People were made for God

Tales from the front pew

My husband, Bob, and I had an interesting exchange the other day involving cats and combs — not to be confused with catacombs, which are a different matter entirely.

To provide a little background, I should probably note that my husband, daughter, Val, sister, Debi, and friends all think I’m obsessed with our four felines. I, on the other hand, beg to differ.

Just because I find myself sleeping on approximately

3 inches of mattress every night to accommodate my tuxedo cat, Boots, because she prefers to sleep in the middle of our bed, doesn’t mean I’m obsessed. And, sure, every once in a while I experiment with different brands of catnip to ensure the most pleasant experience for our tortoiseshell girl, Minnie, who is quite the connoisseur, but wouldn’t any concerned cat mom do the same?

While I suppose some people might question my composition of little songs geared to special kitty occasions, such as the “It’s Breakfast for Kitties, the Best Time of Day,” ditty I sing to them every morning, in my opinion, all of God’s creatures can benefit from music appreciation.

And really, is there anything wrong with promising Minnie, Boots, Patches and Tiger that I’ll try to find a movie with a kitty in it when I’m flipping through the TV channels on the remote? I don’t see it.

Back to the cat/comb situation.

Minnie has a habit of jumping up on the bathroom counter and meowing loudly until I comb her fur. We do this almost every morning, and she expresses her pleasure by butting her head against me and loudly purring.

A few days ago, Bob walked past the bathroom door during Minnie’s grooming ritual, did a double-take, and walked back again to stand in the doorway.

“Kim,” he asked, with an expression of consternation on his face, “What are you doing?”

Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. “I’m combing the cat,” I told him. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re combing the cat,” he said. “And it also looks like you’re using my comb to do it.”

“Oh, is this your comb, dear? I didn’t realize that.”

“Where did you find it, Kim?”

“In your shaving kit,” I told him.

“Okay, by the powers of deduction, induction, or any other kind of ‘duction’ you care to mention, if you found the comb in my shaving kit, doesn’t it seem very likely that it’s my comb?”

“Well, when you put it that way … but what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is simply this. People combs are for people. Cat combs are for cats. Kangaroo combs, assuming they make such a thing, are for kangaroos. While I love Minnie, I have no desire to share any DNA with her.”

“Okay,” I told him, handing him the comb. “I’ll never use it on Minnie again.”

“No, you keep it,” he said. “I’ll buy another one. And I’ll hide it, just in case.”

Bob had a point. Certain things are made for certain other things. God made people; people were made for God. He fills a need in our lives that can only be filled by Him alone.

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