dashed into the cubbyhole inside the box and curled up for a snooze. His human went about her day, and from time to time peeked into the box to check on the little cat. Yes, he was still there.
Time went by; the human saw less and less of the little black cat. She attempted to interest him in looking outside at squirrels and birds; he glimpsed disinterestedly for a second or two and then turned to slip back into the box.
The human noticed that the cat was purring less; he was less interested in sitting at her feet or jumping into her lap. The box had become the cat’s entire world.
The human moved the box to a different spot in the house. The cat simply followed and scrambled back into his fluffy cubbyhole.
When the human realized that the little cat hadn’t purred when she petted him in several days, she became concerned. “What is wrong, little cat?”
He only lifted disinterested eyes and curled up deeper in the back of the box.
The human began to feel a strange emotion: Jealousy. “The little cat loves a box more than me!” she thought. “This must not continue! I adopted this little cat for friendship. I adopted this cat to love! I must do something.”
When the cat was busy with his dinner, the human took the box and hid it in a closed room. The cat noticed and ran to the closed room, pawing and scratching at the door. He moped and stared at the door the rest of the night. He was still nosing frantically under the closed door as the human turned out the light to go to sleep.
The next morning, the little cat meowed a greeting, purred at the human’s feet, and soon jumped into her lap, purring contentedly.
What do you know? The cat started looking out the window again at the squirrels and birds, he played heartily with his toys, and once again, he was thankful to have his own home…and his own human.
May we, too, recognize those things in our lives that we love more than God, and simply let them go.
Dorothy
© 2020, Dorothy Frick