Contemplative, appreciative, grateful,

my cat Rumi, the best of our tribe,

knew how to thrive and survive.

I am quite sure of that.

As at home in a crowd

or in seclusion

nothing could phase this cat.

From the moment I saw him,

contentedly caged at the refuge, I knew

that this was a very calm chap.

When I took him with me

to my whimsical house,

where a hidden mirror

out in the garden

reflected a profusion of flowers,

Rumi gazed, with no consternation,

curled his generous tail softly about himself

and fell asleep there for hours,

but wow, and meow, he knew how to play

when the kids were around and ran wild.

Affectionate yes, never pushy,

he was the one who followed his duty

in sustaining the peace of our house.

I found my own centre

in watching him watching a trickle of water

run from drainpipe to gutter

with close attention

and the eye of a silent saint.

He showed me the importance of flow.

He had no need to know where it came from

and didn’t much care where it went.

Ah the purring of Rumi, a mantra.

Rumi was heaven sent.