One with four legs.

Kiki rescues my heart from the worry of the moment in so many ways. Many of you pet owners already know what I’m talking about.

Read on. I actually have a point here.

Some people don’t like the chains that come with caring for a pet. I get it. We need a Kiki-sitter every time we leave the house for more than two days. She needs Prozac; we threaten but never do. No kidding. She becomes forlorn, and well, I guess we miss her a lot too. Much of our furniture shows evidence of her residency.  I do a lot of scooping, but at least she’s courteous enough to make you-know-what in her box…most of the time!


I’m nuts about Kiki. Now, you dog-loving cat naysayers—don’t tune me out. Kiki loves to play catch. We’ve owned dogs most our married life, and a few cats, but never a cat-dog like my 14-year-old half-Bengal, half-(I’m not sure what). These felines are an interesting breed, from their looks to their behaviors. A lot of Bengal is running through Kiki’s blood.

A close human friend, Diane Blankenship (DB) up Seattle way, in a semi-mocking fashion would hear our stories and call this cat “extraordinary.” She was thinking like…get a grip, guys. After spending little snippets of time with Kiki over the years, even DB is becoming a believer.

Kiki follows Karen and me from room to room; often with some toy she somehow fits into her tiny mouth. Subtle messages. She has her routines, and if we deviate from them she’s not happy. BTW, I’m certain she understands English. (Certifiably crazy…no?) I can be working in the office in the early a.m. after taking care of Kiki’s needs, and when she gets mad because I’m not paying enough attention to her, I tell her…

”Go wake up Mommy.” Kiki retreats. Soon Karen stumbles into my office moaning, “Coffee…?” Our little buddy proudly prances close behind, proclaiming mission accomplished. I know…I belong in a padded cell. See what happens to empty nesters.

There’s so much more I could tell you about the other woman in my life. But here’s my real point in all this.

I’m beginning to become childlike again when it comes to pets. Our worlds can become so chaotic with raising kids, working hard, caring for family members, exercising (or trying to)…on and on…that we forget about our little creatures. We forget, in my opinion, that they are gifts from heaven. Maybe I’m just getting old and softhearted.

I’m learning to find joy in small blessings, like my friend from God’s animal kingdom. Kiki was an eight-week old rescue when she came to us, and now she often rescues me from stresses that hem me in and hold me back. Like writer’s block. When I ignore God’s advice to still my soul now and again, Kiki reminds me.

She’ll be laying in her comfy Petsmart bed, strategically placed to the left of my large computer screen…eyes closed, enjoying a catnap. Then, for no apparent reason, she’ll turn her head toward me, and utter the most contented of purrs and bare her tummy for a scratch.

“Take your time, breathe…it’s gonna be alright,” she says.

My little Kiki is beginning to slow down a bit.

Truth be told, so am I…in some ways.