It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. it was the age of wisdom of ways to escape our confines, it was the age of foolishness of trying the same. It was the epoch of belief in Mommy and Daddy, it was the epoch of incredulity of everything in our new home. It was the spring of hope of our new life, it was the winter of despair of our new life, we had everything plus tuna before us, we had nothing, if no tuna, before us. In short, the new period of our lives was so much like that of so many other kitties, that some would call it the same old story. But we weren’t just any other kitties. We were Simba and Guerita. I am Simba, and this is our story.
It was a new life for us. We had been kittynapped from our birthplace in the terrifying outdoor jungle where the bugs were bigger than we were, food and water were scarce and monster things on four wheels threatened our very existence. We were to be imprisoned inside a comfortable home with fresh, cool water, ample food, a private bathroom-box and our own clean beds to lay our weary heads. We even had humans to call our own; our own “Mommy and Daddy”.
My sister Guerita, she was the brave one. She loved to climb the highest mountains and race through the jungle. You might laugh at that. You might even say there were no mountains in downtown Zihuatanejo, and that the jungle had been covered by cement by the time we were born. But this isn’t your story to tell, is it? It is ours. And those things you called “furniture” were mountains to us kitties. And a closet full of clothes? That’s your imagination, not ours. That was our jungle.
I was what they called a “fraidy cat”. It didn’t take much to scare the dickens out of me. Those mountains? I had a fear of heights. Guerita could leap from the highest mountain land gracefully on all four paws in the valley below. She’d look up and beckon me to follow her. Of course, I did. She was my big sister, and I wanted to be just like her. So I followed- and always a landslide followed in my wake. Sure – to you, they might have looked like books, pens, papers, coins and bottles of cologne. But I tell you, they weren’t. They were boulders, bouncing down the mountain. It was embarrassing. Mommy and Daddy cringed when they saw me about to leap down from that summit to where they were sitting. They’d say to each other, “Uh, oh! Here she comes!” I didn’t blame them. After all, they were always the ones who got hit with the rocks from the landslide. So you see, it really was the best of times for Guerita, and the worst of times for me.
Back when we were in the jungle, we didn’t always find food. Sometimes when we did, the bigger cats would eat before I did. I was always afraid of them. They laughed at me. My sister Guerita yelled at them. She always looked after me. In our new home, Mommy and Daddy weren’t there all the time. They left us alone, at times with the water dish only half full. Sometimes we had to wait a few hours in between meals. I would cry, and it made me want to eat everything when they finally came home. I wanted to make sure I got fed. Even though Guerita assured me we didn’t have to worry about food ever again, I wanted to be sure.
Being a kitten wasn’t easy. But as I got older, I realized that Guerita was right. It was a far better thing that they had done, to kitty-nap us; far better rest that we would ever have known, if we hadn’t followed the sweet smell of the tuna on that fateful morning. The best of times, we knew, would be here and now and always before us.
He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing. Deuteronomy 10:18