Mouse Station (The Parable of the Grateful Cat)

"Parable of the Grateful Cat" ©Cristall Harper  Painted for my 34th birthday, posted online four years later with her permission. I bet you wish she were your sister right about now.

You can print the full parable here. The last three paragraphs are my favorite. Keep in mind it was written nearly 100 years ago when language was flowery.

The condensed version: an esteemed naturalist was on a walk when he heard a cat meowing like crazy. He found her pacing frantically at the side of a pond watching little boys drown two of her five kittens. The naturalist rescued the three remaining kittens and gave them life and shelter in a warm basket at his place. The mother cat stuck to the naturalist like glue and was much more cheery. The day after the incident the cat interrupted a distinguished banquet honoring the naturalist by entering the hall and dropping a fat, live mouse at the foot of the man who saved her babies.

I have thought about this parable at length, me obviously being the cat of the story and Jesus Christ being the naturalist. Two things have impressed me over the years:

1) the cat only met and discovered the generous naturalist because two of her kittens were drowned, and

2) despite suffering the worst kind of tragedy possible the cat was at her most grateful state one short day later.

This painting somehow tied up all of my emotional loose ends that had frayed over the years and reminded me who I should be COME WHAT MAY. I knew that my "drowned kittens" -my miscarriage and failed IVF, my decade of back pain, my mental struggle to overcome physical pain, my icky feelings and dark moments- had in fact acquainted me with the Savior in a way I could not have otherwise achieved. Those pains were erased once I realized I still had many "living kittens" safe and warm in a basket thanks to the Savior's involvement in my dilemmas.

I owe the Savior many mice of gratitude for all He has done for me. And, like the parable states, I don't owe Him mice because He needs them. I owe him mice because mice are the paramount way for me to show I love Him.

As I started looking for mice to drop at His feet I found that I, too, was changing.

Twelve years ago all I cared about was getting from Point A to Point B. I wanted what I wanted and that was that. The reason I call the final stop of my personal map Mouse Station instead of Point B is because Point B ceased to be the finish line sometime during the mouse hunt. The test of this life isn't to achieve personal satisfaction but rather to align our will with God's. At Mouse Station I learned to override my personal agenda of frantically pacing pondside for the joy of hunting and gift wrapping mice. I traded meowing in distress for purring in lockstep along the stride of someone to whom I am infinitely indebted.