I have cats. Several, in fact. I have domesticated cats inside and stray ones outside. I call the outside cats “God’s cats” because I feed and shelter them but they came to me, I didn’t choose them. I have a sneaky suspicion that they all have guardian angels who point to my house when they are hungry or cold.

The problem with my cats is that the outside cats want to come inside and the inside ones are always trying to sneak outside. The other day the oldest of my strays boldly walked inside my back door. He looked right at home in my house but just for a minute. Then I picked him gently up and put him right back outside. That may be why he hisses at me every time he sees me. At least until I pet him and then he turns into an adorable mess of purring fur.

The inside cats have it made. They get the best food and treats several times a day. I clean out their litter boxes 2 or more times a day and all they have to do is sleep. Nevertheless there is some kind of lure that constantly leads them to try to slip out when the back door is open. One of them actually did slip out last year and she never came back. She at one time had been one of the strays so I figured she got the call of the wild again. My boy cats are the ones that try to go outside more than the girls. It may be a sense of adventure or it may be that one of the girls remembers the horrific wound she got when I let her out about 7 years ago.

I was thinking about this today and I realized that the problem with my cats is often times the same problem I have with me. I always want to be somewhere else than where I am at the present.(Italy preferably, yet I don’t know a lick of Italian)

I was reading a comment from my good friend, David, and he sums up the problem perfectly in his comment, “Accepting life as it is not as we would have it.”

When you look through the window of life using the experiences of someone else’s good fortune as your measure, you may miss the sunbeam that is begging to stream into your window.