Have you ever heard a rabbit purr?
I have, when I saw them cuddle with you.
How can you not smile nuzzling that fur?
Innocence, I see, is in their soul's hue.
Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?
I have, when I saw my cat drag it in.
Hoarse lungs flailing, all light failing to redeem.
My heart recalls pleading against such sin.
Have you ever heard a child pray?
I have, as my voice was led in its words,
earnest and pure but unsure what to say.
Through that sweet peace more than my heart was cured.
Have you ever heard a rabbit cry?
Remember that does not mean it will die.
A long time ago, I was awoken one night by the most fearsome sound I've ever heard. I walked out of my room and found my cat, Kippie, pawing at something. I knew it was another toy he'd brought home. Normally they were in perfect condition, no blood or broken bones. This time he'd gone too far. It was a bunny, barely bigger than my fist. It wasn't moving. I saw it take a deep breath and as it exhaled the most disturbing sound came with it. (When have you ever heard a bunny make noises?) Imagine screaming after never having used your vocal cords before. There was no blood. I tried tickling his feet to see if he could use them. Nothing. His neck was broken. He was just suffering under his last breathes. I held him. I...had a long and deep discussion with God for a long time. I asked the common whys. Eventually his eyes glazed over. I got to asking if he could come back, if he'd be okay. He did. Suddenly he jumped up in my arms, looked up at me, and bounded away! And now I had to chase him down... He ended up alright and I got him back outside.
Years later, right before I left for college, in the same corner of the hallway downstairs I was again awoken by a strange sound. The exact same spot. I went out and found another dying animal. This time it was my cat. We had found out a few weeks earlier he was severely diabetic. We tried doing what we could but apparently it was not enough. He had lost the use of his back legs and could not see. So he was lying on the floor crawling around in a circle meowing as loud as he could. I could do nothing.
I loved Kippie. He was the greatest cat. He slept on my bed. We hunted together (well, he'd bring in a toy and we'd chase it. If he won he ate it. If I won another critter lived). He would step on the lever to hang up the phone if I was talking to someone for too long. He would crawl on top of books I was reading. He would wrestle with the dogs. Fabulous friend.
Kippie being dead hasn't been hard. Watching him die and holding him, feeling every breathe get lighter and hearing each meow get more desperate, was rough. I felt powerless. Something so thorough that it overthrows life, how can I contend with that? I don't have to. Funerals are for the living, not the dead. We need the closure. So for my own death I do not have to worry, I won't have to attend (I ain't no Huck Finn). I'll be dead and gone. That is why death has never bothered me but I really don't like dying. That and I know my Redeemer lives. That comforts me a lot. I'm not invincible (though I've never been proven wrong) but I won't be beaten by death.
I have, when I saw them cuddle with you.
How can you not smile nuzzling that fur?
Innocence, I see, is in their soul's hue.
Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?
I have, when I saw my cat drag it in.
Hoarse lungs flailing, all light failing to redeem.
My heart recalls pleading against such sin.
Have you ever heard a child pray?
I have, as my voice was led in its words,
earnest and pure but unsure what to say.
Through that sweet peace more than my heart was cured.
Have you ever heard a rabbit cry?
Remember that does not mean it will die.
A long time ago, I was awoken one night by the most fearsome sound I've ever heard. I walked out of my room and found my cat, Kippie, pawing at something. I knew it was another toy he'd brought home. Normally they were in perfect condition, no blood or broken bones. This time he'd gone too far. It was a bunny, barely bigger than my fist. It wasn't moving. I saw it take a deep breath and as it exhaled the most disturbing sound came with it. (When have you ever heard a bunny make noises?) Imagine screaming after never having used your vocal cords before. There was no blood. I tried tickling his feet to see if he could use them. Nothing. His neck was broken. He was just suffering under his last breathes. I held him. I...had a long and deep discussion with God for a long time. I asked the common whys. Eventually his eyes glazed over. I got to asking if he could come back, if he'd be okay. He did. Suddenly he jumped up in my arms, looked up at me, and bounded away! And now I had to chase him down... He ended up alright and I got him back outside.
Years later, right before I left for college, in the same corner of the hallway downstairs I was again awoken by a strange sound. The exact same spot. I went out and found another dying animal. This time it was my cat. We had found out a few weeks earlier he was severely diabetic. We tried doing what we could but apparently it was not enough. He had lost the use of his back legs and could not see. So he was lying on the floor crawling around in a circle meowing as loud as he could. I could do nothing.
I loved Kippie. He was the greatest cat. He slept on my bed. We hunted together (well, he'd bring in a toy and we'd chase it. If he won he ate it. If I won another critter lived). He would step on the lever to hang up the phone if I was talking to someone for too long. He would crawl on top of books I was reading. He would wrestle with the dogs. Fabulous friend.
Kippie being dead hasn't been hard. Watching him die and holding him, feeling every breathe get lighter and hearing each meow get more desperate, was rough. I felt powerless. Something so thorough that it overthrows life, how can I contend with that? I don't have to. Funerals are for the living, not the dead. We need the closure. So for my own death I do not have to worry, I won't have to attend (I ain't no Huck Finn). I'll be dead and gone. That is why death has never bothered me but I really don't like dying. That and I know my Redeemer lives. That comforts me a lot. I'm not invincible (though I've never been proven wrong) but I won't be beaten by death.
Thank you.
ReplyDelete