The blessing of a cat

Humans occasionally show their gratitude. This week, my human finally wrote something which I can fully appreciate, even if I longed to get my paws on it and change some of the sentiments... 

My book not hers.

May you be blessed with a cat...

May you be blessed with a cat,

A starving stray from the street

Or a scruffy kitten from a shelter,

Who hides under the bed

For the first few days

May you be blessed with cat fur

On the new carpet,

On your best clothes,

On your bed and

In little balls in the washing machine

May you be blessed with scratches,

Happy scratches on the sofa,

Exploring scratches on wallpaper,

Greeting scratches on the door mat,

And sometimes even on the scratch post.

May you be blessed with a warm body

Close to you on the sofa,

On your lap while watching TV,

Spread out on the bed asleep

Or even snuggled under the duvet.

May you be blessed with purring.

Loud purring requesting food,

Happy purring when stroked in the right places.

Gentle purring during the night,

While both of you sink into sleep.

May you be blessed with that look,

The urgent look requesting food,

The look that says: “Play please,”

The look of loving contempt

That says “You are not my superior.”

You may not know if you own or are owned

But this love too is stronger than death.

                        c.. Celia Haddon

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Is God a Cat?

One of the oddest things about humans is the way they anthropomorphise their God. If you listen to them talking about God (any main religion god) you get a picture of a sort of super human - almost always male, a person, a father, a director, sometimes even new employer. My thoughts were prompted from sitting on Celia's desk reading the blog of Ruth Gledhill of the Times. It is as if humans can't imagine a God that isn't human. I say what if She was a Cat. If God was a Cat, things would be different. For one thing, She'd make it clear that some of the human activities had got to stop - trapping and killing cats, shooting cats with air guns, kicking cats, etc. Instead churches would open their doors not just to church mice but to church cats. They'd take collections and go and buy cat food for strays. And all the starving little strays that scrounge a living in busy towns would know there was a sanctuary for them - a dry sheltered place with lots of room and cat food given out free. There'd be less church ritual (what's the point of if?), less standing up and kneeling, less human music (though some caterwauling would be lovely at midnight mass), and more practical charity. Humans would be allowed in to serve others (cats) and, if they persisted with their 'services" (which aren't really anything of the kind in practical terms) we could sit on their warm laps for the duration. Some forward thinking churches have already taken a step in this direction by having resident felines. At the Tower of London chapel there is Teufel, a black tom who is known for enjoying weddings. He often sits down for a nap on the bride's train. Rupert was assistant organist at St Lawrence, Ludlow. And Lucky is a convent cat. She joins in as the nuns sing Alma Redemptoris Mater. As humans no longer go to church, perhaps we could take over.
Of course, it is pretty bad news for mice if She is a Cat.
And even worse news for us, if God is a Mouse.