Cats Are Not God, But Sometimes They Look Like It

My daughter, Amanda, has a cat named Margo.  She came into our home as a kitten and has only been here for around eight months; but it doesn't matter to her--as far as Margo is concerned, she is the god of her world.

 

When Margo arrived, she was cute beyond belief.  She was cuddled and petted and pampered and praised by everyone who saw her.  And now that she has grown, she is beautiful and graceful and confident.  She demands attention at every moment, whether it is through the presentation of her beauty, the acrobatic moves she performs while playing, or certain acts of mischief which she is fully aware she ought not to do.

 

We have given Margo many things.  We have bought her balls with bells and feathers on the end of a string that we swing around with a stick.  We have purchased her a four-foot carpeted pedestal with three scratching posts, a round cylinder halfway up which she can sit inside and peek out of, and a podium at the top where she can stand and survey all of her territories--whether they be in the living room that she rules, or on the other side of the window which faces her throne.  We have also given her access to the things that we consider ours--specifically furniture--which she enjoys sharpening her claws on and then running away with glee once we have responded to her actions with shouts and a squirt bottle of water. 

Margo, like most cats, think she is god.  She takes great joy in all of her godly activity.

There is one thing, however, that receives the joy, gratitude, and approval of the mighty Margo in a way that nothing else does.  That thing is an act where she is removed from the presence of the family surroundings (including our two pesky dogs) and taken alone to some place quiet.  In that place she is petted, rubbed, and scratched behind her ears and under her chin in a way that makes her purr with delight.  She simply can not get enough of the one-on-one interaction with one of her "beings."  While Margo is happy with all of the frivolity of her life, it seems that it is the personal communication (and petting) that makes her existence heavenly.

It is hard not to see God when I think of her activity.  She has a sense of humor and a playful attitude.  She has energy.  She is sometimes hard to hold, and when she puts her paws on something it can hurt.  She has a perch that ought to be her throne, but she can't always be seen there.  It is in her power to be everywhere one moment, and in the next she totally hidden.  Those are attributes that might be ascribed to God.

And when the day is done, there is one place that she really wants to be.  It is a place that brings her joy like no other.  It is that place where she gets to be alone with her subjects--interacting and sharing love.

That is Margo.

I think it is also God.

Just because cats aren't god, it doesn't mean that they don't look like Him sometimes.  Is it any wonder that they think so highly of themselves?

God in Pictures.