MISS MOOX: church

He's gone. The most beautiful, wonderful, happiest, most loving cat in the whole entire world, is gone.

"No longer with us." That's the phrase Julie, his owner used. She called me at work today to let me know. "I've got some bad news," she said. I immediately stiffened. "Are you ready?" "I don't know," I responded, holding tight to the phone. She went on to tell me anyway in a voice resigned with sorrow. "Mugsy's no longer with us," she said.

I knew when she said it was bad news it had to be one of the cats. Mugsy or Bruno, his brother, but I suspected it would be Bruno. With his more adventurous habits, we had more than once commented that he was in danger of being hit by a car as he crossed the road.

"You're joking," I said. She was not. She proceeded to relate the story. February 11, one day after her birthday, a woman came to the door crying and asking if they owned a gray cat because she had just hit one. It was Mugsy.

Julie said that he had looked perfect, completely unmangled, as if nothing had happened to him. They laid his still-warm body down on a grassy knoll and prayed over him for a long time, but he didn't revive.

Mugsy. "The joy of the farm, the most wonderful cat in the world," Julie called him, and it was true.

She hadn't wanted to tell me on Sunday when she saw me in church (I was in Canada the day that it happened). I had asked after Mugsy and she'd said, "He's fine, as ever," with a nervous laugh. And I'd asked how Bruno was. "With his habit of crossing the road, I keep being afraid I'll hear bad news about him," I remarked. I now wonder how she kept a straight face.

I can hardly believe that he's gone. I can hardly believe that when I go back to the farm (and I am afraid to now), I won't be able to call, "Here, kitty, kitty," and see his smiling gray face bounding toward me as he runs full tilt to throw himself at me, in the rapturous way he had that made you feel like the most special person in the world. I won't feel the gentle pressure of his wet nose and soft cheeks as he "kisses" me cat-style by rubbing his face against mine. I won't feel his sturdy squirming body cuddled in my arms, or hear his thunderous purr, or feel his ever-active claws pricking my skin as he kneads my arm. I won't feel the softness of his long fine gray fur, or watch as he jumps on his brother, tackles him, and bites his neck. I won't be able to see him crazily whirling and jumping after dragonflies or leaves, the former of which he rarely if ever caught. I won't hear his "miaow" from somewhere in the rafters as he wends his way through the tangle of the barn roof, or the scrabbling and thud as he falls off something. I won't hear his frantic and rapid paw-scratching on the glass door as he stretches himself up and works away in a desperate bid to be let in the house. I won't be able to watch the funny way he jumps off my lap and runs to investigate the sudden water stream released by the bathroom pipe outlet. I won't see his intense and love-filled green eyes staring into mine. He was always smiling, always happy, always totally in the moment, always the clown, always loving. The most wonderful cat in the world is no longer with us.

Julie said they kept him for a few days while they waited for warm weather to bury his body. She didn't want to burn him. She hasn't yet found a good stone to mark his grave.

Why is it always the best ones that go? And why did it have to be by car? Mugsy always (I thought) stuck close to the house. He was terrified of cars. If one started up while he was in the vicinity, he would run. If you were holding him and a car went by on the road, he'd tense to flee. If it was in the driveway, you'd have a very tough job holding him as he scrambled desperately to escape. Bruno, his gentle brother, was the one who crossed the road. If either of them got hit, we thought it would be Bruno. In fact (ironically now) I always consoled myself that at least if we lost one, it would be Bruno (not that I didn't love him but I had a fiercer affection for Mugsy).

In the end it doesn't matter. Mugsy's gone, I hope he did not suffer and never knew what hit him. He will never adorn the farm anymore as its liveliest and lovingest denizen. Its smiling sunny fields and (to him) endless possibilities for amusement and play will be emptier and sadder now.

And I have lost a dear and wonderful friend.

I do hope cats get to heaven. Because if they do, the first one I want to see there is Mugsy.

RIP, little friend.

I had my first-ever fender bender yesterday.

Worst of all, it was in a friend's car.

A friend from church offered to pay me to chauffer her to and from the airport for a flight to Switzerland. The departing flight journey was no problem.

But yesterday, the day I was supposed to pick her up, I got caught doing a few things and before I knew it, I was late. So I rushed out the door, sped to town, ran from my parking spot to her house, and ran out the door to her car.

Her car is parked in a very narrow space, accessed by a very narrow driveway lined by a rock wall. You can see where this is going, can't you? In my infinite wisdom and excessive hurry, I decided that instead of backing all the way down the driveway, I'd try backing into a little space between her house and the next one to turn around, and then drive frontways out the driveway. I swung the car around and there was a sickening smash as the front end smacked into the rock wall.*

My heart fell. I was horrified. I was going to be sick. But I had to go on. My friend was waiting at the airport, and I was going to be late. So I drove all the way to Boston, an hour or more, feeling absolutely ill and dreading the sight of her. It didn't help that a few miles down the road, as I entered the highway, there was another crash and as I looked into the rearview mirror, I saw a piece of the side panel tumbling away behind me on the road.

