Lost and Found

My beloved cat, Francisco, disappeared last week.

I adopted him three years ago, and apparently he had had a rough life until then. He was cautious about being touched (not a "lap cat," by any means), bit and scratched on occasion, and never purred. I showered him with affection. Since I live alone, I talked to him constantly, and he reciprocated by listening and wagging the tip of his tail in an oddly dog-like fashion. He gradually became more affectionate, rubbing a lot against my legs, joining me in bed. And, he learned to purr.

From the time he didn't show up for supper, I was concerned. He adored going outside and found ways to shoot around or between my legs when I tried to keep him in. But when he did get out, he never left the property around my apartment. He loved to roll in the dust of the parking lot, chew on long grass, poke around in an old rock wall, and hang out on a flight of wooden steps nearby. But that was as far as he went; he was never out of eyesight. And -- again, somewhat dog-like -- he would come when called, albeit often slowly, strolling nonchalantly along as though no one had really called him.

I walked around the neighborhood, calling and calling. No Francisco. When he was gone all night, I began to despair, fearing he was dead.

I recalled a thought by Dr. Wayne Dyer, who said in one of his books that fear is "false expectations appearing real." Kenneth G. Mills frequently pointed out that when you think you feel fear, know that you have access to "the Father's ear."

I made and posted signs all around the neighborhood, though without much enthusiasm. I prayed for Francisco, asking the Power we call God to take care of him, as He does all His little ones, to make sure that Francisco didn't suffer, and to bring him home.

I acknowledged my gratitude that Francisco had experienced a great deal of love for three years, and that God in his mercy had somehow made it so that I did not have to see a small dead form. And gradually, I became grateful that there was the possibility of adopting another cat, of finding newness. This was at times comforting, though all of Francisco's endearing little quirks were often on my mind.

At some point, I reawakened to the fact that Love is All. It came to me that Love cannot be divided, so that first it had an object and then it didn't, for Love is all there is. Love never ceases. It cannot be lost. Over and over I repeated, "Love cannot be divided, cannot be lost. Love is All there is!" With this renewed understanding came peace, almost exhilaration.

So, I continued to wait. Francisco's little bowls of food and water, put out on the porch for him in case he came home in the middle of the night, remained untouched.

Monday was hot, so I kept my door shut. As it happened, I was sitting in my rocking chair, close to the door. Suddenly, over the noisy hum of the air conditioner, I thought I heard an odd little sound. That sounds almost like a cat, I thought. I opened the door and there was Francisco, sitting at the bottom of the stairs and meowing. When he saw me at the door, he trotted calmly up the stairs and into the house. I was flabbergasted and overjoyed.

Oddly enough, he was not bedraggled in any way, and showed no excess hunger or thirst. He obviously hadn't been wandering through the woods for the last four days. He must have walked brazenly into someone's house (as he did occasionally at my neighbor's apartment door), then somehow gotten back to my steps four days later. Odd that no one had telephoned. Well, although Francisco is extremely smart, he doesn't talk, so I guess I'll never know what adventures he had.

I do know, with great wonder and joy, that Love is All there is, and Its boundless Presence embraces always.

Orange cat silent
Sleeps gently on my table.
Love undivided.