The Fight

The sounds of growls and hisses filled the air. Someone was in distress. The growls rose to a fevered pitch. Thumps resounded through the room. It sounded as if someone was being thrown into a wall. Thuds were overlapped with the sounds of toenails against the floor--almost as if tap dancing. Metal jingled. Footsteps could be heard mixed with leaps, thuds, and more alarming growls.

Then . . . silence--absolute silence.

Rushing toward the scene she was terrified that this time the playful pup had gone too far--was her cat still breathing? Nightmarish scenes rushed through her mind. Would the cat be a dead heap of fur? Would he be torn limb from limb? Hurrying into the room from which the sounds had come, she steeled herself to find a gruesome sight.

The seventy pound dog lay sprawled on the floor, legs every direction . . . belly up. Her tongue dangled from her mouth. Her eyes closed. Standing over her, pulled to his full height was the seven pound cat. Tail snapping the air with tension, he reached out with his mighty, clawless paw and slapped her dangling tongue . . . then rubbed his entire body down the length of her snout as he moved beside her head--tilted his head to rub both jowls and his throat against her. He flowed around her head to the other side as she turned her head to follow his movement and gave him a gently kiss.

Scrambling to her feet, she towered over him. He rubbed the top of his head under her chin. Then, not able to resist, she nibbled behind his ears and the growls, howls, and hisses began again. He thudded onto the floor--belly up--as she sniffed, nuzzled, and pushed her nose into him.

From his back he pummeled her nose with blows. Leaping to his paws he sprang over her to the top of a nearby desk, draped himself over the edge and looked down at her--daring her to come near. She stood, waiting for his next move. Tiring of the game, she dropped to the floor and watched. He draped himself more elegantly across the desk and staring intently at her, slowly closed his eyes in a cat smile.

Reaching out to stroke and scratch the head of the "puppy" she picked up the self-satisfied cat, stoking his velvet fur as she returned to her chair. "You sounded like you were dying in there, you crazy cat! And you little girl," she spoke to the dog who had followed them and now had her head on mom's lap, "can be a monster! Too bad you two don't like each other." The dog responded my pushing her way farther onto the lap while the cat purred as he reached out with a paw to touch mom's cheek.

Sometimes, we complain and sound as if we are dying . . . but we're not. Sometimes we protest loudly, but we know we are not being harmed--just moved. Sometimes we snarl to hide our true feelings.

God puts up with a lot from us. God has the power . . . the ability to stop us, but chooses not to do so. God knows that no matter how much we snarl, hiss, growl, pummel with our fists (or paws) that we know deep inside ourselves that God simply loves us and want to be with us. We put on tough acts on the outside to hide the tender emotions on the inside.

Patient, loving, waiting God, we thank you for loving us enough to see through our touch acts to the tender inner person within us. Help us to open ourselves more to others and to see the real person within them--even when they hiss and snarl at us. So be it. Amen.