Resting Like the Cat
When my daughter moved back home last summer, she brought with her a beautiful white housecat named Prince who turns two years old next month and behaves pretty much like a teenager (although I’ve been reminded that this means he’s behaving pretty much like a cat ). Because I’m almost always the first one up in the morning, he generally greets me at my door expecting some attention. That used to be playtime, but lately, it’s become cozy time. Case in point: after I emerged from my bedroom this morning and planted myself on the living room loveseat, he nonchalantly hopped up there by me, tenderly stepping over my body a couple times to get his head in the vicinity of my hand where chin scratches are easy for me. Then he settled down on the seat cushion snuggled up to my leg, purring and enjoying the weight of my hand on his body. As I felt that contented rumble under my hand and looked at his peaceful, closed eyes, I found myself praying. Jesus, this is what I want. I want to curl u...