The One with the Traumatized Kitty

The cat has been relocated. 

He is officially a resident of our lovely little camper abode. 

But notice, I used no endearing terms when referring to THE cat.

Nope.

In this post, I am not feeling the slightest ounce of affection for this animal we so recently (officially) obtained. 

I was praying the hour long car ride would go off without a hitch.

I figured Butterscotch would be frightened and uncomfortable for a few minutes, 

but would quickly settle onto my lap into the lump that he is.

That is not at all what actually happened. 

We loaded the car (for the second time that day) and Butterscotch had walked over to say goodbye. 

I picked him up.

Which, you must know, is not his thing. 

He loves to snuggle with you, but being lifted or held or suspended feet from the ground is last on his list of priorities. 

It's sad really. 

Anyway, I set him on my lap in the car. 

Immediately he started "maowwwwwwwww."

This is the sound not of a precious "meow" but of a cat upset and scared silly.

"MAOWWWW."

It continued as he climbed onto the dashboard.

We hadn't even started the car. 

I put him on the backseat as we pulled onto the street. 

The cries continued. 

I sat him on the floor behind the driver's seat.

He attempted to crawl beneath the seat. 

The poor thing thought we were torturing him.

I kept leaning back to stroke his head--

whispering, "It's ok, Baby. Shhh. It's ok."

I felt terrible. 

But I knew we were doing what was best for him.

He can't stay home by himself 6 days out of the week, right?

But he couldn't see that protection we were planning for his good.

That made me think.

Hmm. I bet that's sort of how God feels about us.

He has our good in mind. ALWAYS. 

He takes us through the pain to get us to the glory on the other side. 

But we fight him. 

We scream and yell and protest--

believing he's torturing us. 

And when the hardship is over we may not even realize from what we were being saved. 

But God delivered us into HIS good will, nonetheless.

And I just had to keep reminding myself of that as this poor pitiful cat pooped on my lap.

And then again on the backseat. 

All while "maow"-ing.

Albeit a bit more muted than before. 

That was so not cool. 

But we're "home" now. 

And even after not being able to find his litter, 

and not having a teeny space to hide in, 

and having to deal with yesterday's thunderstorm 

(the second to last thing on his favorites list), 

I think Butterscotch is doing just fine.

At least I hope so.   

And just so you all know, if you hear me refer to Butterscotch as Reginald, pay it no mind.

Well, other than to think "That is totally the awesomest name for a cat ever."

And that credit totally goes to my husband.