Sunday Meditation 19

Stormy is the newest member of the Lamb Family.

We adopted a cat this week. It was raining, thundering and lightning when she arrived. We named her Stormy.

Cats have been an integral part of the Lamb clan for many years. Kodak, the black and white critter who started it all; Kit-Kat, who was similarly striped, though enormous; Bella, a living rorschach test of a feline who sported splotchy splashes of Creamsicle orange and midnight black; Skittles, our “outdoor” cat who who chose a wandering life because she could not stand dogs and, of course, Tid-Bit, the bossy Siamese who not only governed our house, but also a nearby city park.

Tid-Bit is notable in many ways. When a family picnicked in the park, she would cozy up, charm them, tease them, squeeze them. When she’d gotten her fill of affection and food, the sly feline moved on to her next target — or simply trotted home. When we moved, one of our neighbors begged to let her stay. We did, occasionally getting updates of her antics.

Regular readers know these little Sunday scribblings of mine aren’t about cuddly animals; they’re about life, death and the universe — so we’ll need a transition here.

Let’s try these:

“In the beginning, God created man, but seeing him so feeble, He gave him the cat.” — Warren Eckstein

“Of all God’s creatures there is only one that cannot be made the slave of the leash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat.” — Mark Twain

“Dogs come when they’re called. Cats take a message and get back to you.” — Mary Bly

“There are two means of refuge from the misery of life: music and cats.” — Albert Schweitzer

“Dogs have owners, cats have staff.” — Unknown

What’s the point?

Great question.

Kittens, puppies and children possess an exquisite innocence I yearn to regain — that ability to see the world anew, with bottomless curiosity, whether it be a twig, bug, leaf or random scrap of paper sitting on a desk filled with tablets, books and pens.

I could say my yearning for this innocence is because, as a writer, I want to see the world afresh. That would be partly true. But it’s more than that. Much more. I believe that after this present life, there is something else. Something bigger. Something better.

St. Paul put it like this:

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” (1 Cor. 13:12 KJV)

Another translation compares our situation to “squinting in a fog, peering through a mist.” In other words, we discern there’s something “out there.” We strain to see it, but only catch a distance, dim glimpse. An outline. A glimmer.

What will it be like when the fog lifts and the mist dissipates?

We’ll see it all, clearly. Just as God sees it. We’ll know God, just as he knows us. It’ll be like when Stormy explored my desk the first time: What an adventure. Each step. Smell. Sound. Taste.

I look forward to when the adventure “out there” begins for me.

How about you?

Jim Lamb is a retired journalist and author of “Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales,” the story of how he survived Vietnam and kept his sense of humor. He likes kittens. Puppies, too. For more about Jim and his writing, visit www.jslstories.com.