When You've Forgotten How to Purr
Lessons from the Street Cats in My Garden in Israel 🐈❤️
I have become something of a caretaker to a little colony of street cats here in Israel. Several have found shelter in my garden, including some who were born here as tiny kittens and have now grown into young adults.
Each one has a unique personality, and I've grown rather fond of them all.
But lately, I've noticed something interesting about these cats. Some of them purr so easily, while others seem to have forgotten how.
And it has caused me to reflect on something much deeper.
The Cats Who Purr
There's a beautiful black-and-white tuxedo cat who has the loudest purr I've ever heard! Every time I put out food for the colony, I can hear his little motor running. He purrs so loudly and enthusiastically that I can't help but smile.
I always thought it was adorable that something as simple as a good meal could make him so happy.
Then there's my ginger boy, whom I've affectionately named Mellow Yellow.
And mellow he certainly is! You can pick him up, cuddle him, or do just about anything to him, and he has never once put out a claw. He is the gentlest, most easygoing little fellow.
He even tolerates his "brother from another mother," who practically suffocates him with affection, wrapping himself around Mellow Yellow in an enthusiastic display of feline love. I often find them sleeping together like this in the baby's stroller.
Mellow Yellow has also learned to purr.
But his grey brother?
I've never heard him purr. Not once.
When Trauma Steals Your Purr
This little grey cat had a terrible beginning.
When he was just a tiny kitten, he was attacked by a Rottweiler. The attack injured one of his eyes, leaving him permanently damaged.
Thankfully, we managed to rescue him.
Afterward, his mother hid him away in a small cupboard, keeping him safely tucked inside until he was strong enough to venture out on his own.
He survived, but I wonder what that terrifying experience did to his little nervous system.
While the other kittens have grown into confident, friendly young cats, he remains timid and easily frightened.
He loves his ginger brother and seeks comfort in cuddling up beside him, but something seems to prevent him from relaxing enough to purr. Perhaps he has simply never learned that the danger has passed.
The Cat Who Tries to Purr
Then there's another little cat who has especially captured my heart.
She's an extremely friendly female who used to live among the street cats near the garbage bins, where I would regularly bring them food.
Whenever she spotted me approaching, even from a distance, she would come running toward me, crying loudly as if to say, "There you are! I've been waiting for you!"
She was so affectionate that I sometimes wondered whether she had once belonged to someone. Perhaps she had known the warmth of a home before finding herself abandoned on the streets.
Eventually, she figured out where I lived.
And once her litter of kittens had been weaned, she apparently decided that my garden would be her new home.
She didn't exactly ask permission!
Now, whenever I sit outside in my chair, she immediately jumps onto my lap, desperate for affection.
But there's a problem.
Although she longs to be cuddled, she doesn't quite know how to relax and receive love.
Her claws come out unexpectedly. Ouch!
She startles at the slightest sound or movement. And sometimes she lashes out at the other cats who have already been peacefully living in my garden for months.
It's as though she wants so desperately to belong, to be loved, to feel safe.
But the streets have taught her that survival requires constant vigilance.
And then there's her purr.
Sometimes, when she's finally settled on my lap and begins to relax, I can hear the faintest little rumbling.
It's almost like a tiny motor trying to start.
It sputters for a moment ... and then stops.
She tries again.
And then silence.
It's as though even the effort to purr is more than her weary little body can manage.
And as I sat there listening to that tiny, struggling motor, something stirred deep within my heart.
I realized that sometimes I feel exactly the same way.
When Life Becomes a Fight for Survival
Living in Israel is an extraordinary privilege, but it can also be exhausting.
There is so much beauty here. So much history. So much spiritual significance.
And yet, there is also so much pain.
The constant threat of another war.
The air-raid sirens that send us scrambling for shelter.
The heartbreaking news of another terrorist attack.
Another handsome young soldier, full of promise, whose life has been cut tragically short.
Another family shattered by grief.
And always, somewhere in the back of our minds, the question:
What will happen next?
Even during periods of relative calm, it's difficult to completely let down our guard.
We've learned to live on high alert, waiting for the next blow, the next emergency, the next disaster.
And sometimes, after you've spent so long simply trying to survive, you forget what it feels like to live in peace.
You may still smile. You may still laugh occasionally. You may still go about your daily responsibilities, caring for others, serving the Lord, and doing everything that needs to be done.
But somewhere deep inside, the little motor of contentment has gone quiet.
You want to purr.
You remember what it was like to purr.
But somehow, you just can't seem to get that motor running again.
Restore to Me the Joy of Your Salvation
As I watch these little street cats, I'm reminded that surviving and thriving are not the same thing.
A creature can be fed, sheltered, and even loved, yet still carry the invisible wounds of past trauma.
And perhaps the same is true for us.
We can know that God loves us. We can believe His promises. We can be grateful for His provision and protection.
And yet, our hearts may still be weary from the battles we've fought.
King David understood something of this when he cried out to the Lord:
"Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and sustain me with a willing spirit." — Psalm 51:12 (NASB)
Notice that David didn't ask God to restore his salvation.
He asked Him to restore his joy.
Sometimes the joy that once came so naturally becomes buried beneath layers of sorrow, fear, disappointment, and exhaustion.
But I believe that our Heavenly Father understands.
He knows the battles we've endured, the tears we've shed, and the wounds that no one else can see.
And He doesn't demand that we simply snap out of it and start purring again.
Instead, He gently invites us into His presence, where healing can begin.
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3
Learning to Purr Again
I don't know whether my little grey cat will ever learn to purr.
And I don't know whether my affectionate but traumatized street cat will ever feel completely safe enough to relax on my lap without startling at every sound.
But I hope so.
I'll keep feeding them, sheltering them, speaking gently to them, and giving them the time and space they need to heal.
And perhaps, one day, that tiny motor will start running freely.
As for me, I'm praying that the Lord will do the same work in my own heart.
That He will quiet the constant sense of impending danger.
That He will restore the peace that has been stolen by years of conflict and uncertainty.
That He will renew my strength, heal the wounds of my heart, and restore the simple joy of being alive.
Not because all the dangers have disappeared or every problem has been solved, but because I can learn to rest again in the loving arms of my Heavenly Father.
After all, the One who watches over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps (Psalm 121:4).
Perhaps I can finally stop trying to stay awake and watch over everything myself.
And maybe, just maybe, one day I'll discover that the little motor of joy deep within my soul has started running again.
Until then, I'll keep praying, keep trusting, keep loving these little wounded creatures ... and keep learning how to purr again. ❤️
Shabbat Shalom from Israel 🇮🇱
Hannah Nesher
November 7th, 2026
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