STRAIGHT FROM THE HART
By Joan Rowden Hart
I haven’t written many columns here this past summer, due to constant pain and lack of mobility. Lots of you have asked me about that, so I’m going to try and do more writing as we transition into fall.
I’m writing today to tell you about Annie, who has been my constant companion as I read and worked on my sermons and poetry and other writings these past ten years.
I first met Annie back in February 2004 after Milan told me to go out and look for something I would like to have for Valentine’s Day and he promised to get it for me no matter what it was. He has often joked that he should have put some conditions on that. But he didn’t, and so I headed straight to the Humane Society animal shelter.
It had been two long years since we had put our beloved Maine Coon cat to sleep, a big pile of what appeared to be nothing but fur but with a huge heart hidden inside. We had named him Ollie in honor of Col. Oliver North who was our news hero at the time.
I entered the cat compound at the Humane Society. There were only two cats inside, a brown tabby who ran to the other side of the pen away from me, and a little black and white girl who came running over to me and when I picked her up, she snuggled her head under my chin and began to purr. It was love at first sight.
She was new there and they had not given her a name so I called her Annie. She was always smaller than the average cat, even when full grown, so we dubbed her Little Annie.
We knew she must have had a home somewhere before she came to the shelter because she was very loving, and appeared to have been well cared for. Even more telling,we were not able to get her to drink any water until she jumped up on Milan’s bathroom sink one day when the water was running, put her head directly under the faucet and began to drink. It was clear this was not a new experience for her and continued to be the only way she would drink.
We were told by our veterinarian two years ago when our other cat died at a very young age that Annie was probably a carrier for the feline kidney disease that killed him, and it would eventually cause her death when she became older.
And so it was that we knew the time had come these past few weeks as her behaviour changed and her litter box habits were affected.
We took her to the vet this week who confirmed there was nothing more she could do for Annie, and so once again we said good-bye to a precious famiy member.
The protective cloths spread over the sofa and chairs are now gone. The litter boxes and feeding dishes are gone. The tall climbing tower in front of my office windows is gone. But so is the soul of our house. I wonder if I will remember to open the blinds on the sunny side of my office as soon as I get up without her jumping up on her tower seat and scolding me for not opening them before I sat down.
I know not everyone will understand how an animal can mean so much to those of us who dote on them. In this world there are two kinds of people - those who have house pets and those who have sparkling clean houses all the time.
As a pastor I was often asked, especially by children, if their dog or cat would go to heaven when they died. Theologically, I never knew what to say and I really doubt that you know either. But if heaven is a perfect place of complete happiness and contentment, and we believe that it is, then it is not unreasonable to think our beloved animals will greet us there.
In thinking about this one day sitting at the compluter in a reflective mood, these thoughts came to me about how kittens would play in heaven. Heaven’s boundaries are limitless, so they would have lots of room to run. The dogs would all be friendly, and the cats would never get their “fe-lines” hurt by being snapped at.
They could play on golden streets without the angels scolding them, and if they climbed the Tree of Life, they might meet up with a heavenly frown that wouldn’t last long because even God would think they are cute.
I can imagine them flying around on furry wings and running across the angels’ harps,so the strings of heavenly music would occasionally be intertwined with their little kitty-paw “pings”. I think they would find heaven to be a place of pure “purr-fection”.
I can see them playing hide and seek in and out among the clouds, chasing and batting at each other then peeking out to see if the angels are watching.
But best of all, when kittens play in heaven every cat gets in the game, the blind ones can see once more, the crippled no longer lame, because in heaven there would be no difference in feral cats and tame, and old cats are made young again, when kittens play in heaven.
Rest in peace, sweet Little Annie. I will miss you most of all this winter as I remember how we would curl up together under the electric blanket for Sunday afternoon naps, and you would lay your paw on top of the control so I couldn’t turn it off. You were really the “cat’s meow” when it came to feline intelligence. You taught us all there is no such thing as a dumb animal.
