Since eight o'clock this morning, I've been telling myself that I am not going to cry. That is what I said when I tucked my four kittens and Licorice Kitty into the pet carrier for an hour-long, snowy trip to the vet's. That is what I told myself every time they meowed from the back seat. That's what I told myself when each kitten got a clean bill of health, a shot, and then put into a different carrier (they will soon have new homes). That's what I told myself every time Licorice started meowing during the drive home.
So, now we are home and the tears won't stop--mine or Licorice's. For the past hour she has gone from room to room calling for kittens that don't come. She has spent long minutes staring out every window possible--no kittens anywhere. She is now calling from the back of the sofa, and still getting no mews or scampers from her little ones.
It is so sad listening to the change in Licorice's cries. They are no longer purring-mewing cries of a mother checking on the babes. They are now a mournful yowl that makes my heart break and my tears flow faster. I haven't cried like this for over a year.
We'll get over it. We'll forget the sorrow and pain. I don't know about cats, but I will always remember the joy those kittens brought. Today was a perfect example of a comment my pastor made yesterday. "Joy and pain are two rails of the same track called life."
With that, I'll sign off, blow my nose, wipe the tears off my cheeks, and try do get some work done. Licorice has finally gone to sleep.
May we all experience Christ's joy in spite of our pain.
Jan and Licorice, who's getting spayed in a couple days.
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