Autobiography of a Georgia Cat

Cora was after Archie more and more to go to the doctor because he was looking worse and worse.  Naturally, he would refuse, and always had some lame excuse.  He did a lot of throwing up in the morning.  Cats do that all the time and it’s no big deal, but in his case it was obvious that he was sick.  It was equally obvious that he wouldn’t go to the doctor for fear that he would have to give up his whiskey.  Doctors always do that sort of thing.  Whether you are a person or a cat, if you get sick the doctor is likely to blame you for it, saying you eat too much of this or that delicious and wonderful substance (salt, grease, chocolate, squirrel), and prescribe some foul-tasting medicine.  Sometimes they demand that you perform some hideous ritual, like bathing in medicated shampoo or getting your teeth brushed.  Luckily for me, while Archie was good at taking me for my shots every year, and even spent the extra money for the feline leukemia vaccine, he never took Doctor Jeff’s advice too seriously.  When I turned seven Doctor Jeff recommended he switch me to “light” cat food.  I’d like to see him try and eat that stuff.  I just picked at my food and acted so pitiful that Archie quickly switched me back to the real thing. Well, one morning Archie got really sick.  He was up earlier than usual, throwing up longer than usual, and not coming out of the bathroom.  Cora eventually went to check on him, and immediately headed for the telephone to call an ambulance.  I went to see for myself, being curious as a cat.  Archie was on the floor next to the commode, pale as a ghost.  He was covered with perspiration, and his eyes were glassy.  His aim hadn’t been that great, and there was quite a lot of blood around.  The smell of blood and sickness was powerful.  I rubbed against him but he was out of it and didn’t respond.  Cora was in a stew, pacing back and forth and saying words to the effect that she had warned him that something like this would happen.  She washed his face with a cold cloth, and started cleaning the commode and floor.  Pretty soon some men came and took Archie away on a cart, just like they always did Mama. He was gone several days.  We all worried a lot about him.  I spent considerable time on the bed with Mama, listening to the radio, or to her little sermons.  Mama had started preaching, and it didn’t seem to matter too much to her if there was anyone there to listen or not.  I always listened politely.   She talked about how hard life is and how we have to put our trust in God who has a plan for us.  Only God knows what is good and right for us so we don’t question what happens.  She had a favorite Bible passage, the one that starts “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want¼” which she recited frequently when she was troubled.  Clearly, it comforted her, and I rather liked it myself.  I didn’t agree with her idea that God has a plan that includes this or that specific agony.  To listen to her one would think that God takes our loved ones away from us or inflicts some other suffering upon us for some specific purpose known only to Him. And that somehow it is all to our benefit either in this world or in the next.  I can’t quite accept that.  My journey has brought me to the understanding that suffering and loss are part of life.  While God doesn’t plan it out or cause it, neither does He necessarily intervene or prevent all of it either.  What God does do is suffer along with us and comfort us with His Nearness if we seek Him out.  It doesn’t hurt to try to comfort Him once in a while, either.