A pastor friend and his wife once adopted a young cat that bounced up to his parsonage looking hungry and friendless. From the beginning of the relationship, the cat readily came to them and blissfully stroked her whiskers against their outstretched hands. She was comfortable with people. My friends were quite willing to provide for the cat's few needs: food, fresh water, a potent flea collar, and some affection. For the most part, the cat stayed outside, springing up to greet them when they returned from work each evening. They let the cat in occasionally, grateful that she understood the idea behind a litter box. Cleaning day revealed a trauma from the cat's past. When a broom appeared in their hands, they discovered a hidden hurt in their new friend. At the sight of a broom, the eyes o…