Eat. Sleep. Repeat. This is the life, with occasional intermissions to stalk tweety birds on the other side of the glass and guilt trip the humans into some lap time.
She also has her own room. Well, sort of. The small one off the laundry room. It contains food of her liking, fresh water, and a litterbox, as well as one of the human variety which boasts a cushy cover for sleeping on.
This morning when she wandered in for breakfast, the door shut behind her.
The reason? Floors needed mopping. Badly. And here's the problem. A wet mop gliding over floors is one of the few things that will awaken Felinious from Never-Never Land.
Wet floors just call paws to trek across them. And into the litterbox and back out. And up on the windowsill, then down the hall in an attempt to sneak a nap on the human's bed, for instance. Et cetera.
Not this time. The door closed. Decisively.
There's something about a closed door that invites protest. From a feline who is routinely silent, yowls emanated from behind that door continuously while the floor was mopped and dried. Why did she yowl? She who had everything she needed in that small room for life and catliness?
Because she couldn't get out.
A door that usually stands open is taken for granted. When it closes, a different situation entirely arises. There is a tendency within all of us, human or otherwise, to resist boundaries. Strenuously. Why, when we have all we need (and more) for life and Godliness within that boundary?
End of story. Except to say, even a mundane chore gives opportunity for reflection. And realization of why we react as we do, and what we might change to more fully appreciate our blessings and honor the One who strengthens us for every task.
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