My daughter, Tori, knelt in the parking lot of our condo petting a scraggly black-and-white cat without a collar. “Can we keep her, Mom, please? I already know what to call her. Oreo.”
“Honey, you know I’d love to help this cat. But … ”
We already had two cats. There was simply no room for this bedraggled little stray. But how could I tell that to my child?
“Where else is she going to go, Mom?”
“All right,” I sighed. “We’ll take her for the time being. But just remember, she can’t stay. God will find a loving home for her somewhere.”
Those words clearly made Tori feel better, but I couldn’t help wondering if I’d just gotten myself into a fix. God had better things to do than worry about where to put this black-and-white orphan.
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