A real-life salvation allegory
Hi, I’m Montana Crow, but you can call me Monty. At this moment I am on my owner’s lap dictating everything I want to tell you today. No one knows how long this moment shall last because I’ve been on this lap for about an hour while my owner does random things I don’t understand, and coos over how cute I am. I think I’ll want to go back outside to my domain soon.
Anyway, my story begin when (can you guess?) I was born to a feral cat living in the pine woods in the spring of 2017. My litter mates and I stayed with our mother until we were ready to go off on our own. We went our different ways into the wilds of the big wide woods. As I went through life, taking care of myself and hunting whatever game I could find, I began to realize how dangerous the woods were. Some of my litter mates were killed by coyotes (a common fate for feral cats), but Yehovah protected me for a special reason.
Thus I wandered in the world–hungry, vulnerable, and lacking love. One day I came to a house and smelled some wonderful, fishy food. Despite the tiger-like cat that prowled the grounds, I managed to make it to the food bowl and scarf a little of the strange, small nuggets of food.
Then I heard a jingle. Humans! I was terrified of what the huge, strong people might do to me. With a bolt of speed I dropped off the second-story porch and charged toward the woods–a place where I felt safe.
But I was so hungry. In the following weeks I continued to visit that food bowl when I came back from my various excursions in the wild. I would eat as much food as I could before the humans came. Then I would make my characteristic dash to the woods.
One day I decided not to run away when they came out. Instead I sat on the porch and made my scared noise, “Ger-e-ow!” I thought they would fight me or chase me because I had taken food from their cats. But no. Instead, they pet me and told me I was a good cat. I was still scared, and not sure if I should trust them.
I continued to visit them when I returned from my adventures. And they continued giving me pats. I was not sure why they wanted to give me love, as no one had loved me before, but I began to enjoy the pats and the visits to their house.
Then one night I got into a terrible fight. (I won’t go into the details, as my owner doesn’t know the details, and I’d rather keep them private.) I trudged back to the house, wondering what they would think of me now that I was oozy-eyed and weak.
They welcomed me with love, giving me a blanket, food, and whatever else I needed. I eagerly responded to their love. As I recovered, I came to see them every night. They picked me up, told me I was sweet, and showed me off to those they knew.
As the months and weeks went by, the wonderful cycle of them loving me and me loving back continued. Now I can almost always be found on their back porch, which is now my back porch. They have adopted me as their own cat. They continue to pet me, feed me, and take care of my medical needs. No longer do I have to fend for myself in the dangers of the woods. I have a new life. I am now a domesticated cat that knows how to give and receive love.
I love how my owners bring me inside to cuddle on their laps, but my owners insist that I’ll never know quite how much they love me or how much their hearts melt when I purr or look at them with my so-called “adorable spark-yellow eyes.” When I bat or nip them, they don’t love me any less. They just teach me to mend my ways by sending me back to the cold outdoors. I suppose they’re right–that I’ll never know quite how much they love me–as they are humans and have a level of consciousness and feeling that is above a cat’s. But I certainly do know that I am loved. And here, with my owners, is where I want to be for the rest of my life.