There is a new family that has moved into the house adjacent to mine. They have a cat. It is a white at with a black eye. It is an outside cat and has claimed our garden as its territory. Its own back yard is paved over and full of bikes. It could walk around to its own front yard and find a lawn and flower beds, but the wildness that is ours suits it better.
This morning it was sitting beneath our tree looking upwards. There was no birdsong, or should I say that in the absence of my hearing aids I couldn’t hear any birds singing. That is rare as our garden is one of the few along the terrace that still has a tree. There is usually a noisy chatter as the birds make conversation and gossip. But not today.
There was a swirl of a tail as the white cat, with black eye, launched itself into the branches. It is a tree that invites a climber with limbs and branches not entirely out of reach. I watched the cat as it stretched limbs, scratched at a branch, and settled itself down. It did not look comfortable and hopped down. It resumed staring up at the tree.
I have to confess that I had once tricked my husband into thinking we had a squirrel in the tree. I had tipped a packet of nuts at bottom and hopped and skipped about pointing upwards. He came out of the house to look up at the branches.
The wite cat, with the black eye, launched itself back up into the tree. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? No. It was a black cat. There would have been a wonderful symmetry has the black cat had a white eye, but it was just black.
The two cats stared at each other. No threatening hisses.
It occurred to me that there might have been a conversation going on.
‘Hey, Blondie,’ said the black cat. ‘Any idea how I can get down from here? I have been stuck up here for ages.’
‘Twat cat,’ Blondie replied, ‘It’s not rocket science. We have big cat DNA. Just follow your instincts. ‘
‘The DNA got me up here, but getting down? I just can’t seem to find a way.
‘There’s a branch just over there,’ Blondie pointed with a paw. ‘Sidle over that way. It looks strong enough to take your weight. Then the other branch there…’
The black cat followed the advice given. There was a strong gust of wind and the leaves rustled alarmingly.
‘No! It’s not going to work,’ he said, retreating to where he had been.
‘Hang on,’ said Blondie, ‘I’m coming over.’ She began to step daintily between branches, swaying with the wind.
‘No! Stop. It’s too dangerous. The branch might break. We’ll hurtle to the ground and be killed. Someone needs to phone the fire brigade.’
Blondie sighed. She had met these kinds of cats before. Didn’t he know that even if the branch broke and they fell, they are cats and cats always land on their four feet? It’s almost impossible to help someone who will not trust you.
We all know it was just two cats in a tree. The writer in me cannot miss the chance to turn it into a narrative of some kind. The child of God in me cannot help but find a faith-directed metaphor.
We all find ourselves, at times, in places where we would rather not be. Climbing into a tree may be one thing but finding a way down might be a different challenge. There may be people standing at the base of the tree telling us where the next safe branch is and expecting us to trust them, but when someone climbs into the tree, it is something else.
Some people would insist that all religions are the same. God or Allah or Krishna or whatever name a deity goes by, it’s all the same. It is not. Only authentic Christianity has God becoming a human being and joining humanity to lead people out of the mess of Eden, the Fall and sin’s curse. He is like my white cat, with the black eye, that climbs into the tree to lead a black cat to safety. He is there on the branch with me as the wind tosses the tree, not cheering from the side lines.
And do you know what? I get to be like Him, tasked with climbing into the places where someone else has got stuck and helping them to a safe place in Jesus.
