We’ve got these two cats named Ramona & Beezus. Talk about double trouble.
Now take it easy. This isn’t gonna’ be some lame blog expecting the reader to interrupt their day and salivate over the antics of boring ass cats.
Pets are cool. However, I’m not one of the animal rights activists flooding social media in a quest for their elevation to sainthood. Animals are animals, Period. Besides, I’ve always been more of a dog guy. However, upon meeting these two felonious felines, one is struck by how approachable and tolerant Beezus is. She’s more like a little puppy. You can pick her up and rock her furry eyes to sleep. A real cozy lover she is. The only irritating thing she pulls on a regular basis is to prowl table & counter-tops in the dead of night, taking great glee at knocking stuff on the floor…just to hear it fall. Glasses, drinks, candles…you name it. Everything is fair game. She’s also somewhat of a bread junkie. Her jones for it is ravenous, necessitating the use of a metal bread box to keep her away. Other than that, she’s neat, clean, and fun to be around. In the dysfunctional family of roles, Beezus is…
“The Purrfect Child”
Ramona is a whole other story. She’s our “Special Olympics-Challenged” cat. In contrast to Beezus, she’s overweight, messy and loves to lay her fat ass right smack dab in the middle of a doorway or some other highly traveled route in the house. She’s highly proficient at getting under your feet. That’s always fun when getting up in the middle of the night to drain your vein–as she does her damnedest to trip you up. She’s got this tail with a chunk missing and a bend at the 3/4 mark. When excited, it does this twitchy meth thing as if plugged into an electrical socket. Well…you might have some of those qualities if you had her unresolved kitten-of-origin issues. As a young kitty scampering around her environs, Ramona gave new meaning to “Curiosity killed the cat”
While looking for kicks on route 66 one day, she snuck into the clothes dryer while my wife was doing laundry one day.
Ramona ended up in a hot dry cycle for more than a moment. Ames thought it sounded like a pair of kids tennis shoes banging around the drier. When those shoes started meowing on steroids, Ames freed her from certain death with slightly burnt paws and kinda’ on the warm side. But she’s one tough cat and made it through many dangers, toils and snares after being checked out by the vet. Two weeks after that, Ramona made her way into the refrigerator. Thus, a template of extremes was formed in her psyche’. At first, I was a tad slow downloading her peculiar mannerisms, and frankly, thought of her as a pain in the ass.
Add to that, she shits outside the box.
That’s right readers. In the basement are two large, aluminum trays filled with kitty litter for them to do their business. Beezus on the right, Ramona on the left. For reasons not quite known, Ramona can’t even get taking a dump right. She’s on the chub side and can’t clean her butt very well. I’ve never seen a cat with a dirtier ass. We’re talking major, dried dingle balls clinging to her anal fur. That makes sense when viewing the periphery outside her dump box. Like little claymore mines, Ramona isn’t particularly fussy about where she lays her funky IED’s. It use to piss me off to no end. Seriously. What kind of cat would defy the Natural Order Of Things to take a dump outside her box?
One day while in the bowels of the basement folding some laundry, I caught Ramona walking sideways towards her box, ostensibly to purge her system of effluent and digested cat food. You ever watch how a cat will hide their head behind a table-cloth and think you can’t see them? That’s exactly the tactic I employed to gather some Intel on her droppings. Without her knowing, I watched as she took a squat about 6″ outside the box and let it fly. What followed cracked me up. After depositing a small-cow pie on the floor, Ramona jumped into the box and began furiously scooping litter in a futile effort to mask the stench left in the wake of her damaged little mind. With great determination, she scooped left, then right, and then seemed to say; “That’s good” and moved on to other amusing tweaky behavior.
At that point, my attitude started changing regarding my Ramona-Bona. As I grabbed the plastic putty knife to scrape the residual of her basement visit off the floor, that still, small voice began speaking in my heart. When balanced on the Triple Beam of the Trinity I get a kick out of what God will do–and use, to connect with His kids.
Take a look Tim. See that pile? Pretty disgusting…isn’t it?
That’s you outside My will and plan for your life.
Messy, isn’t it?
It’s pretty stinky as well.
That’s right. See how Ramona tried to cover it up? See any parallels there?
Er…now that You mention it…Hmm, I think I know where this is going.
No matter how many times Ramona tries to mask her mess with a thin coating of her choice…
The ends are always the same?
Actually Tim, it gets progressively worse. Those who loved you the most, those who hung in the longest–were exposed, hurt, damaged, and wounded by your discharge. That was on a good day.
Yeah…been dreaming a lot about Danny & Joe lately. In the dreams, they’re alive and with me, but I always feel like a piece of shit.
Embrace dreams. There’s no condemnation for those I reside in. You need to get with this in order to make the best of whatever time is left. They are alive and with you. No one can take that from you son. I don’t define the totality of your existence based on your last day with them. Your brothers are in good hands…My hands. Right?
You can’t go back and clean up your past. The consequences of your sin aren’t anything you can handle, own, or even look at without My grace. Only then, will you surrender so I can make beautiful art out of the cacophony of dissonance and train wrecks of your life
How do you do that?
You and I need to operate on a “need-to-know” basis. Right now, you don’t need to know very much. Start with the small things
Got a suggestion?
I AM the author of every good “suggestion” that permeates your rebellious brain. Here’s one for you. The energy you waste getting upset over petty stuff is beneath you. Clean that litter as an act of worship. Embrace Ramona with a gentle spirit. Cultivate gratitude for the next leg of the journey. I AM the restorer of the breaches. Slow down…take a look. Love Amy. Embrace those boys. Play more music and for the love of Me, quit hanging out unsupervised in that Irish mind of yours
It’s a petty, vindictive, unmerciful & boring place anyway
I know. Choose to get outside. Find the Radical Middle. That’s been an elusive thing. Right?
One more thing
You’re My train-wreck and I love you with an everlasting love
I’ve gotta’ run now because Ramona just dragged her butt across the clean bed sheets, and it really…