I am firmly in the category of cat owners that believes their feline friend is out for blood.
And then they do something cute like this:
I imagine he’s peacefully dreaming about his next plan for world domination.
In all seriousness though, Nooma is a great cat…when he’s not ambushing us or lying in wait for us to trip on him at the top of the basement stairs. 🙂
I love that in the midst of my stress and busyness, he makes me stop and breathe. He purrs like a kitten five times his size and he just loves to cuddle. He butts his way into the middle of the chaos and calamity to let us know he’s here and he’s waiting for a good scratch behind the ears.
He’s also great at just sitting quiet and calm by my side, while I write or do my devotions. If only he would teach the kids a thing or two about quiet time. 🙂
In ancient times, the cat was revered in many cultures as a spirit guide or a companion for humans on their journey of life. They were supposed to be all-knowing and in tune with the world around them to the point that they became a bit of a good luck charm. Of course, on the other side of the coin were the cultures that feared the feline and hoped never to cross paths with one–especially of the black variety.
I’m not saying I believe in all that craziness and superstition. I do love fantasy and magic in its proper context however. I love imagining what Nooma might think or say in any given situation–mainly for my own amusement of course.
Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like to think of Nooma as my Jiminy Cricket. You’ve watched Pinocchio right? The cricket was the physical manifestation of wood boy’s conscience. A conscience that often got brutally ignored in favor of the tempting call of the dark side. Nooma is my Jiminy.
No, he is not the Holy Spirit in cat form or anything like that. I just realized the other day that when he steps into the middle of my messy life, when I’m yelling at the kids for something stupid or freaking out over the petty things that happen, his presence gives me pause. He can’t speak to me, but in my overactive imagination, his eyes speak volumes of condemnation when I’m being an overbearing, witchy mom (or wife)…
Now I know that particular feeling of guilt doesn’t actually come from Nooma. I know that it comes from the Spirit’s work in my life, urging me on to excellence and to let go of the “old man” in my habits and choices. It’s just nice sometimes to have that physical manifestation that makes me pause and go, “what am I doing and is it right?”
The ancient cultures often put a magical spin on something they could not explain or understand. The phenomenon of the sun’s path across the sky was too great for mortal minds to comprehend, and they called it the flaming chariot of the god Apollo. It was their way of viewing the world through a lens they could understand. Even the Apostle John did the same when he described heaven. He made comparisons to things that he knew so that his readers could also picture it through the darkened mirror.
Nooma is my dark mirror picture of the Spirit at work in my life.
Don’t knock it…