She's a pretty calico with white feet, white bib, and lots of fluffy white hair on her belly. Her fur feels like silk which is why we ended up calling her Silkie.
However, because she has such a rich, thick coat of fur, I have taken to brushing her every single night. I've done this, faithfully, for a few weeks, now. This usually happens between 9 and 9:30 each night. When she sees me head to the living room, where I have already turned out the lamp, she tries to beat me in there. Then I turn on the ceiling light. It is her signal.
She flops and waits for me to join her on the floor. Now, you've got to picture this (well, maybe I'd rather you didn't). I'm rather pudgy. And I'm 73 and less flexible than I once was. So, I literally "flop" down next to her. Then I have to somehow get onto my side so I can begin the ritual. This isn't too bad. Once we're done, however, it is a different story.
As bad as it is to get down on the floor, it is more so getting up. I've got to admit - it is a very undignified "rising"!
Still, I suppose it is much better to be able to get up off the floor, without dignity, than to not be able to get up at all. Perhaps this is one of God's ways to keep me at least a little flexible.
Lord Jesus, please continue to help me get down and up each evening when I attend to one of your Father's little ones. I'll keep trying as long as you keep helping. 'Nuff said...