October 4th is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. As I’ve said before, St. Francis is probably the saint who is closest to my heart. I am a real animal-lover. I have four cats and have always had animals in my life from the time I was a tot.

First there was Smokey, a little black fur ball who had a habit of finding his way into the back of our black and white television set. I guess it was nice and warm in there next to the tube.

Then there was Tammy – a stray who followed me home and who I insisted on giving dishes of milk on the back porch. No wonder she stayed.

Then there was Misty. I can’t remember where she came from, but she was a lovely cat, until the neighbourhood toms started making overtures and leaving their pungent odours behind. I still remember the car pulling out of the driveway with Misty in the back. Perhaps it was just my child’s imagination that saw her looking wistfully out the back window and crying for me.

Interspersed with cats were a few of your typical pets – goldfish, a turtle named Sam, a trio of gerbils: Caesar, Beezer and Sneezer – who met untimely ends, one on his little wire wheel, one at the hands of a student and an unwieldy brick, and one of loneliness. So sad. We also had a pair of budgie-birds aptly named after Saints Peter and Paul(ine). A caged-jaunt outdoors proved too much for them and they beat the door down and flew away.

Then there was Fourchu – named after a little seaside town in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. He was a gorgeous silver tabby, but he fell victim to the common complaint that male cats suffer – urinary tract problems.

Following a trip to the Florida Keys in 1973, we obtained a tabby-and- white and called him Atocha, after the replica of the Spanish galleon Nuestra Senora de Atocha, docked in Key West. Poor “Toche” was cruelly whacked by some unknown assailant and died a few days later because of internal injuries. He did have 8 good years and we loved him very much.

One of our favourite memories of him was when he got at a dish of butter on the kitchen table. He was quite satisfied with himself initially, but then by the look on his face and his disinclination to move a muscle, we determined that the butter was a bit rich for him. Oh, and then there was the time he took a SPAM loaf from a plate and tore off down the hall with it.

Atocha was a great, lovable cat and he was the only cat we ever took to church. On the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, we put him in a carrier and carted him off to be blessed with all the other parishioners’ pets. Our church was named after the good saint himself, and my grade school was also St. Francis of Assisi Elementary. I have always loved him for the love of animals that we share. He guards over the backyard behind the house where my husband and I currently reside.

I had a few more cats while I lived at home: Lynx, was a lovely brown tabby I rescued from the Humane Society and Djanka was a black angora I gifted to a friend since she had lost her own cat. Sadly, her parents wouldn’t let her keep him, so he ended up as a pal for Lynx.

As I said earlier, my husband and I now have four felines: Gilbert, Blanche, Daisy and Red. All are rescues of a sort and all are indoor cats, so a trip to the church would prove exceedingly traumatic. We will have to content ourselves with saying The Prayer of St. Francis or singing “All Creatures of Our God and King”, (attributed to Francis as well). I’m sure the cats (along with the creatures outside) won’t have any problem “lifting up their voices and singing” in praise on this day.

In memory of all those pets who have brought me joy and in tribute to all the animals in nature who do so every day by the grace of God, I wish you all a wonderful feast of St. Francis of Assisi!

Here’s a poem I wrote to always remember the wonderful world outside my kitchen window:

Seasons of Grace

Behold! the cozy, urban yard, behind our Forties house,
Wherein St. Francis stands his guard for all from hawk to mouse.
Each Spring the robins ritually, return to build their nests;
Come April, we anticipate a gath’ring of new guests:

Bluejay’s squeaky clothesline crow precedes him, hale and hearty;
Starling troops march in a row – a daybreak searching-party.
Spitfires, gold, ride waves of air; capped chickadee-dees call.
View from kitchen window fair, in Summer, does enthrall.

Jaunty sparrow, white of crown; some mallards pay a call;
Shafted flicker, thrasher, brown, crowned kinglet – welcome all.
Tourists we have seldom seen make pit-stops and we host–
Autumn days have often been astounding in the most.

But I delight in Winter weeks, whence come the falls of snow,
Blanketing the yard with peaks, flecked with the slate junco;
Quick, squat squirrels dash and dine on peanuts that we cast,
Upon the porch enclosed by pine, and cedars from the past.

Seasons in the garden space the pulse of life, we learn;
Nature with her gifts doth grace– so nurture we, in turn.

Beatasum © 2007