by JaneAnn Kenney
Warning: Historical inaccuracies and possible anachronisms. The writer didn’t feel like doing any fact checking as it would have inhibited her creative process.
The subject of domesticated felines (for the purposes of this essay, hereafter called “cats” with wavering regularity) is suspiciously lacking in the Jewish and Christian canons. The casual reader might assume nothing of this oversight, not even bothering to note the glaring nature of their absence. This person would not question why David did not offer Michal a cat after he snubbed her, or alternatively why no Persian breeds came strutting back with Judah from the exile. Were there mice in the stable where Jesus was born? The world will never know, because we do not have any sources to tell us if there were any mousing cats lazing about.
A plot far more sinister and nefarious emerges when we consider the great lengths that certain cat-hating scholars have gone to in order to undermine the Imago Cattī in scripture. Admittedly, there are texts that seem to confirm their bias as one considers the facts of the exodus and subsequent exiles. Fact: Israel was Yahweh’s special nation and Egypt was not. Fact: Egyptians worshipped cats. Fact: cats did, in fact, feel entitled to said worship (as many still do, even to this day). Thus it follows, if not logically then at least tangentially, that Israel chose not to own cats because to own cats would be to worship cats and so to adopt the customs of their Egyptian slave drivers, who are portrayed in Exodus as being not so very kind.
Cats are not gods; there is no evidence to suggest that they were at any time genuine deities. Indeed, among all the various diatribes leveled against the deities of surrounding cultures, whether condemnation for offering children to Molech or offering cakes to Ishtar, Queen of Heaven, not once does God seem to have sent a prophet to counter a false prophet of cats. And there is no commandment within the priestly laws that would restrict cat ownership among the people.
Consider, however, what God told Moses on Mt. Sinai: “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the LORD your God am a jealous God” (Yahweh qtd. Exod. 20:4-5, ESV). Cats may not have been actual gods, but like icons and idols, they were images of what was assumed to be sacred, at least in Egypt. Because Israel wanted Yahweh to be faithful to the covenant he had struck with them, they were at least silent on the matter of cat ownership.
The question, then, becomes one of arguments from silence. Some say the Bible is silent on the matter of cat ownership, presumably because Israel understood based on experience in Egypt that such ownership would be tantamount to abandoning faith in the one true God. Others point out that the Bible also never expressly forbids the ownership of domesticated felines. We find ourselves at an impasse.
A new perspective here can help clear up the matter of cat ownership. On the subject of larger animals—lions, say—we can find some conflicting information which might help explain how Christians today can assume the right to own such creatures.
In 1 Samuel, David brags about having killed lions in his days as a shepherd. He did this because they were thieving sheep from him, possibly in cahoots with the bears: “Your servant used to keep sheep for his father. And when there came a lion, or a bear, and took a lamb from the flock, I went after him and struck him and delivered it out of his mouth. And if he arose against me, I caught him by his beard and struck him and killed him. Your servant has struck down both lions and bears” (David qtd. 1 Sam. 14:34-36, ESV). These lions (and their shaggier counterparts) were, pure and simple, enemies of both God and man.
The picture gets more complicated in 2 Kings. The Assyrians had displaced the people of northern Israel and settled foreigners in their homes. However, those new residents neither knew nor worshiped God. “Therefore the LORD sent lions among them, which killed some of them” (Anonymous, 2 Kings 17:25, ESV). The Assyrian king rightly understood that the problem was with the local God (although he would not have known to capitalize his appellation) and so he sent priests to teach the people how to be rid of the lions, acknowledging that the God of the land had sent them in judgment. Thus these lions were doing God’s bidding, punishing those people who lived in the Promised Land with no concern for the covenant.
The final piece of evidence I feel like considering is the image of Jesus as “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” (Elder qtd. Rev. 5:5, ESV). This alone should be enough to redeem at least large cats in God’s kingdom plans. If Jesus is a lion, then lions de facto cannot be evil. Given that lions and domesticate housecats of all breeds come from the same…genus? phylum? (someone in biology help me) it follows that cats are also redeemed by the Jesus-lion analog.
Thus we have Christ to thank for the freedom to choose whether or not to own cats today. At the Red Sea, Yahweh delivered the people from the death that awaited them as slaves in Egypt; at the cross, Jesus delivered a multitudes from the death that awaited us as slaves to sin. Just as all things are being made new, so too our relationship with cats is also being renewed. No more must we worry that speaking in higher pitched voices will be considered worship, nor that feeding them scraps from the table will be seen as a guilt sacrifice. Giving our sweet kitties preferential seating is not a mark of religious devotion, but one of wisdom and hospitality. Our cats keep us humble, and without humility we are shall not enter the kingdom of God. So then, as we go forth, let us remember to spay and neuter, for in so doing so we show ourselves good stewards in the household of God, a household that certainly owns a cat or two.
You can ask JaneAnn about: Nashville, theology, cats. Baseball. Glacial
rivers. Her stance on the color purple, and then again the existence of
the word "purple." General frivolity and terrible music (for the
DANCING!!). Old Stephen King novels, time zones, and toll roads in
Oklahoma. She will not, however, answer any questions about that thing
living in her fridge. You can follow her on Twitter @JAKof3Ts.
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by JaneAnn Kenney
Now, I’m not one of those Left Behind sort of eschatology nuts, although not having read the books or watched any movies (are those movies out yet, Nic Cage?), I don’t suppose I can say for certain. I am pretty certain though. In any case, I’m not a Chicken Little or anything. What I can say about eschatology is that sometimes in the now we get glimpses of the not-yet. These glimpses fascinate me and fill me with hope, and often with tears. One such glimpse was given to me by a very old man and a cat.
