On Kittens and Disappointments

When we reluctantly agreed with my sister that "every child needs a pet," I had no idea that the tan kitten named Snowball would overtake our hearts so completely. From the moment we brought the orphaned kitty home, Tyler adopted it saying, "I'm the daddy for this kitten." (We even lowered ourselves, John and I, to being called the grandparents of the cat.) Tyler took his job as parent seriously and sat his charge down for a father/daughter talk. 

"I am the daddy for you, so you need to listen to me and obey me. Don't go close to the road, okay? Never, ever. If you go on the road, the cars will smash you and you will die."

The kitten just looked at him and blinked its big blue eyes. I grinned and sincerely hoped that somewhere nestled beneath the fur would be a brain big enough to take the advice to heart. 

About the next thing we knew, our Grandcat supplied its special Daddy with three adorable kittens: Brownie, a gray one; Snowball, a tan duplicate of its mother; and Tiger, a clawing, orange striped one. The three instantly were as much a part of the family as ever a kitten can be. 

But there was a problem, of course. We are moving overseas and family or not, the armload of kittens will not relocate with us. I gently broached the subject with Tyler when he was laughing over their antics. "One day we're going to have to give your kittens to someone else," I said. "We can't take them on the airplane to Ghana."

He turned those molten chocolate eyes towards me, nearly puddling with tears over the very idea. "Not my special Snowball," his voice was pleading. "Not this guy with the jolly, cute face." He lifted Snowball up and planted a kiss deep within its fur. 

I didn't press the point, but I ached along with him. 

The day came when the kittens turned six weeks old and were eating kitty food very well. I knew it was time to start finding homes for the babies, but I dreaded it like crazy. There are so many changes and things my boy will need to give up when we move. I wished there would be a way for him to keep his kitten with the "jolly, cute face." But there wasn't. 

My sister volunteered to take two. "But they need to be the same gender." Her words were decisive. "We don't want to start a cat farm around here."

Then there was no choice. Tiger and Snowball are boys; Brownie is a girl. That meant the first kitten to go would be the jolly, cute one. I woke up in the wee hours one morning and was unable to fall back to sleep right away. I had just had a dream in which two kittens were given away and Tyler was left without Snowball. In my dream he turned his eyes towards me, all pooled with tears, and said, "Now I only have one left." 

There is something about your child's disappointment that deeply hurts the mama, too. The ache in my heart was strong enough that I had trouble falling back to sleep.

When the time came to tell Snowball goodbye, I had Tyler kiss his kittens one last time and tell them good-bye. He did, a little reluctantly. We handed the kittens over and left. 

I was ready for his tears. If he had melted into a puddle of them, I wouldn't have blamed him and might have even joined him. But there were none. I couldn't believe it. I resisted the instinct to let my jaw rest slackly on my knees. How could he be so brave? I didn't know he had it within him. 

When I shared the story with a friend she said simply, "You carried his grief for him." 

I wasn't sure that I totally bought the idea, but I could relate to the concept. Jesus died not just for my sins but to bear all the grief and guilt that are associated with them. He carried it and lets me go free. 

I watch my son play happily with the mama cat and the one remaining kitten. His countenance is clear. He laughs. His eyes, those expressive brown ones, are shiny and bright. He loves like he has never lost his special kitten with the jolly, cute face. 

Jesus wants me to live as freely as my son is. He knows I've had my share of things I could carry guilt and shame over. He knows my heart would be broken with things that have grieved me. But He carried all of that so I can be free. He wants me to lift up my chin and laugh as freely as my son does. 

I turned to my son and took the kitten he offered me to hold. Tyler smiled at me, his little jaw stiffening the way it does whenever he is feeling tender towards something cute. "Look at this special baby," he said. "Isn't it darling?" 

It is. One of these days he's going to need to say goodbye to this little one, too. Hopefully he can do it without too great a disappointment. But even if it does hurt a lot, I know that I'll carry some of his grief, too.