The Blessing of Being a Blessing: A Thanksgiving Story About Kindness

It is November 2026, and Thanksgiving Day is just ’round the corner, so pull up a chair and dial in your attention; there are stories to tell.

First in the queue just now concerns the recent days when my wife went out of town for a week and left me home alone. She left the cat home alone too. I had a list of cat-care duties. I got a “B+” when she returned (wife’s, not cat’s). But if you are not up to speed, I’ll return to the beginning of this story.

The earth was in the midst of the void, churning and striving to take shape, struggling with the chaos of its own birthing.

No wait. That’s a little too far back and a bit too James Michener.

How the Cat Came Into Our Lives

We will start with the days I moved into my current home on the lake, and I met the neighbors’ wandering cat. Well, not really “met,” but observed as she ambled about her claimed territory, which included my yard and even my bedroom balcony from time to time. I didn’t much care about her wandering through my yard; I kept to my tasks and she, hers. She didn’t leave any little gifts such as dead mice or birds, or unmentionable bits of organic matter needing disposal.

The neighbors up and died at their appointed times, but the cat, as cats will do, refused to follow. The neighbors’ adult kids, living in distant towns and burgs, never gave the cat a thought, as best we could tell. My wife, as wives will do (or so I’ve heard), decided to start feeding the cat, as leaving it to fend for itself was a non-starter for her.

The cat, of course, came to spend more time in my backyard, as that’s where the food was to be found. Cats, despite my prejudicial comments, are not stupid.

New neighbors came, and to my wife’s delight and my relief, they were cat people. The cat resumed its roaming pattern once more.

The new neighbors stayed for a time, and then they up and died too. This, although perhaps the beginnings of a pattern, was not my fault. Correlation is not necessarily causation.

The cat moved back into my yard; or, as my wife tells it, her yard. My wife would sit with the cat each day and was able to pet the cat as its skittishness waned over time. The cat, however, would not let me approach closer than ten feet or so without running to a hiding place. We eventually figured out this was her standard response to all human males, but we weren’t sure why. I really tried to figure out the cause of this behavior because I have 14-year-old twin granddaughters, as you will recall. Watching granddaughters grow up too fast is a steeper hill to climb than having a cat moving into my life.

The Coyote, the Cherry Picker, and the Garage

Then came the coyote trauma. A coyote came calling, and the cat went up an oak tree. The coyote left as soon as my wife went outside; the cat remained in the tree for the better part of the week. My theory of cats in trees is much like teenage boys in the county lockup: You got yourself in there, so you can just get yourself out.

My wife, however, lives a more enlightened life. She called the tree-trimming guys, who brought their cherry picker to my house and sent my wife up into the boughs and the Spanish moss to retrieve the cat. I thought this completely insane, but not so insane as actually voicing these thoughts.

The upshot of this little adventure was that I paid off the tree trimmers after a couple of years, and the cat moved into my garage after a couple of minutes. There were two cars in the garage before my wife became my wife. Now there are no cars, a lot of stuff I can’t identify, and a cat.

Now you are up to speed.

A Week Alone With the Cat

When my wife was out of town, she was enjoying her annual trip to the beach by herself. Some friends ask if this bothers me, and it does. What’s wrong with going four times a year? This year was the first full week I was put in charge of cat duty.

My daughter called me a couple of times just after work (five o’clockish for her), as she is wont to do. Both daughters often need to review the events of the day with their old dad and share with a kindred spirit the amazement of the stupid things people will choose to do in the course of human events. I am not particularly proud of this aspect of my personality, but I must admit the truth, or you might go elsewhere to read of human foibles.

My daughter was dismayed to find me sitting in the garage, as my wife does daily when home, to keep the cat company. While it is known among kith and kin that I do not have a great animosity towards animals, I do not particularly enjoy their company, their odors, or their housekeeping needs. Be there I was, sitting in the garage to keep the cat company.

I told Kaitlyn (daughters, unlike wives and granddaughters, have names here) that I have been lonely at times in life, and I can remember being rather miserable during those times. I also know from observation that animals have some sort of emotional stress and distress when their human counterparts disappear on them. While I don’t understand what a cat may actually “feel,” I believed that by spending a half-hour a day in the garage reading Elmore Leonard westerns on my phone’s Kindle app, I could relieve the creature’s stress. Upon my wife’s return and evaluation of the cat’s response to her, my efforts were deemed successful.

And thus endeth the preamble to our Thanksgiving message.

Caring for the Least of These

About 2,000 years ago, there was this kind gentleman who didn’t have much in the way of possessions, but he had a kind soul and generous spirit. He told great stories and gave great advice on how to live a fulfilling life. As he prepared his friends for life after his death, he encouraged them to care for “the least of these.”

I always think of “widows and orphans” or the “sick and the poor” when I think of “the least of these,” but when I open my eyes and my heart, I find needs everywhere. Suffering is as close as today’s newspaper or a friend who needs a call.