You know the kind of cat lady I'm talking about. The SPCA calls her to rescue the unadoptables. She bottlefeeds orphaned kittens the size of mice, eyes glued shut. Friends by her 20 pound bags of Purina cat chow. She is passionate, devoted, never turns away a stray in need of a home.
Today, I feel as if God is just like her. All I have to do is deliver myself to God's doorstep, no matter how miserable my condition, no matter how unloveable and messed up I am, there's a place for me. My prayer for those I know, and those I don't who seem lost in the trash heaps, scrounging and miserable, is to find their way to such care.
My praise, being a former stray myself is this:
The Praise of Strays
I was a wreck the day I showed up on your doorstep
escaped from a cardboard box on the back of a bicycle
fur matted, splattered with grease, scrawny and orphaned
Not the type anyone would want
and besides you already had a cat
lots of them in fact, stretched out
in windowsills behind your opened shades
But you opened the door as though
you’d been expecting me
couldn’t believe I’d finally arrived
You ushered me in and after Friskies
and milk and a wet soaping off
that I didn’t even complain about
you held me in your lap and picked
off my fleas one at a time
ruffling through my fur as if hunting
for gold then you ran your finger under my chin
nuzzled me with your nose and told me
the truth about yourself—
I will never abandon you
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