One Determined Cat

Midnight, like most pampered house cats, wanted for nothing. He jumped into any lap, any time. He enjoyed fresh water and canned Friskies cat food in every flavor the ads declared delicious, as well as nutritious. Our home provided a loving castle for this feline king. What more could he want?

The three little girls of our household named him Midnight, because nestled in a child’s palm, the little ball of jet black fuzz felt like a furry sphere of darkness. However, to my mother, the cute, bright-eyed kitten was “Pretty Boy.” Can you guess to which name he would respond most?

Even well into the cat’s adult life, if we really wanted him to respond to our call, we needed to revert to his preferred handle. He’d simply ignore us if we didn’t. Then, the day came when the unthinkable happened.

“Mom, I can’t find Midnight anywhere,” I said. “Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?”

With only two bedrooms, one bathroom, a tiny kitchen, utility room, and a large, open, rectangular living-dining room area filling the less than 900 square feet of our cozy house, Midnight had limited hiding spaces. Being still in the single-digit age, I swept my small arm under all the furniture and cupboard bottoms to see if Midnight had squeezed his body under anything, though I suspected he’d grown too big to fit.

Mom had all of the drawers and doors of any storage structures tightly closed at all times so he couldn’t have accessed any of those either. His thick black fur made hiding in the hedges or bushes outside something he’d not have liked, making the inside of the house the only possibility.

“Maybe he’s gone visiting,” Mother said. “No doubt, he’ll be home when he’s hungry.”

“Mom, none of our friends have a cat. Where could he go visiting?” She only shrugged her shoulders and smiled at me.

Throughout the day, I kept an eye on the little combination food and water dish, checking from time to time to see if any had been nibbled.

When hours had passed without any evidence of Midnight’s return, my mother began to express her puzzlement over what could have happened to the usually close-to-home feline member of the family.

“Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, where are you? Come home my Pretty Boy.” Mom beckoned the cat, repeating her higher pitched pleading over and over. Still no Pretty Boy came.

When night fell and Midnight hadn’t come home, even my mother began to get worried. This tom cat liked to be inside the house after dark. His food had not been touched all day. Where could he be? While we little kids struggled with the worst-case scenarios, Mom tried to think of the not-so-bad possibilities for his absence in the family living room that evening.

“He’ll be home tomorrow. He might have found a new friend and is sleeping over. Probably the friend shared her food with him so don’t worry.”

With the passing of each day, our fears grew. Had he been hit by a car or grabbed for the menacing pleasure of bullies? Mom continued calling for her Pretty Boy off and on during daylight hours. I scoured the neighborhood but didn’t find him.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks became months with not one single clue what had happened to our beloved Midnight Pretty Boy. Why would he have wondered off? Had something awful happened to him? Should we have played with him more?

We knew that the song said “God’s eye is on the sparrow,” but I worried that Midnight’s paw might have knocked one of those sparrows into his waiting chops when God’s eyes saw it all. Would that interfere with our pleas for God to help us find him?

One afternoon I answered the phone to hear the voice of a man I loved with all my heart. He didn’t phone often, so I knew it must be important. “Hi, Grandpa! How are you and Grandma? How is Tuffy? Do you want me to get Mom to come to the phone?” I shot off my questions in rapid-fire fashion and heard Grandpa laugh.

“Whoa there, Little Britches. Let me answer you before you run out of breath.” After Grandpa assured me that he, Grandma and their rambunctious farm dog were all just fine, he got to the point of his call. “Who do you suppose was peeking at me over the edge of the hayloft this morning when I went to milk the cows?”

I selected a few favorite names from the many possibilities on Grandpa’s ranch, waiting for his reply after each guess. Finally I conceded I hadn’t any idea.

“Well, it surely could’ve been any of those but not this time. Nope, this name comes closer to your home. In fact, when I saw him a lookin’ at me, I about dropped my bucket. I didn’t want to scare him so I quietly said, ‘Hey, Pretty Boy, is that you up there?’ and what do you think he did? He jumped right down into my arms; that’s what he did.”

“Oh, Grandpa, how could that be? How did he find your house? How did he know if he should go right or left at all of those crossroads? Is he okay? Is he hurt? Are you sure it is really him?”

We had to drive rugged country roads for seven or eight miles to cover the distance between our house and my grandparents’ ranch. Though every animal loved my Grandpa—including our Midnight, the cat had only been held by Grandpa at our house. He’d never been taken to their ranch, not even once. How in the world had he found the right barn?

“Oh, I’m sure alright. There’s not another cat like this one right here in my arms. He’s a bit worse for wear with his paws all torn up and bleeding. He’s a mite skinnier than the last time I saw him. His black fur is rather matted and I can feel his bones under that fur; but the brightness of his eyes tells me he’s going to be just fine.”

I couldn’t hear the purring sounds but had no doubt at all that Midnight’s motor was working overtime nestled there in Grandpa’s loving arms.

We visited Midnight not long after Grandpa’s joyous phone call. Mom raised the pitch of her voice and said, “Pretty Boy! Where’s my Pretty Boy?”

His response gave us all heart-warming joy. As soon as Midnight heard Mom, he stopped what he was doing and looked right at Mom. He’d not forgotten her.

Though a difficult decision, we all thought it best to leave our beloved Midnight with Grandpa. He’d walked through all four seasons of an entire Eastern Montana year… including those bone-jarring forty-degree-below-zero winters with snow from October to May. Though totally beyond our understanding just how Midnight survived the trek, we agreed he’d earned the right to live out the rest of his years with Grandpa.

Be encouraged! You’re worth more to God than a wandering city cat longing for the peace of a country barn. God’ll protect you as you follow His direction through all of those rough turns.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” (Luke 12:6-7)

Do you have any amazing pet stories you’d like to share? I love to hear the testimonies of how our Creator God cares for us all.