Looking Up

Tidus, the cat, is just about the cutest cat I've ever seen. It's not just that his fur is a lustrous black with some white patches and white paws. His ears are small and they swivel back and lie flat when he hears music. In a musician's household that makes me laugh.

His green eyes are round and a bit close together, lending him a rather owlish look.
When he stalks and teases Nina (the other cat) he reaches out tentatively with large paws, toes spread out like stubby white knit gloves. He taps her nose a couple of times, then rolls over and waits for her to "attack."

The strangest thing about Tidus is his fascination with up. Most cats search downward, into crevices, corners, boxes, bags - anything which might hide a mouse. But Tidus loves up.

Sometimes I find him in my south-facing office, intently studying the small bits of dusty flotsam and jetsam swirling and fluttering earthward in a sunbeam. He likes to station himself on the stairs between the kitchen and dining room and stare at the ceiling. It makes me nervous; is he watching a spider?

When he sits on my lap he gazes at the apex of our vaulted ceiling, head bobbing up and down like a bird of prey. In the bright family room, the irises in his blazing green eyes seem nearly non-existent.

Sometimes I think he's playing a joke on us, silently snickering as we follow his lead and stare at the ceiling.
But perhaps Tidus knows a thing or two about up. Perhaps he sees things that our weak human eyes cannot perceive. There must be answers in the up.

My cute black cat reminds me daily that I, too, should be looking up. I spend way too much time looking down, questing for tiny mice in my own types of crevices and corners. But there are answers for me if I'll keep my gaze fixed in the up direction.


"To whom will you compare Me? Or who is My equal?, says the Holy One. Lift your eyes and look to the heavens. . . " (Isaiah 40: 25,26)