I got to the airport, pulled up to arrivals, and there she was waving at me. I pulled over to allow her to get her bags in the car, and the first thing she said was, "Who got into an accident? You or Rob [her husband]?"

"Me," I said with a sad grimace.

She was laughing. "Don't worry about it," she assured me. "I was hoping it was Rob so you wouldn't feel bad. One thing you have to know about us, we don't care about material things. It's fine. We are very well off, and we're more than able to pay for this, and we have insurance anyway. Stop feeling bad. We lend this car out all the time, and we expect things like this to happen. You're just as likely to get into an accident as Rob or me."

Most of the ride home was spent by her attempting to make me feel better, and it not working. Eventually it did. Sort of. I don't really feel better about doing it, but at least I feel better that she didn't mind.

*I learned later that night when I saw her again, that I'd actually hit a metal post belonging to a gate that blocks off their parking spaces. At least it wasn't the wall. I'm now curious to see whether I could have done the maneuver if the gate post wasn't there.

Yesterday I heard from my immigration lawyer that Citizenship and Immigration Canada is requesting a medical exam.

My application to immigrate to Canada was submitted a year and a half ago. During that time, I moved to the States, adjusted to a totally new and different place, lived in six different houses, had three jobs, suffered severe depression, went through a whirlwind romance and heartrending breakup, and got healed by God. I've been knit into the joyous and glorious dance that is my church, and ultimately, the kingdom of God. I've come to love people here and form good friendships, some of which I hope will last a lifetime. I've learned to appreciate the unique beauty of the New England seacoast. I will miss it here, in many ways, if I go back to Canada.

Apparently, once a medical exam is requested, you are all but in. CIC only requires medicals of those they have intent of accepting; with no other problems on the application, a clear medical is a green light. Only if I exhibit some severe mental or physical condition or communicable disease requiring hospitalization and dependence on social services, with unlikelihood of being self-supporting, will they refuse me. Apparently.

I confess I am divided, with the heaving thoughts and emotions associated with such a big step. When I first moved here, all I thought about was going back to Canada. I strained toward the day when I could return and resume "normal life". More recently, the connections I've formed here have caused such an attachment that I've wanted not to go back to Canada, but to stay here, remain a part of the church, keep up with the relationships I have, be a part of what's going on. I thought that if I was accepted, there'd be a long and difficult decision about whether to stay or to go.

But when the news came yesterday an exultant flood of joy welled up in me that I couldn't suppress and didn't expect. "Canada! Canada!" was all I thought. The country I lived in for six years, came to love, became a part of, now could be mine! The city I lived and played and worked and studied and loved in, Toronto, could be my home again. The multiplicity and diversity of the ethnic makeup, the bustle of the city, the multitude of opportunities and the palette of crazy life on every corner: mine to inhabit. For real this time. As a resident. Belonging.

All my reasons for staying here in a moment were torn away and I realized: there's nothing here I can't leave. No defining ties. Sure, there are lots of people I love. There's a fantastic church, the best I've ever been a part of, a leadership team I'm proud to support and exciting things that are happening.

But when I gave my life to God, I meant it, and, as someone in our church likes to say, he took it. It's not mine to direct. It's his. And I sense he's saying, "Go."

It will mean another rending. It will mean another ripping up of little roots that cling to the soil, leaving bits of me behind. It will mean the hardship of adjusting, once again, even to a familiar environment. It will mean the pain of missing what I have here. It will mean relationships which will have to be maintained long distance, and people I can no longer drop in to see once a week.

But can I not do it? No. I heard God whisper to me, "Don't ever say you can't do anything I've called you to." And I believe it. And I know, if he wants me to move back to Canada, that he's got greater things there for me.

But this place, will always be a part of me. It will always have my heart.

I'm so thankful, as I was thinking last night during worship at homegroup, surrounded by some of the most precious people in my life: this life is so temporary. The rendings, the partings, the pain and the sorrow, are only for such a short time. We will be together again for eternity, united where no death, no move, no animosity or hardship, will ever part us again. United around the one who makes us one, the reason for our being: Jesus. And it will be forever.

So that in mind, I can do this. Yes, it will be hard. But I can never say no. It's not my life. On to the next adventure.

As per the previous post, I got stopped by a public service employee, told I wasn't allowed to take photographs of a power plant under "Homeland Security" regulations, and had my name taken for a report.

Well, yesterday at church my former landlady approached me and handed me a bit of mail that had come to her house. She then said, "The police showed up at my door looking for you yesterday."

"What!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, something about Such-and-such station. They asked me, 'Do you know why she would be taking photographs of the power station?' I said, 'She takes photographs, it's art.' They asked me if I knew how to get hold of you, and I said no. I don't have a phone number for you or anything. I said that I'd see you tomorrow at church and I'd let you know. They didn't seem too bothered about it."

So, the guy who told me that my name was going no further than his "internal report" basically lied. And the police came looking for me! I'm hoping it goes no further than this, but if it does, I'll stand my ground until proven that what I did was illegal. Sheesh. Talk about taking the idea of "security" too far...