I’m not saying we’ve tamed her. The wild streak is still there. She still skitters away when we long for her to come closer. To meet us, even halfway.
But, more and more, over time, love wins. Love—in the form of food and our presence in her life.
We come home from a long trip, and she appears glad to have us back. She hangs around on the deck, follows us into the back yard. She sprawls on the ground at my feet, seemingly waiting for me to scratch her tummy. Of course, I do. She’s met me halfway. I scratch, she purrs. Purrs like a little furry motor.
Why? Because love wins. Scratching her tummy is definitely a sign of my love. More and more, she loves love in the form of tummy scratching.
Then, she’s had enough. She gets up, moves away, and I wait till the next opportune moment.
I think of our widowed neighbor. He has a feral streak. He doesn’t want to hear about God. He skitters away from the subject. But he responds to love. Love in the form of food and our presence in his life.
We come home from a long trip, and I find his voice mails on our landline (he doesn’t realize we are not getting them): “Your grass doesn’t look good. Should I call your mower?” “There are big branches down in your yard. Somebody needs to take care of those.” “I watered your flowers, especially the yellow ones.” (I smile. They are the ones he gave us.)
After we’ve been home a few days, he pulls into our driveway in his jeep, bringing the empty refrigerator dishes we filled for him before we left. He’s still ostensibly concerned about our grass. But he seems glad to have us home.
(Do I hear a purr?)
It’s taken time—years—for our feral cat to show us she’s glad for our presence. These days, I remember more quickly that though her nature is feral, her conscious self wants love.
When she lets me scratch her tummy, I remind her (and myself), “Everyone needs love. Even a feral cat.”
Everyone needs love. The most feral of people, the most seemingly-hard hearted, the ones with the wild streak and the stubborn nature: they respond to love. In time.
My part is to keep filling the bowl (or putting a meal on the table), reaching out a hand, being an inviting presence. Looking for opportunities to scratch the tummy, so to speak. Waiting for the skittering to stop and meet me halfway. Listening for that purr.
“Even sinners love those who love them.” i
Love wins. In time.
i Jesus, Luke 6:32
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