How to Resist Satan and Not Become His Lunch
We’ve adopted a stray cat, Emily. She is shaped like a raccoon, walks with a hitch in her left hip, has half of a white mustache on her orange and black shag-rug-from-the-seventies fur. Little did I know this precious, misfit kitty was going to give me a lesson on how to resist Satan.
Birdfeeders outside our window see a flurry of activity, especially in the mornings. An array of birds take turns swooping in for a breakfast treat, singing their merry songs, chattering away the lingering darkness. My heart smiles as I sit quietly to watch.
This morning Emily discovered the birds.
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