Animal Padre's
Christians Against All Animal Abuse
"Christ’s redemption is for the whole of creation!"

Newsletters
From Summer 2010 Issue

Yes, and cats can be precious too!

At wits end corner and deserted by my previous wife, a little cat plonked itself on to my doorstep. ‘It’s been abandoned by the mill, now closed’; said a neighbour as I reached the door. ‘They’re all cupboard love, and they pry on birds and mice’ I said as I past her on the path. ‘I do not wish to be impertinent, but you do not appear to know much about cats’ she affirmed, ‘and this one appears to have taken to you. Look, it’s trying to get in to your home. You’ve left your door slightly ajar!’

Well, I took in Tibby, and he transformed my life because whenever I was overcome with grief and despondency Tibby knew it and would spring up and purr round my shoulder and in to my ear. I gave Tibby the whole run of my home, and he never took unfair advantage. What is more, the birds that landed in the garden were quite safe, Tibby never as much as bothered them

Sadly, one day this adorable cat went out, never to visibly return. However, I say visibly because a few weeks later, when I sense he may well have been run over due to the close proximity of the busy bypass, an experience more vivid than a dream appeared to me in the night. Tibby was surrounded by brightness and peace, wanted me to know he was OK. And – what was more – was so grateful for the kindness I had given him. Indeed, a wonderful glow had come to me, a burden had been lifted, and his soul and mine would meet up again.

Well, on the following page you’ll see a photo of Tibby in my arms. All part of a newspaper article now the worse for age which Doreen came across when I was about to throw it out! It relates to 1980 and tells its own story; or – more accurately – it highlights within the Yorkshire Post. the price one may have to pay in speaking out for the dumb and helpless. Yes indeed, it was published when I was assistant – or vice! - to the Dean of what is known today as Dewsbury Minster. Following on from its report, I was, asked to apologise to the wife of the town’s leading family butcher who not only wore a fur coat for worship in the cooler months, but her closest friend ran a local mink farm in the country.

Well, I did as I was told; reiterated where I stood and left her home with courtesy and dignity. Sadly, however, the dear lady withdrew her covenanted giving to the Minster and transferred her allegiance to a delightful looking country parish: one where the huntsmen were known to gather before or after a Sunday hunt. I could well have been ‘dragged over the coals’! However, my clerical superior was a true gem of a man: ‘You’ve done what I requested of you, but she prefers to worship along with her friend who runs a mink farm. Don’t spend any more time bemoaning her transferring both her lofty collection and her Sunday presence, elsewhere!” Such were akin to the words that dear Canon Sharpe so graciously uttered. What a patient boss towards one who so frequently ‘rocked the boat’ for animal rights during a four year period!.

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