Cats in the Belfry

I've got two big, hairy cats, old and very set in their ways. Since Ken is allergic (that's what he keeps saying), they live outdoors. They're quirky, as all cats are. First, there's Peter. He's yellow, half crazy and thinks he's the King of the neighborhood. He saunters across the street, hoping for snacks, stopping traffic and beating off bullies. Matilda is tortoiseshell-colored, genteel and loves to be petted. She drools when she gets to purring. But she doesn't like children or other cats.

For the life of me, I can't figure out why these two animals can't get along. They growl and fight. They spend their lives avoiding each other and wrestling time over the cat bowl. When it's chilly, they could be cuddling. When it's hot, they could be grooming each other. But no. Everything's all spittin' and howling, when they could be having a party. Everybody's got to prove something. Meanwhile, they're missing life. 

Just like people. We get miffed about some dumb thing and quit hanging out. He said/she said and then pride jumps in the middle. She stepped over the line. He didn't do what he was supposed to do. They're just snooty. They're just trash. But at the center of every person's chest, there's a heart beating. A heart that might be poisoned by anger or hurt by devilish people. Everyone's got a story. Some will soften when they are heard. Some won't ever. 

There are a lot of good and bad days in a life, but I have to say that some of the best ones are the ones where I stopped my rushing to sit down, invited someone in, spoke a word, heard a word. I can see a harvest of those times hanging in my mind, way back over the years and up to now... where maybe a crusty old geezer cracked open his armor for a minute. A timid teenager sought refuge. A bullyish woman put down her sword to finally laugh. We're all irregular people, if you really get down to it. We've got warts, fangs, messes and skeletons in the closet. There's a lot of strong opinions all over the map in this country now, polarizing us to Outer Mongolia from each other. I'm pondering Atticus' words to Scout in "To Kill A Mockingbird:"  "If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it." That goes for cats, too.