Baby Girl has always been the cat whisperer, dog whisperer, hamster, rabbit, a chick, multiple fish,…..you get the idea. I swear that child is destined to marry a farmer, or zoo keeper. She has a way with animals and they adore her. Every four-legged creature in our house seems to gravitate towards her as if there is a subliminal message of her gentleness that seems to be easily read by them.
Wayne has long quit protesting over furry boarders in the Welch house. If it makes Baby Girl happy, well, let’s just say he has a soft spot the size of Texas for her.
That’s how we ended up with…..Jack:
Jack Frost, a Christmas gift for Baby Girl, is known mostly by plain old “Jack”. Wayne, who nicknames all out “babies” with some names that are not suitable for print, calls him “Jack Attack” for his propensity to swat at, or jump on poor defenseless Ginger at the most unsuspecting times.
Willow and he have some sort of cross species love affair that I hesitate to classify as normal. They are most often found wrestling,or napping together. Some things are better left alone, and their relationship is one of them.
Jack and I have our own odd relationship that revolves around both of us being the early risers in the house. Every morning I try to tiptoe to the kitchen quietly as possible to get the coffee on without rousing him. No use, he greets me with loud scolding meows as if to say,
” Lady, all you think about is coffee. I am starving, hurry up and feed me, and by the way, Kroger cat food has way too much tuna for my liking. The Big Man must have bought groceries again, he doesn’t like me.”
After he eats a handful of crunchy Kroger cat food, I sit with my coffee and try to wake up. This used to be a peaceful early morning experience, but nowadays it involves a purr as loud as a jet engine. Not content until I look in his eyes and speak love words to him, he pats my face until I gaze in his gorgeous blue eyes.
“You are a pretty boy. You better run around before the bad girls get up. Why don’t you go get Sissy up?”
I shove him off my lap into the direction of Baby Girls room, but he knows she has no wish to share her bed with him. As if a rubber ball, he bounces back up in my lap and snuggles down by my side, stubbornly refusing to take the hint.
” Ok well if that’s the way you want Jack Attack, we’ll see what Beth Moore and the book of Exodus has to say about bad white kitties.”
He yawns, not at all worried that I will find any condemnation of white cats in my morning reading. He instinctively knows that the Creator takes care of white cats, and he figures I am a lot more in need of changing than he is. And so we sit and read in the early morning hours. Me, in search of new mercies, and he, in search of the warmest place possible. I am thinking that God may very well have said to me,
“Consider the white cats, they don’t worry about anything. If I take care of them then you Stephanie, who is worth a lot more than them to Me, have nothing at all to fear.”