By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Last spring, when the rest of the world was buying flip-flops and shorts, I was buying fleece pajama pants.  They were irresistible.  Having grown up on the street — Sesame Street, that is – these cheerful pink pants with Sesame Street characters all over them were a “must buy” for me. 

Besides, Kohl’s was practically giving the things away.  I think, on sale with my additional “customer appreciation” discount and my “adults buying childish sleepwear” discount plus a few other discounts I still don’t know about, the pants cost a grand total of $1.95. 

It was a bargain I couldn’t refuse; but, when I got the pants home, I promptly neglected them.  Ernie, Bert, and friends hung out in my closet, alone and uncared for, for months.  However, there really was a reason for my willful neglect of these childhood friends.  I just didn’t need warm pants to get me through springtime in Atlanta.  Which, in case you’re wondering, starts the day after Groundhog day.

I forgot about the pants until recently, when we entered the first cold-snap of fall.   The leaves were swirling, the air was crisp, and I was freezing when I got out of the shower.  Hello, cozy Sesame Street pants!  They felt wonderful as I pulled them on.  It was almost as though I could feel all of the love from my faithful childhood companions engulf me.  I felt secure and very loved.

It was a short-lived feeling.  When I took myself and my new pants to the living room, I was met by the the feline fashion police and they did not approve of my pants.  In fact Wyatt, the youngest in our furry family, did not like my new pants one little bit.

Wyatt is definitely a mama’s cat.  We always start our day by snuggling in the recliner.  Then he spends the rest of the day (Sans the three hour afternoon nap.) following me around and begging for attention — or demanding attention when begging proves to be fruitless.

When, in the evenings, I go out of the bedroom after my shower, Wyatt usually treats the event like the second coming of Christmas morning.  He gets so excited!  In his unadulterated joy, he darts enthusiastically around my feet while talking to me in complete sentences that I really wish I could understand because I think they would be extremely fascinating or at the very least, entertaining.  When I sit down on the sofa or in the recliner, Wyatt is instantly in my lap purring and making little muffins on my stomach.  He is a very happy boy.

Except when he’s not.  The first night of the monster pants, Wyatt wouldn’t have a thing to do with me.  I chalked it up to feline oddity.  Redundant, but true.  The second time I wore the pants, Wyatt snubbed me again but the clincher was when I wore them for our morning snuggle time.  Mornings to Wyatt are the most important “Mom time” of the day.  That morning, I was not flatly ignored like I had been previously.  Instead, he bowed up his plump little body and hissed at me. 

I’m really at a loss as to why Wyatt hates my pants.  I’ve wondered if they are too pink and they threaten his (Former?) masculinity.  Could it be that he is afraid of the monsters?  I mean, Grover, Elmo, Oscar and, the Cookie Monster hardly strike me the genuine scary monster-type.  Besides, Ernie, Bert, and Big Bird are there to balance out the ticket.  I even thought maybe he just didn’t like the feel of the material; but, even with a blanket on my lap Wyatt still knows the monsters are under there and he will not be in their presence.

 My brain functions in a serious time delay.  It’s nearly mid-November and my brain is still stuck on September.  September 11th, in fact.  I remember having the TV on this year on the morning of September 11th.  The news was full of interviews and reports and memorial events commemorating the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

Although I was busy doing other things around the house, I was still listening to the reporters.  It wasn’t long before there was a heaviness in my heart and tears in my eyes.  I turned off the TV but my thoughts still swirled.  My mind flashed back to the interview with the fire-fighter who had not only lost co-workers and friends, he lost his wife too.  I remembered the images of the fliers that popped up in New York.  A smiling face with the words, “Have you seen this man?  He’s our father, husband, friend…please call…”  My soul screamed at thought of the little kids who went to school that morning and at the end of the day, had nobody to pick them up.  And then I thought of the orchestraters of that evil and wondered, “What did that firefighter…that husband, father, friend…that child ever do to you?”

It is a glimpse of evil that I still don’t have words to explain.  A glimpse of evil that I still can’t comprehend.  The twin towers are gone now.  Some people think that closes a chapter and gives our nation a chance to move on.  I’m not sure “moving on” is really an option for me.  I think moving forward is but I do so with trepidation and caution. 

