The Church “Manifestation of Christ”

Nightmare.

All the inhabitants of our block of flats new what Nightmare is. It was the name of our housecat. Nightmare had three favourite occupations: fight, eating rubbish and love, if we can say so.

All these facts together with the street lifestyle have left indelible trace in Nightmare’s life. Firstly, he had only one eye and in place of the second one was a hole. On the same side he didn’t have an ear. His left leg had been broken once before and it knitted in an unnatural way, therefore it always seemed that he was turning left. He lost his tail a long time ago and only small stump was left which was always twitching.

We could have called Nightmare stripy but for the yellow scabs covering his head, neck and back. Having seen him in the street everyone was saying the same words: “What a NIGHTMARE!” It was forbidden for children to stroke him, adults were throwing stones at him and were pouring water, using a hose in order not to let him come into their flat and were slamming him with the door every time he didn’t want to leave. Nightmare had only one reaction to all this. If people were directing a stream of water towards him, he was standing still and was soaking until they gave it up. And if they were throwing different things at Nightmare, he was curling up his gaunt body at their feet as if apologizing.

Nightmare.

All the inhabitants of our block of flats new what Nightmare is. It was the name of our housecat. Nightmare had three favourite occupations: fight, eating rubbish and love, if we can say so.

All these facts together with the street lifestyle have left indelible trace in Nightmare’s life. Firstly, he had only one eye and in place of the second one was a hole. On the same side he didn’t have an ear. His left leg had been broken once before and it knitted in an unnatural way, therefore it always seemed that he was turning left. He lost his tail a long time ago and only small stump was left which was always twitching.

We could have called Nightmare stripy but for the yellow scabs covering his head, neck and back. Having seen him in the street everyone was saying the same words: “What a NIGHTMARE!” It was forbidden for children to stroke him, adults were throwing stones at him and were pouring water, using a hose in order not to let him come into their flat and were slamming him with the door every time he didn’t want to leave. Nightmare had only one reaction to all this. If people were directing a stream of water towards him, he was standing still and was soaking until they gave it up. And if they were throwing different things at Nightmare, he was curling up his gaunt body at their feet as if apologizing.

Every time he saw children nearby he was rushing towards them, was mewing desperately and was pushing his head into their palms, he was begging for love. If suddenly you took him in your hands he was immediately licking your sleeve, jewellery or just anything that was accessible to his tongue. One day Nightmare decided to share his love with the neighbourly sheepdogs. But they didn’t reciprocate his feelings and bit him violently.

I was in my flat when I heard this plaintive yelling. I rushed to help Nightmare but when I found him It was obvious that his miserable life was coming to its end. Nightmare was lying on the road, his back paws were terribly wrenched and a big tear was trickling down his face leaving a clear strip of white fur. I lifted Nightmare with my hands and took him home. He was trembling and was breathing hard. I understood that every movement was giving him a great pain.

And at this moment I could feel familiar rough tongue. Nightmare, who was suffering from extreme pain and whose life was going to its end, licked my hand. I cuddled him and he hid his head in my palm, looked at me with the only golden eye and……… mewed loudly. Even at the time of strong pain this ill-fated cat was begging for kindness and sympathy.

At that moment I thought that Nightmare is the most beautiful and loving creature in the world. He didn’t try to bite or scratch me, he didn’t even wanted to get free. He was just looking at me with absolute trust that I would try to alleviate his suffering.

Nightmare died in my hands before I managed to take him home. But I was holding him for quite a while and I was thinking about how wounded and crippled dog had changed so much my understanding of true and devoted love and of the real spiritual purity. Nightmare became for me an example of sacrifice and sympathy, much better than thousands of books, seminars and television pragrammes. I will always be grateful to him. He was wounded outside and I am wounded inside of me. But he has showed me that it is high time to move forward and learn what a real and devoted love is. A love which holds nothing back.

Lots of people want to be rich, successful, beautiful and famous but I want to be like Nightmare.