Eliezer is a young cat. He stretches his lithe body in a sunny spot on the back porch. He rolls over, purring contentedly, and splays his razor claws. Perhaps he is thinking of the hapless lizard he caught last night. What an entertaining time the little wretch gave him, until it was too tired and wounded to perform anymore. Life for Eliezer is an adventure.  

Moses is a middle-aged cat. He sits at the edge of the porch and surveys his domain with cold eyes that miss nothing. Those eyes seem a bit disdainful as they rest for a moment on the young cat lying in the sun. Eliezer could benefit from some lessons on respect for one’s elders. Moses rarely purrs or plays. Life for Moses is business.  

Smokey is an old cat. He crouches near the cat dish, crunching a few morsels with his dull teeth. He looks fearfully at the world around him. He avoids Eliezer and Moses, sensing that they are aware of his weakness. Hunting did not go well last night. His stiff joints and dimmed eyes were no match for his darting prey. Smokey never purrs. Life for Smokey is survival.  

The course of human experience flows from adventure to business to survival, much as a cat’s life does. But God has provided for humans a pair of inner spiritual eyes that lift themselves in eager anticipation to their heavenly home, even as their physical bodies fail them. God has planned that the young respect and support the old, even as the old instruct and guide the young. These godly concepts are incomprehensible to the pets on the porch.  

I’m but a stranger here . . . . 
Earth’s but a desert drear; 
Heaven is my home. 
—Thomas R. Taylor 

From Paws on My Porch, by Gary Miller
© 2015 TGS International, PO Box 355, Berlin, Ohio 44610
Used by permission