There is a memorial rising, like a phoenix, from the ashes of the twin towers; but, I want to remember the site not as it is but as it was.  I want to remember the images of melted steel, leaning walls, and smoky air.  I want to remember.

It’s too easy for me to coast along in my sanitized life and not remember that evil exists because it is not currently affecting me.   I don’t know about you but I prayed a lot after September 11th.  I felt a deep, passionate need for God and for the comfort of my fellow man.  September 11th changed me — some for the better and some for the worse.

Wyatt’s reaction to my pants has had me thinking a lot about evil.  Because, even if we throw a blanket over it, evil is still there and we really need to remember that.  Will you pray with me?

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

On any given day, there is a whole lot of hissing and snarling going on at our house.  Once in a while the HissFest has human participants; but usually our cats are the responsible parties.

Our cat story began with Scooter and Kacey.  They were Jeff’s cats for four years before I came on the scene.  When I met them for the first time, I did what any potential step-mother would do.  I attempted to bribe them by bringing gifts of treats and cat-nip infused toys.  Scooter was not impressed.  Kacey wasn’t either — at least that was the vibe she sent out from her hiding place under the bed.

Thankfully, Jeff did not listen to the opinions of his cats and decided to marry me anyway.  Three months before the wedding, I moved to Atlanta.  As we moved furniture and combined our two households, Scooter supervised from a perch in the corner of the dining room.  I am quite certain that the only thing keeping her from toting a picket sign was the fact that she lacks a prehensile thumb.  And Kacey?  She was absolutely terrified of my presence and demonstrated this fear by hiding under large pieces of furniture for weeks at a time. 

During those months before the wedding, I spent a lot of time at Jeff’s unpacking and getting things situated; but, I spent nights at the home of a friend of ours.  Scooter and Kacey eventually got used to having me around during the day and every night they would breathe a collective feline sigh of relief when “that woman” disappeared for several hours.  They had their Daddy and the warm water-bed all to themselves and life was as it should be.

And then it happened.  Daddy disappeared for a week.  Scooter and Kacey hissed and spit at my aunt who stayed at our place while Jeff and I honeymooned.  Although we had tried to prepare the girls for the inevitable, they were still shocked when Daddy returned home with “that woman” in tow.  And when it got dark, I didn’t leave.  And when they went to snuggle with Daddy at night, there was someone in their water-bed.  No wonder they hated me.

And it was about to get worse.  Enter Tucker.  Jeff had promised me that after the wedding we would “get a cat that likes you.”   Tucker not only liked me, Tucker liked everyone.  He was a 12-week old ball of grey and black fuzz when we adopted him.  He had a sore under his nose that the shelter workers didn’t know the origin of.  After we got home, it was apparent.  Tucker was a kamikaze who knew no fear.  We quickly nicknamed him “Deathwish”.  He would hurl himself off of any surface at a high rate of speed.  He ran into walls and other inanimate objects, climbed everywhere, and did it all with speed that would have made the Tasmanian Devil look like a snail.  

Much to their horror, Tuck repeatedly asked his adopted sisters to play with him.  His requests were very vocally denied.  But that didn’t stop Tucker.  He would just wait 5 minutes and then ask again.  And when all else failed, he would simply knock them over.  What he was lacking in gentleness and tact he made up for in persistence.

Time passed and Tucker got bigger and smarter.  Like any little brother, he enjoyed annoying his sisters.  He loved to hear them scream and he would not be denied a good chase, even if he had to spend hours provoking his sisters in preparation.  Needless to say, Tuck spent many an afternoon in time out because he simply would not leave Scooter and Kacey alone and we were tired of listening to them screech.

We didn’t blame Tucker much.  He was bored and frustrated.  He just wanted someone to play with and try as he might, he simply could not convince any one of us to spend hours chasing him down the hall.

Last fall, we went to Colorado to visit my family.  My nephews proudly introduced me to the newest member of their family.  Max was fluffy and cute and so very sweet.  He was also a very playful little kitten.  Although we tried to resist, Jeff and I soon had visions of a playmate for Tucker dancing in our heads.  So after we came home, we ignored the little voices of reason that told us 4 cats in one family was insanity on the paw; and, we adopted Wyatt.

