The very early mornings are for cats.  Well…and dogs. The very early mornings are for cats and dogs.  I find myself rising way before dawn to set out Gertie, our 11 year old dachshund mix. As a senior citizen, not unlike myself, an early morning tinkle and drink are mandatory.  This morning’s tinkle involved a trip out into the bitter artic air that is scraping across the prairie.  One the stab of cold air strikes, I am awake. Very awake.

So, once all our necessary chores are complete, I sit in my recliner to unload my very awake brain, but as I mentioned, very early mornings are for cats.  Romare, our grey and white tabby, invites himself to take up residence on my chest. It makes writing very difficult, but after a few moments, I pause and let his warm presence and enveloping purr overtake me. I sit my writing aside.  He demands my attention and my affections by thrusting his pointed little chin into my hand and demanding the little scritches that he loves.

   I’m not sure what cats think about. As Romare lays across my chest, I’m sure it’s things like, “ooo that feels nice” or ” Why is she always picking up that little black thing that lights up, instead of holding me?  So annoying!  I’m out of here!”

I wonder if he is aware of cats who struggle to find food and shelter.  I wonder if he is aware of cats who are  abandoned by those who promised to care for them, but failed in their commitment and dumped them along the road, or in a cardboard box and turned a blind eye, a deaf ear as  as they were left alone to survive or not. Had my husband and I not opened our door and welcomed him into our home, haring  our abundance, buying  him food, giving him a warm place to sleep where would he be, what life woukd he be living?

We made room not only in our home but in our hearts.  His affection towards us sometimes looked a bit foreign to us  with its aggressive demands for chin scratches and playful scratches that ended up with bloodied hands that we quickly forgave. He became family.  He flops in our path and is a bit rude at times, but we opened our door to him and our life, his life has been improved.

We have enough. Why would we not share?  Do I have less if I share?  Is my life less if I allow others in?

My thoughts then  bleed into thinking about not cats but people. There was enough for my great-grandparents to find a space when they immigrated here in the late 1880s from Germany.  Just 3 generations ago, Barbara was escaping poverty, and her passage was paid for the family that she was indentured to, to  feed, clean and raise their children, while only a child herself.  John, a teenager who avoided conscription by sailing away to the United States on a ship, and then to  Kansas by train. Completely alone. He was employed first, as a laborer working in construction of the Cudahay plant in Wichita. There, he met the beautiful  Barbara in early 1890. Their shared language and culture, brought them together.   They wed, built a family, purchased acreage in nearby Kingman, and started farming.

Growing wheat, primarily. They raised  cattle, built barns, and built a life with their own hands, taking nothing away from their neighbors.  They became part of the fabric of Kingman County, and for 3 generations, we continue to grow and prosper.  All because someone opened the door, invited them in, and shared. Giving them a chance to escape. 

I hate to think anyone thinks that closing the doors and refusing to share with those looking to improve their life takes away from anyone else. 

I hope we have more compassion for humans than we have for cats.