I had no idea how expensive love actually is until the day a tiny yellow kitten showed up on my parent’s back porch. Lizzy was one big ball of fluff, with a sweet little face and a tail two sizes too big for her body. You could hold her in the palm of one hand, and her pathetic “mew” wouldn’t frighten a cricket. She seemed so innocent, so perfect. This little beauty could not possibly be THAT much trouble, right? It took me exactly two hours to realize that this tiny life would create more-than-tiny changes to MY life.
My first inkling of a major change came when I set out to buy all those little odds and ends associated with owning a cat: carrier, scratching post, collar, litter box and litter, food, toys, nail clippers, brush, food and water bowls. Total cost of the first shopping trip: $80.
Rescuing a stray cat is all very noble, until you discover that your new bundle of joy has brought home a bad case of ear mites. Whoever came up with the name “mites” definitely got the terminology correct, because you “might” be able to kill them, they “might” not come back, and you “might” or “might not” destroy your sheets, clothes, curtains, and every other piece of material you own after multiple washings. I also must not forget the bliss of countless ear cleanings both at home and at the vet’s, which results in Lizzy glaring at me as if I had repeatedly smacked her over the head. This whole process is in addition to receiving two doses of Revolution parasite protection, which I now firmly believe causes the ear mites to grow back even hardier. Total cost of medicine and cleanings at the vet: $87. Total labor: I stopped counting after the 10th ear cleaning.
When Lizzy was 2 months old, I came home to the sad, pathetic sound of muffled crying. After a few minutes of searching, I realized that she was trapped behind the kitchen cabinets somewhere between the pantry and the dishwasher. Lizzy had somehow managed to open a kitchen drawer (without the benefit of opposable thumbs), crawl BEHIND the drawer, and get stuck behind the cabinets. I spent no less than 10 minutes crouching on my knees in a dress and heels, sticking my hand through the hole and calling to her before she figured out how to climb back out of the drawer. The next day I child-proofed every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen and bathroom. Total cost: $15. Total labor: 1½ hours, including the time it took for me to re-assemble a drawer that came apart in the process.
Next came the 3 rounds of shots that every kitten is required to receive. Leukemia, rabies, pet Alzheimer prevention…whatever. I have no idea what they do. I just know they cost a lot. Total cost: $240. Total labor: 2½ hours at the vet.
Last month, Lizzy learned to climb my dresser by sticking her feet into the handles. Just two days ago, she discovered that she is now big enough to jump up onto the bathroom sink and the kitchen counter. This means that every last refuge for my breakables is officially gone, a fact that became reality when I discovered a broken candle holder at the bottom of my bathtub. I have now begun showering in flip flops, a practice which I plan to continue until I am absolutely sure there are no more shards of glass left. Total cost: $10 so far… Total labor: 30 minutes and counting, as I am still finding pieces of glass…
Tomorrow, Lizzy will go to the vets to get spayed. The cost of the surgery is actually quite reasonable, thanks to the low-cost fixing program established by the Humane Society. However, the vet’s over-booked surgery schedule means that I must take her in on a weekday. Total cost: $29 and a ½ vacation day from work. Total labor: estimated 45-60 minutes for drop off/pick up.
At this point, any sane person would ask themselves if all this is worth the effort. Lizzy is just a cat, right? She will not make me a messy painting which I will pretend is a masterpiece at the level of a Monet. She will not throw her arms around me and give me a kiss goodbye on her way to school. She will not grow up to take care of me in my old age. Why pay the cost for a seemingly useless creature who will disobey me, get into almost constant trouble, and even ignore me on occasion? The long answer is fairly complicated and will not be understood by non-pet owners. However, I will do my best to explain:
Every day without fail (except for the day of the cabinet incident), Lizzy meets me at the front door, already purring by the time I pick her up and scratch her ears. She waits outside my bedroom door every morning and when I let her in, she clambers all over me and showers me with “kisses.” When I am reading, she unceremoniously plops herself down on my lap and wraps her little paws around her face before falling asleep. If I leave the room for an extended period of time, she always leaves whatever toy has her occupied at the moment to come look for me. She makes me laugh at least once a day, what with her obsession with the ceiling fan and cardboard boxes. The truth is, I don’t even count the cost when I see her sweet little face. She loves me no matter what, and you can’t put a price tag on that.
I suppose the short answer for why I bother is the same reason God bothers with us. No “sane” being would pay such a high price for people who mock him, spit on him, and nail him to a cross. But God’s love has no limits. He paid the ultimate “Total cost” when He sent His Son to die in our place. His “Total labor” is never-ending: As long as humans draw breath on this earth, He will be gently guiding us back to Himself.
Lizzy’s unconditional love can never compare to what God has done and continues to do for me. But my slightly insane cat has taught me this very important lesson: Unconditional love is not free. When it comes to my salvation, I thank God that I do not have to pay the cost.
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