Tucker may have been a failure as a little brother but he was an outstanding big brother.  He was very patient and gentle with Wyatt for the most part and they became fast friends.  Tucker was in heaven.  He had someone to wrestle with and chase.  He had someone who would chase him and who shared his fascination with tin foil balls and ice cubes.   They play together until they’re exhausted and then they snuggle up together and sleep it off.  They truly are best friends.

Meanwhile, we still have Scooter and Kacey too.  Scooter hates her life and everyone in it — with the exception of Jeff.  Sometimes when she sits on his lap, her soulful yellow eyes seem to be saying, “Just you and me, Dad.  That’s all I need!  Let’s get rid of everyone else — especially that ‘mom’ person.”

Kacey has elevated herself to “Daddy’s little girl” status and enjoys all the privileges thereof; but, thankfully she also seems to like me now.   She checks on me when I get up at night.  We also have private brushing sessions and she seems to enjoy sitting with me when I scrapbook.   Her human relationships are pretty well defined.  However, her feline relationships are a confusing mess.

I think she’s honestly hurt that Tucker isn’t asking her to play every 5 minutes.   But the fact is, he doesn’t need Kacey anymore.  He has Wyatt.  Occasionally, I see Kacey watching wistfully as Tucker and Wyatt play tag and wrestle.  I can see her little cat brain saying, “Gee, that looks fun.  I wanna play.”  But her little stunted social skills don’t seem to allow her to ask nicely.  She tends to break into the boys games with a whole lot of hissing and spitting.  And the boys tend to ignore her — which makes Kacey furious.  At least that’s the story she gives us.

However, like any good story, there is another side.  This other side happens after dark.  After Jeff and I close the bedroom door for the night and the house is quiet.   For several months we have suspected that when the lights go off, Kacey plays.  Many times Jeff or I have gotten up unexpectedly in the middle of the night only to catch Kacey, Wyatt and Tucker tearing up and down the hallway together or sharing a toy.  Kacey seems absolutely horrified that she was caught in the act and immediately slinks off, leaving the two boys to wonder what happened.

Last night, I again caught Kacey in the act.  I got up to take some aspirin and noticed a commotion in the office.  Turning on the hall light, I saw Tucker and Wyatt crouched around a cardboard box.  Upon further investigation, I discovered Kacey underneath the box.  I could see one of her paws happily reaching out from under the box as she tempted her brothers to play with her.  It made my little heart very happy to see Kacey playing with abandon.  She was having such fun that she didn’t seem to care that I was watching.

As I went back to bed, I thought of Kacey and her split personality.  And I thought about how much Kacey I have in me.  I know I behave differently in the privacy of my own home than I do when the world is watching.  I know my conversation topics are different at church than they are everywhere else.  I know that I act differently around close friends and family than I do in public.  Does that make me a hypocritical Christian?  Yeah, it probably does.  I don’t think it really matters that I don’t mean to do it.   At least it doesn’t matter to God. 

Nearly four decades into my life and I’m still trying to figure out who I am.  It’s kind of embarrassing, really.  On the other hand, it’s also reassuring to me that I’m still growing.  I’m still wondering and still questioning and still reaching to discover who God made me to be. 

I’m a lot like Kacey.  When things scare me, I want to hide under large pieces of furniture.  I’m very timid at times and that sometimes keeps me from doing things I want to do.  I want to be a part of the close friendships that I observe; but I don’t know how.  But mostly, I just want to work and play and love and laugh and cry and grieve and live with abandon — no matter who is watching. 

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

For many years I have had a day after Thanksgiving tradition.  With the Colorado/Nebraska football game on TV in the background, I put up my Christmas decorations.  This year, I did half of my tradition.  I watched Colorado beat Nebraska; but I didn’t put up decorations.  Due to a very stubborn case of Mono, I just didn’t have the strength.  The thought of dragging out the boxes, moving furniture,  unpacking everything, and attempting to cat-proof said decorations was beyond exhausting. 

