We were up at five this morning, largely because Effie wanted us to be, largely because she was. And this was quite considerate, considering she usually calls for full service at four. Cats have an inherent right to this; they are given pre-emptive jurisdiction over time, everyone’s time. How presumptuous of us anyway, ever to presume ourselves to have a proprietary interest in time as our own.
Cats are not presumptuous. They are like the robin in Charles Spurgeon’s object lesson: the robin doesn’t trouble itself wondering for whom the bread crumbs were placed on the window sill. The robin simply eats the crumbs. Effie wants to play. There are people in the house to play with. The people will simply rise to the occasion and engage her whimsy. Or she is hungry; they will feed her. Going outdoors is limited to dawn-to-dusk hours.
But this morning was so exceptionally rewarding. Effie was happily chewing on my and my husband’s fingers, purring and snuggling. She got up and used her litter box instead of trying to get one of us up to take her out in the dark.
Awake anyway, I bagged the litter ball and took it outside to the trash. The night sky was astoundingly brilliant: Orion shone in the south, the Big Dipper in the north, Jupiter huge in the east, and the luminous full moon, descending in the west. I would have missed this incredible night sky had I not run Effie’s brief nocturnal errand to the patio.
It seems to me, admittedly a cat person, that God both tries us and rewards us so often, and so significantly, by deploying “our” cats.