Contemplation with Cat

February 21, 2026

In this Lenten season, instead of “giving up,” I’m trying to “give to,” such as giving time to God in meditation, but sometimes a cat assumes it’s a god, too.

Contemplation with Cat

Dear Cat, who asked you here
into my time of prayer
and up to my empty lap?
I did not invite your rumbling purr
to vibrate within my silence
nor did I request ten sharp nails
to knead my thigh while I attempt
to center, to settle, to be.
O Tabby One, you may quit circling
round and round like restless thoughts
that I am anxious to release. Do not
shove, once again, against
the sacred prayer book to plant
your face upon my chest or anchor
your leg across my arm as if
to claim me. Those moss green
eyes must cease their languid
steady blinking mirrored
in my own, your feline ways
an interruption intent to sway me
from my aim to pray, to sit,
to allow Silence her place,
Love its own seat,
resting in
the echo of my heart. I should
set you aside and close
the door. Yet here you are
flesh, bone, and vocal chords,
a muff on which to rest
open hands, a chorus
of pleasure rising from your presence,
a solid symbol that
in the very moment
of I AM
delights
to welcome me.

(c) Rosemary McMahan

Photo credit: “Dundee,” Rosemary McMahan