Whether consciously or not, I have avoided writing about cats. I do not think I’m a crazy cat lady in the making, but I admit that my sister and I have a plan for our widowed days. This plan alternatively involves hiding neighborhood baseballs found in our yard in the dark recesses of our old house and forbidding their young owners into our yard, or else inviting the ball players onto the porch for freshly-baked cookies. The non-negotiable in either scenario is the cats. We both adore them—for entertainment value, for snuggle value (when they so decide), for not having to walk them or take them outside in a manner akin to the Postal Service’s sun, rain, or snow policy value.
I’ve avoided writing about them for what I think are now obvious reasons. It gets a little intense. Since I was born, there has not been a time when my family did not own at least one kitty, and most of the time we’ve had at least two around. Needless to say, we have all kinds of stories about the critters. However, I’ll only tell one, and then I’ll give you my pithy proverb, and then I’ll be through, at which point you can decide whether I am a crazy cat lady (but not before, please).
Our cat Einstein was the proverbial scaredy cat. Mom always said he was born near a big, mean dog under a porch, but now that I’m older and wiser, I suspect he was born inside a meth house (this was West Virginia, after all; Go ‘Eers!). In any case, he spent most of his life afraid. I think that my energetic nature was terrifying to him, being rather reminiscent of his chaotic kittenhood, which is why instead of being my kitty, he adopted my brother, Scott, as his human.
He became a big, beautiful cat, all dark stripes with white accents at his feet, the tip of his tail, and belly. Though never fat, he was a solid cat. Unlike fluffy cats who sometimes look quite heavy, Einstein looked deceptively light. He was built. As a result, it was ironic that everything terrified him. Any natural predators to be found would have to think twice about such a heavy beast, and—let’s be honest—we weren’t in the wild parts of West Virginia, i.e., no bear spottings for days on end.
Life was sometimes hard for Einstein. He didn’t much like other cats and got into the habit of spraying pee inside the house whenever new cats arrived, marking his territory. This made him an outdoor cat. Following a family move, he hid underneath our new clawfoot tub for three days. (We both miss that tub…) When his human went away to college, no one was willing to sit with him calmly for hours and deal with his slobber and claws.
Then my family made another move, this time to Indianapolis. For months my parents lived in a rental apartment and couldn’t keep any of the cats with them. So they got farmed out to family. Einstein went immediately to live with my grandparents in Columbus, Ohio.
Now my grandparents in Columbus are—unsurprisingly—also cat people. They used to have exclusively Siamese cats but became more equal-opportunity with the years. Einstein entered the house as the third cat and was meant to stay until my parents found a permanent house. When they found it, however, he did not leave promptly.
For the last years of his life, my grandfather suffered a lot and in many ways. He had emphysema from years of smoking. He had dementia, which eventually robbed him of his independence. He couldn’t remember how to drive home from his usual haunts around town, and he relived painful war memories he’d spent years avoiding. Once quick-witted, he would now repeat the same questions over and over, circling back to what had already been said. He even began watching football. And enjoying it. All those years in Buckeye country and he didn’t care about football till 2011.
You think I’m kidding. I am not kidding.
It progressed to the point that Grandpa would leave the house for doctor visits and not much else. It was at this time that Einstein came to be fostered in his house. My brother and I were nervous; the cat didn’t like new situations and definitely didn’t like new cats (the spraying bit again).
I think Einstein lived in Columbus for about a year and a half. In that time, he and my grandpa became inseparable. They were old men together. Grandpa would lie in bed watching TV or sleeping while Einstein lay beside him, being constantly and carefully petted, purring, and leaving only for the litter box or food.
My grandpa died last October. We had expected it for a long time, and he’d been predicting it for maybe my whole life. I held myself together pretty well for a little while, talking on the phone to my mom and my grandma. It wasn’t until I heard about Einstein that I lost my cool. It was my grandma who told me.
That cat lay by my grandpa’s side to his dying day. Einstein stayed by his side even after Grandpa had stopped breathing. He was the warm spot when Grandma found Grandpa in the morning. With Grandpa’s bed empty, Einstein wandered the house looking for his person. He cried. He was lost.
I’m not saying that we adopted Einstein eighteen years ago so that he could go comfort my grandfather in his twilight. I’m not even saying God orchestrated a move for my parents so that the cat would have to go live with my dying grandfather. What I am saying is that when my grandfather’s body and mind betrayed him, the cat gave him comfort, day in and day out. I know it’s not a lion and a lamb story, but for me the tale of Einstein and my grandfather is an echo from eternity, whispering about what will be.
Now I take care of Einstein. When he’s stinky, or he tracks cat litter through the house and leaves dirty paw prints all over from sneaking into my brother’s bathtub, I remember the happiness Einstein brought to my grandpa, and I go pet that old cat. I deal with the slobber and the claws, because he did a good thing for a man who needed him.
You can ask JaneAnn about: Nashville, theology, cats. Baseball. Glacial
rivers. Her stance on the color purple, and then again the existence of
the word "purple." General frivolity and terrible music (for the
DANCING!!). Old Stephen King novels, time zones, and toll roads in
Oklahoma. She will not, however, answer any questions about that thing
living in her fridge. You can follow her on Twitter @JAKof3Ts.
You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
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