Breaking The Rule To See The Cats

I should report it, I thought, as I stared at the two little, plastic, black pans.  They were at the bottom of the steps on the concrete stoop.  One was lying sideways, half on the grass as if it had been knocked aside.  An impatient or playful paw had swiped it after emptying it in leisurely dining.  If I tell, I won't see the cats anymore.

The apartments lease plainly stated that stray cats were not to be fed.  Some kind soul was breaking the rule, and had been ever since we'd moved into this complex.

Watching the cats gives me great pleasure.  The four blacks, a stripe and a tabby always had their favorite areas on the property.  Now I only occasionally see two black ones.  They like residing in the back yard, near where the rule-breaker lives.

As I stared at the evidence, I began to miss the cats already.  If I told, that is.  The rule-breaker would be reprimanded.  No more food.  No more milk.  No more cats.

I try not to pad the truth, tell little white lies, straddle the fence of law-abiding and law-breaking.  You know, that type of thing.  I try not to change my tune when it suits me.  This time though, I think I'll become an offender .  If I'm not part of the solution to keep pigeons and wild rodents from congregating to eat the illegal cat food, then I'm part of the problem.

My hope is that when I come out, in the early morning, to observe nature, that I'll see one of the cats.  As I sip my steaming mug of coffee, and read the Bible, I hope that I'll look up to see the yellow, almond-shaped eyes blinking at me.  As I pray, and read Christian poetry for my morning devotion, hope is always present.  Hope that I will see an occasional cat, as I enjoy God's outdoor splendor.

Therefore my heart rejoiced, and my tongue was glad; Moreover my flesh also will rest in hope.
  (Acts 2:26, Kings James Version)
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Image Credit: Kevin Dooley