Departure

I have often pondered about the meaning of mercy. One day it was explained to me.

It was in an unexpected form. A chin in the air, urging to be scratched. A decisive stare that locked my eyes and stole my heart.

This one, with bad kidneys and no teeth and a poor appetite. Old and weak and a little nervous. The cat shelter refused to accept payment for her. For a long time I thought this was mercy: Compassion. 

A few years on in her presence I learnt that mercy is to first of all acknowledge a gift and then to fully accept it. Mercy is love in its purest form. It is free and unconditional. It is the air and the sun and the stars. We do not wake up and earn them, they are there. Regardless of what we do they remain.

She found a home and took my bed. I read the passage about trust in Matthew 6:26, the one about if the little birds are looked after who do not plant or harvest, why would not we be. I heard her say if humans are loved, who cause so much trouble and angst and hurt unnecessarily, why would not I be. It humbled me and I was her servant along with many other people who had the pleasure to meet her.

That is not to say that she did not give - she did. She watched over me many nights. Her purring in my ear and head brushing against my cheek in the darkest times reminded me to focus on the mercy I already had. That life is unfair but also full of kindness.

She was a gift, and instinctively knew her worth. There to be loved. And so easy to love was she.

Goodbye, little cat.