On Guilt, Death, Salvation and Cats

I think “Determined Gal” has it right and the feelings of
despair and near obsession with the darkness within me can be a
self-destructive tool and, yes, I’m sure satan does love it.  I thought about that a lot today.  I think I may have had that someplace in my
subconscious yesterday at some point too but it hadn’t risen to the conscious
level. I knew those feelings and thoughts couldn’t really be OF God because
they were leading me to things that didn’t feel as if they were the fruit of
the spirit. They were leading me to want to do self-destructive things. I felt
compelled to cut myself (which I haven’t done in years).  I wanted to cut the evil out of me or to
bleed as sacrifice. I thought about the order of monks or nuns or whatever who
used self-flagellation.. you know those whip things with the balls of sharp
points to whip their own backs and I understood the reasons they did that – to
try to whip their own thoughts and evil-ness into submission.  Still, I’m acquainted enough with the true
nature of the spirit to know that this just doesn’t fit with Jesus as I’ve come
to know Him.  “I desire mercy, not
sacrifice,” kept repeating itself in my head. So I knew this was not of God,
but I found it so hard to shake these feelings of self-loathing. 

I had cottage Bible study last night and that helped a little bit. Basically
it was brought up that only by prayer can we get through these things only
Jesus can make us right with God.  I know
all this stuff… it’s just sometimes I forget it. I expect myself to do better
but I’m never going to do well enough. Our pastor once told us that
justification means “just as if I never sinned.”  I really loved that and it stuck with
me.  Sometimes it FEELS so incorrect,
nevertheless, “as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our
transgressions from us.” (That’s from Psalm 103:12 – one of my favorite
psalms.)  So I have to believe the Bible
even more than I believe my feelings, it’s just hard for me, that’s all.

On a different subject, I got to thinking today about a cat I once had. His
name was Tiger. I wrote about him a very long time ago. That writing turned
into an essay about euthanasia (for cats at least).  Tiger died early in the morning after a bout
with liver disease. He died on my bed, hissing and writhing, fighting off the
grim reaper and died in that position that dead cats sometimes end up in, mouth
open paws raised for battle.  I had
waited too long to get him euthanized. I just didn’t want to put him down until
I felt the quality of his life was diminished too much to stay alive or until
he was in too much pain to stay alive. 
Until that evening he seemed to be doing okay, just had become thin as a
rail.  We had done all we could afford to
do with the vet and even if we had spent more money, the vet didn’t feel Tiger
would have long to live.  I loved this
cat so terribly much I wanted him to be with me and to die in my arms some
peaceful way. And I wanted to wait until it would be necessary to put him down.

About midnight the night he died,
he started crying.  I went into the
dining room, scooped him up and brought him into my bed.  He began to writhe in pain and I didn’t know
what to do but I sensed he was dying.  I
tried to comfort him and pet him but it just didn’t help much.  All I could do was cry. Finally I thought of
getting these prescription sleep drops I had in the bathroom.  I thought I would use the dropper to give
Tiger a whole bunch of those drops and put him out of his pain because it was
getting horrible for him.  I asked my
husband to go get them from the medicine cabinet.  By the time he got back with them.  Tiger had stretched and hissed and took what
would be his final breath.  His little
heart beat for another moment or two and it was over.  He was locked in this position of battle for
eternity and I hated to see him like that forever but so many cats die like
that, almost as if they’re fighting it to the end. 

So I got to thinking today do all cats die like that, in horrible violent
fighting positions?  We had a cat named
Toby who died from some sort of genetic heart problem and he looked like that
when we found him dead.  Our dear cat
Jenny who we owned for 15 years died of smoke inhalation when our apartment
burned one night.  We got out but she
didn’t.  When we found her among our
charred possessions the next day she, too, was in that position.  But then I remembered Muppet.  She was Jenny’s little kitten.  When our cat, Jenny, had kittens we kept
little Muppet.  A few weeks before that
fire where we lost Jenny, we had lost Muppet. 
We lost her due to cancer.  She
had been sick for quite some time with cancer, then she had a stroke.  She was quite a timid sweet cat and very
scared to leave the safety of the apartment. 
She staggered around after the stroke so I picked her up and held her in
my arms.  I called my daughter home from
work (she worked the evening shift at a place where I was head of personnel so
there were some flexibilities) and my daughter ended up sleeping on the couch
with little Muppet cradled in her arms all night. 

I came out early in the morning and Muppet had died curled up happily in my
daughter’s arms.  There couldn’t have
been a better way for her to go. This was much better than if we had carted her
off to the vet for a shot and euthanasia and this had been what I wanted for Tiger.  Instead he had writhing pain and I ended up
feeling horror and dismay as well as a feeling that perhaps I had let him down
and maybe I should have had him put down sooner.  You just don’t know… you just never know. 

It’s weird how we get so attached to our animals and how they become almost
like mini-humans to us.  I have a cat
named Mystti now. She’s a huge fat cat with an attitude and I do love her so
much.  I watched her stretched out
languidly on a basket today as I thought about Tiger and I pondered how I wish
that everyone and everything I love could stay healthy and strong forever, or
at least until I, myself, die.