Enthusiasm Enthusiasm

I understand my cats. I watch them leave in the small hours. I hear them leap on the gate and scratch the shingles of the roof. I do not complain when they fail to greet my arrival or to watch my departure, for they come when I call. My cats’ names are Thunder, Song, and Peraclete, LL.D. Thunder has long gray fur, pointed ears, and yellow eyes; he is not a symptom of suppressed longing for worldly power. Song is a calico, moves without effort, and leaps like the wind; she is not merely a symbol of grace, but draws all hearts to hers. Peraclete is a tiger, a flame that lights up any shadow. To be near him is to realize that to love is not to be love’s slave. I understand my cats, and they love me as if they were my own, but I know they don’t really need me—not to feed them, not to comb out their fleas, not to warm the house on a wet night. They do as I please, but I know exactly what to please.