Lessons from Cap'n Jack

When we arrived in 2004, one of Mona’s first desires was for a cat. We quickly received two young brothers whom we named Sweet Pete and Cap’n Jack. Both had the characteristically Indonesian kinked tails, but uncommonly sweet dispositions; they weren’t afraid of humans.

Growing up in Arkansas with a best friend who lost more pets than teeth, cats were always on our door step. However, my mother’s acute allergies kept me from ever cuddling them, let alone liking them. My aversion to cats turns out to have been a misperception on my part, because she loves cats despite her adverse reaction to their dander.

As Pete and Jack entered kitty puberty, their regular marking of our furniture and midnight piles in the kitchen or bathroom nearly put me over the edge. I threatened their extinction more than once, and may well have caused a temporary hibernation of Mona’s maternal instincts. Yet, despite my chiding and terse outbursts, Jack remained a loyal snuggler. His nightly hunting expeditions always ended in a chorus of meows at our bedroom window, demanding to be let in for pre-dawn snuggling. During the day, he’d regularly jump up in my lap while I read. He seemed to not be put out whatsoever by my irrational loathing of him.

One day last spring, just before my mother and sister flew out for a visit, I was asked why I disliked cats so much. I immediately sensed that this was more than a rhetorical question; thus, I personalized it: “What’s stopping me from loving completely?” It didn’t take long to conclude that the only block to loving holistically was a simple choice to do so. What a realization. I immediately began experiencing unfamiliar benefits of having pets. I welcomed Jack into my lap and stopped grumbling at his premature wake-up calls. After school I would look forward to his escort home on our “jungle path.” The entire house took on a renewed spirit of warmth and comfort. Naturally, this out pouring of love didn’t stop with Pete and Jack. I found myself embracing my junior high students more freely, and telling my accountability partners that I love them. This one simple decision added dimension upon dimension to my other relationships too. It even enabled me to release some grievances I had been holding on to for several years.

Earlier this month, Jack stopped eating. Within a couple of days he became lackadaisical and despondent. He would hide under the couch and refuse food and water entirely. The local vet said he was reacting to some sort of poison, probably from eating a bad bug. Mona would drag him out from under the couch, dim the lights, stroke him and tell him that we loved him. A week after he stopped eating, Jack died. I buried him in our front yard under a jeruk tree. I cried.

What separates us from those we love? What prohibits us from forgiving or receiving forgiveness from others? From God? Is there someone you “cannot” love? Why not? For me it was simply realizing that I had permission to love. Thank God for the gift of Jack. He has given me more than just a year of fond memories. He has given me hope for complete reconciliation.