Because an anchoress could have a cat,

We may assume she had one. That it sat

Beside her while the pilgrims came and went,

Giving, like her, a lesson in content.

That it was quiet when her visions came

And when they passed it slumbered just the same,

But any mice who trespassed in the cell

Were given reason to believe in hell.

That with a feline love of body heat

It nestled in her lap or on her feet.

That it died peacefully, grown old and fat.

Love was my meaning, purred St. Julian’s cat.

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Previously published on First Things​​

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Gail White is a formalist poet whose totem animal is the cat, as evidenced by her chapbook of cat poetry, Catechism. She lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, where she currently owns two cats and feeds three others.

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