The cat in the glass

We in the Western world like our stories in chronological order. This fits well with our linear thought patterns. It satisfies us. Having a beginning, middle and end, we feel we know what we need to know about a certain snippet of life.

But hearing a story in chronological order – or even experiencing it as it unfolds – assures us of nothing. We can miss what’s right in front of our eyes. We can misinterpret the details the storyteller includes. We can hear and see without knowing what we’re hearing and seeing.

Thus, my tale of lengthy travels in south Asia (15 days, to be exact) begins with my arrival home. After my 45-hour homeward journey that involved five flights and a 9-and-a-half hour layover in Atlanta, my family members still recognized me and welcomed me with hugs. Hurray!

Our cats recognized me too. Tessa, the 10-year-old, gave her usual noncommittal nod in my direction. Pewter, soon to be one year old, showed more enthusiasm.

She alternately followed me around the house and sniffed my luggage with interest. When I picked her up, she didn’t try to escape, but rather sniffed my clothes with interest. When I put her outside, she returned to the door, meowing for me to come out and play. When I reclined to read a book, she nestled in my lap.

Happily, Pewter still recognizes me. Strangely, she does not recognize herself.

During my travels, says my husband, Pewter discovered a cat peering back at her from each of the following places: the floor-length windows, the French doors, the glass stereo case, the glass fireplace insert, the glass-and-brass shower door and even the glass oven door.

Since my return, Pewter continues to see these feline intruders – all gray, short-haired and green-eyed; indeed, looking remarkably like her. With each sighting, she crouches low, ears back, and slinks toward the trespasser, uttering a low warning growl. Simultaneously, the cat facing her inches closer. Pewter begins to hiss, then suddenly emits a loud cry. Both cat and reflection lunge forward.

As her claws clink against glass, Pewter jumps back, still growling and/or hissing at the rude fellow that stares back at her. How frustrating that this untouchable one neither runs away nor engages in rough-and-tumble cat games with her.

In all fairness to Pewter, we do have a neighbor cat named Walter that looks remarkably like her. Gray, short-haired, green-eyed and male, he is slightly larger than she and boasts a red collar, instead of her purple-and-white one. Walter does climb the fence and come visiting from time to time.

Still, my husband and I are laughing a lot these days because Pewter doesn’t see what she’s seeing. As I laugh, I ponder my own adventures.

When you’re suddenly dumped into a radically different culture, you experience such sensory overload it’s easy to short-circuit and miss what you’re seeing. Yet, because you’re stripped of all that’s familiar, when something familiar does raise its head, you may see it more clearly than ever before.

In south Asia, where I least expected to find it, I saw a remarkable reflection of Western church culture. Watching people who do not think as we do imitating our methods, and particularly, our failed methods, I saw us more clearly than ever before.

Proverbs 27:19 says, “It is your own face that you see reflected in the water and it is your own self that you see in your heart.”

It’s one thing to think: “That’s another cat. I feel threatened.” It’s another thing entirely to realize: “That’s me. I look like that.”

© 2007, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.