My cat teaches me

about desire, about persistence. 

//

Seated for a time of prayer, I hear

him at the screen door, crying. 

I open the door, open my heart. 

Seated again, he climbs, purring,

into the warm curve of my lap. 

His black fur is wet, his large

white feet streaked with mud

and bits of grass. 

I settle him and prepare

to pray, but he’s unsatisfied. 

He buries his head, his damp nose,

under my resting hand.  “More,

more,” he purrs, willing

my hands into motion

when they pause. 

He is the persistent widow,

the hungry child

asking for bread. 

I watch him settle once need is met. 

He sleeps against my chest, content. 

His body rises and falls with my breath. 

 

This is how, my heart whispers,

you might come to God.    

//

My cat teaches me

about desire, about persistence.