By Joan Rowden Hart
I haven’t written many columns here this past summer, due to constant pain and lack of mobility. Lots of you have asked me about that, so I’m going to try and do more writing as we transition into fall.
I’m writing today to tell you about Annie, who has been my constant companion as I read and worked on my sermons and poetry and other writings these past ten years.
I first met Annie back in February 2004 after Milan told me to go out and look for something I would like to have for Valentine’s Day and he promised to get it for me no matter what it was. He has often joked that he should have put some conditions on that. But he didn’t, and so I headed straight to the Humane Society animal shelter.
It had been two long years since we had put our beloved Maine Coon cat to sleep, a big pile of what appeared to be nothing but fur but with a huge heart hidden inside. We had named him Ollie in honor of Col. Oliver North who was our news hero at the time.
I entered the cat compound at the Humane Society. There were only two cats inside, a brown tabby who ran to the other side of the pen away from me, and a little black and white girl who came running over to me and when I picked her up, she snuggled her head under my chin and began to purr. It was love at first sight.
She was new there and they had not given her a name so I called her Annie. She was always smaller than the average cat, even when full grown, so we dubbed her Little Annie.
We knew she must have had a home somewhere before she came to the shelter because she was very loving, and appeared to have been well cared for. Even more telling,we were not able to get her to drink any water until she jumped up on Milan’s bathroom sink one day when the water was running, put her head directly under the faucet and began to drink. It was clear this was not a new experience for her and continued to be the only way she would drink.
We were told by our veterinarian two years ago when our other cat died at a very young age that Annie was probably a carrier for the feline kidney disease that killed him, and it would eventually cause her death when she became older.
And so it was that we knew the time had come these past few weeks as her behaviour changed and her litter box habits were affected.
We took her to the vet this week who confirmed there was nothing more she could do for Annie, and so once again we said good-bye to a precious famiy member.
The protective cloths spread over the sofa and chairs are now gone. The litter boxes and feeding dishes are gone. The tall climbing tower in front of my office windows is gone. But so is the soul of our house. I wonder if I will remember to open the blinds on the sunny side of my office as soon as I get up without her jumping up on her tower seat and scolding me for not opening them before I sat down.
I know not everyone will understand how an animal can mean so much to those of us who dote on them. In this world there are two kinds of people - those who have house pets and those who have sparkling clean houses all the time.
As a pastor I was often asked, especially by children, if their dog or cat would go to heaven when they died. Theologically, I never knew what to say and I really doubt that you know either. But if heaven is a perfect place of complete happiness and contentment, and we believe that it is, then it is not unreasonable to think our beloved animals will greet us there.
In thinking about this one day sitting at the compluter in a reflective mood, these thoughts came to me about how kittens would play in heaven. Heaven’s boundaries are limitless, so they would have lots of room to run. The dogs would all be friendly, and the cats would never get their “fe-lines” hurt by being snapped at.
They could play on golden streets without the angels scolding them, and if they climbed the Tree of Life, they might meet up with a heavenly frown that wouldn’t last long because even God would think they are cute.
I can imagine them flying around on furry wings and running across the angels’ harps,so the strings of heavenly music would occasionally be intertwined with their little kitty-paw “pings”. I think they would find heaven to be a place of pure “purr-fection”.
I can see them playing hide and seek in and out among the clouds, chasing and batting at each other then peeking out to see if the angels are watching.
But best of all, when kittens play in heaven every cat gets in the game, the blind ones can see once more, the crippled no longer lame, because in heaven there would be no difference in feral cats and tame, and old cats are made young again, when kittens play in heaven.
Rest in peace, sweet Little Annie. I will miss you most of all this winter as I remember how we would curl up together under the electric blanket for Sunday afternoon naps, and you would lay your paw on top of the control so I couldn’t turn it off. You were really the “cat’s meow” when it came to feline intelligence. You taught us all there is no such thing as a dumb animal.
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