I poured a cup of coffee and followed Eggs, our tabby cat, into the living room. There, I stretched out on the floor with the feline to my left. In time, Lily, my parent’s King Charles Cavalier, wandered in and the cat stiffened. But when the uninterested canine laid down to my right, Eggs mellowed.
Strangely enough, we coexisted in peace. The cat didn’t growl. Lily didn’t lurch. And I drank coffee while alternately petting their soft fur.
The peaceful cohabitation marked the first time the cat had ventured close to the dog without bristling. With a two week stay looming, the breakthrough mattered. However, I knew what Eggs didn’t. A second dog would arrive within hours.
Eggs
Lily
A recent Facebook post caught my attention. Lorna, a fellow mito mom, needed a place to stay. The daughter of missionaries had uprooted her life and spent the last year in Thailand, in part due to treatment options available for her daughter, Penelope, who battles mitochondrial disease.
While a team of professionals at a top rated international hospital offered new insight into Penelope's care, in time, other concerns led them stateside. In need of housing for a few weeks, Don and I invited them in.
Thus, only hours after Eggs embraced Lily’s presence in our home, Lorna, Penelope, and their Pomeranian, named Hercules, arrived at our front door.
Hercules
When the feline saw the second dog, she arched her back, puffed her tail wide, and blocked the entry way. Eventually she fled to the stairs and tried to maintain her position. But even now, ten days later, the animals wander around, defending their personal space.
As the high and mighty homeowner, I referee, wishing they could see each other the way I do.
Which brings me to that Friday night.
Penelope and I stepped out to see a musical. Wanting to look the part, I chose not to wear my AFO’s—a choice I regretted when we had to park two blocks from our destination and walk up a slight incline.
As the path leveled out, my legs gave way, so Penelope offered her shoulder for balance. A group approached from behind and soon passed. But two of the five glanced back.
“I get looks like that all the time,” Penelope stated.
Touched by her understanding, I said, “Yeah, I’ve been accused of being drunk more than once.”Connected by disease and misunderstanding, we joked about our unreliable bodies and went on to enjoy the night. But something about that moment stayed with me.
While I try to ignore ignorant comments and the many ways I feel left out and far behind, Penelope’s comradery heightened my awareness, like turning the lights on in the room I avoid.
But I'm not the only who feels like a cat in a sea of dogs.
A few nights later, I sat on my pastor’s living room floor with several black and bi-racial members of our congregation. Aware that I can’t comprehend their challenge, I wanted to learn more; to peek behind the white skin curtain and embrace the disparaging racial divide they alone experience.
Their sobering tales haunt me still and put any discrimination I feel into proper perspective. My experiences count but aren't nearly as crippling as what others face.
Just a few days later, I found myself on a piano bench in a funeral home chapel where I sang as others grieved. The woman in the casket died unexpectedly, leaving family in shock.
A divorce had left deep scars more numerous than the neck and back surgeries that were intended to alleviate her pain. The ripple effect of unresolved hurt left a divide some couldn’t cross that day.
Which brings me back to cats and dogs. Or the healthy and disabled. Or blacks and whites. Or dysfunctional families.
With so much division, how can we ever reach unity?
While the answers are multi-layered and complicated, one thought stands out: Don't avoid, ignore, or stay quiet.
When you see a handicapped individual, don't stare. Greet them instead as if they're just like you, because deep down, they are.
When you encounter someone with a different skin color, look them in the eye and say, "Hello." Don't walk away without a kind word.
If you live in a divided family, pick up the phone. Risk rejection. Speak peace even if ignored.
If we all take advantage of daily interactions to bridge the divide, our small steps may eventually lead somewhere.
My son, Nathan invited me to attend the Shuler Awards with him just last night. After seeing Milton High School's production of Cabaret, I knew they might win big and Nathan was up for best musical director for his part in the show.
While Nathan didn't win in his category, Milton took home six Shuler Award trophies, including Best Overall Production. And I know why.
Their powerful production spoke straight to this issue. We can carry on like "Life is a cabaret old chum," seeking good times and momentary comfort. Or we can face the overarching need to fight against the pain, injustice, and forces of evil that long to divide and conquer.
What will you choose? What will I choose?
Right before this number is sung toward the end of Cabaret, Sally, the main lead, chooses to get an abortion and stay in Berlin instead of leaving with her worried lover. WWII will soon begin and Hitler will round up the Jews, but none of that matters. Not to Sally.
For life is a cabaret... or is it?
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