T.S. Eliot’s Cat

My cat teaching me the spiritual discipline of lent

I was reading Eliot’s Ash Wednesday, when my cat sprung onto my bed, circled twice as if honoring the holiness of that space then sat.

He didn’t look at me all that time, but I knew he came because I was here.

He sat in the regal way as all cats do, his head held high, his orange eyes surveying all things with equanimity, as if one only rules the world through nonchalance.

Teach me to care and not to care.