One neighborhood stray cries out for food.
His cry pierces my soul.
My boyfriend nicknamed him Jesus.
After years of ignoring him and telling Him to go away, I set out food.
Now, every kind of cat imaginable, even a dog, join Him daily for 2.5 ounces of 9 LIves’ finest.
Jesus looks at me with tired, grateful eyes after eating and purrs,
golden hair matted with spots that another good samaritan shaved,
trying to revive the beautiful coat of long ago.
He watches over at His apostles and seems to say, “With you I am pleased,”
then quietly leaves them to spread the Good News.