My husband offered to do it for me but I turned him down.  I’m not sure why.  I guess I consider it to be my job and it’s something I’ve always enjoyed doing.  I kinda expected a bad case of the guilts for not decorating but oddly, I’ve felt pretty good about my decision to have Christmas sans the decorations this year.  I’m even a little bit proud to think that maybe I learned the lesson that the Grinch struggled so hard to grasp.   Christmas will come without ribbons! It will come without tags! It will come without packages, boxes, or bags!

Christmas will come.  Even if I stress out.  Even if I don’t decorate.  Even if not one bit of shopping gets done.  Even if our Christmas cards sit on my desk until the 4th of July.  Ready or not, Christmas will come.

I finally did cave in a little bit.  We’ve had a solid string of 75 degree days here in Atlanta over the last few weeks and it just wasn’t feeling much like the Colorado Christmases that I grew up with.  So I fired up Ellie Epson (My trusty printer.  Jeff has this weird habit of naming inanimate objects.  Bizarre!) and printed out a picture of a beautiful Christmas tree and then I taped it to the wall.  Oddly, the cats felt the need to chew on the paper tree — just like they do the genuine article.  So we’re decorated.  Sort of.  At least one little corner of our living room is beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

I have a small confession to make.  I love to play computer games.  Jeff and I have one, “Rise of Nations”, that we enjoy playing together.  It’s a world conquest type game.  We play on the same team so it’s a “us against the world” thing — kinda like real life sometimes.  There is nothing more satisfying than capping off a long, stressful day by nuking the nation who just raided my town and killed my well-intentioned but rather dim-witted civilians.  When the enemy stormed my town, my villagers continued to dutifully farm and chop wood rather than running for their little lives.  Probably not the best decision.

We rumble (Our verbiage for playing Rise of Nations.) nearly every weekend and even a few times during the week.  Every once in a while, I feel guilty for the time I spend conquering our pseudo-world.  Sure it’s fun.  It’s something I love to do with my husband.  Coming up with workable strategies is intellectually stimulating.  Believe it or not, I actually have learned a lot from playing the game.  However, it still takes time out of my life.   But, that’s ok.  I mean, in the grand scheme of things, hobbies are ok, right?

A few months ago, Tim Crater spoke at our church.  Tim has written several commentaries for Community Bible Study.  Although I’ve never actually met Tim, I’m incredibly thankful to him.  In the early 70’s, he started the church that Jeff and I now call home.  Dunwoody Community church was also where we were married and where several treasured friendships have begun.   When he visited our church, Tim spoke on the book of Revelation.   Revelation is a book that, for my entire life as a Christian, I have either feared or been totally confused by.  Tim presented God’s message out of the book in such a clear, understandable way.  For the first time ever, I felt like I “got” the gist of the book.  And that was incredibly exciting.

Signs pointing to the end times are all around us.  Y2K was supposed to be the end but here we are nearly 8 years later.   A lot of people have a lot of guesses as to when Jesus will return but the Bible makes things pretty clear in  Matthew 24:44.  Nobody will know when He’s coming – not scholars or children or hypocrites or thieves.  Not people who play computer games or those with great faith.  Not liars or teachers or preachers or loners or rebels or the sick or those who are well.  Nobody.

Jesus will come whether we are ready or not.  He will come if my house is dirty or the laundry is undone.  He’ll come even if the Aztecs storm my town and kill all my lemming-esque villagers.  He’ll come even if I’m nursing a grudge or arguing with my husband or telling a lie or speaking badly about a friend.  He’ll come if I waste my time or if I spend my time doing His work on earth.  Ready or not, He’ll come.

Over 2000 years ago, a tiny baby was born in a manger.  Jesus’ birth was supposed to change the world.  And it did.   10 days from now, Christmas 2007 will be over.  I’ll peel the tape off our tree on the wall and I’ll throw it away.   I can always print a new tree for 2008.   If there is a 2008.

Maybe this will be the year of Jesus’ return.  Maybe Black Friday will cease to exist.  Maybe we’ll spend the Christmas season not on our feet at the mall but sitting at the feet of the King.  Maybe. 

Are you ready?