Not Even a Cat

A strange cat stopped by our barn the other night.
At 4 AM, with nothing else around,
he looked in the barn and saw me,
sitting in a chair as I washed the eggs.
“Hello?”
he said
and I leapt in my chair at this strange apparition
worn and thin,
long dark fur like a living shadow coming out of the night.
“Hello? Would you help me?”
he said
and my heart fell,
sensing the hunger in his barely hidden
bony frame.
I came out and he rubbed my leg,
pleading his desperate case.
I picked him up,
and he purred.
“Of course, sir,”
I said,
“Come right in. There is food here free for all cats, though the barn tribe may fight you if they find you at it.”
Where had he come from,
this cat who starved in the wilds and longed for human touch?
And how had he found my farm?
Had he toured the neighbors, begging at doors,
looking from face to face in desperation?
Or had some angel lead him by the paw,
saying,
“Come this way, most tiny creature, and one of the Lord’s will give you rest”?
There is a purpose to these things,
a great mystery in the little goods that find even the humblest creatures,
a haunting melody of love floating on the wind
in a world wracked by a million miseries.
Jesus said that not even a sparrow falls without His father marking it.
Perhaps in the same way even the prayer of a hungry cat may be heard,
and the Creator’s hand lead him to a home.
And this is my gentle God,
who says of me “Take heart, you are worth more than many sparrows.”
If even a cat is worthy of His attention,
then I should never fear again.
He will do as He has said,
and find me a little corner where I may lie down in His home.

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