July/August 2024 (Vol. XXXVII, No. 7)

Dear friends~ It is early summer, and nearly nine o'clock until dusk finally pulls down the shades on the warm, humid day. It's well past bedtime for a Benedictine monk who will rise at two in the morning, then gather to pray at three-thirty. Yet he stands in the doorway to his dwelling, gently calling for the nameless stray cat he befriended as a kitten five years before. He hears her soft mewing nearby and finally notices where she's perched on a low wall not far off. "It's time for bed," he whispers into the dark.

The small striped cat acknowledges him with her large eyes but doesn't budge. Instead, she turns her head toward the other side of the wall, like a finger pointing at whatever it is she wants to show him. The monk rubs his white stubbled chin, already braced for the inevitable two o'clock wake-up call not many hours away. With a flash of impatience, he considers scooping up the creature and hauling her off to their room. But she is resolute, he can see that. Her tail flicks periodically, and in the end curiosity compels the monk outside.

"What do you see?" he asks as he pats her head and settles onto the wall alongside her. All is still for a few moments, aside from the sleepy river trickling over occasional boulders and logs at the western edge of the property. When a small rustling shifts the brush below the wall, the cat leaps lithely to the ground to greet the visitor she awaited so eagerly—a young skunk who circles her with calm familiarity. The two exchange soft animal noises in acknowledgement. Less than a minute later, both are satisfied. Each one turns—the cat toward the monastery, and the skunk toward the cornfields and river.

The monk understands that he has been offered a gift: an invitation to wait, to receive, to be surprised. He smiles and follows his feline companion back to the room where they will rest for a few quiet hours. ~ Joy