Soul Food

Michele Marr

You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because

thorns have roses. -- Ziggy, comic strip character by Tom Wilson

Last Thursday I was convinced that Thanksgiving had come a week early.

Seven weeks before that, my sister’s cat Buddha had gone missing. I

had been praying for her safe return from the first day I knew she was

gone. My sister had reason to suspect she had been captured, and then

dumped far from their home.

The more time went by, the less likely it seemed she would ever be

found or find her way home. Posters and promises of a reward had produced

no clues. It was hard to hold on to hope.

Some mornings and evening as I prayed I felt a little foolish praying

for the safe return of a cat. Along with my prayers for Buddha, I prayed

for peace and comfort for a family whose toddler daughter had recently

died. She would not be returning to them in this lifetime.

I prayed for peace and comfort for the parents of Chandra Levy, now

missing from her Washington D.C. home for nearly seven months. I prayed

for her safe return.

I prayed for the safety of a handful of aid workers trapped in

Afghanistan, although it was hard not to fear they were long since dead.

In the company of such prayers, my prayers for a sweet, small gray cat

sometimes made me blush. But I couldn’t keep from praying.

I would wake sometimes in the middle of the night. I would look at the

clock and I would know that my sister was out in the biting air of

Michigan’s fall, watching, waiting, probably with cat treats in her hand.

I would think then of the sleeplessness of Levy’s parents and of the

families of eight foreign aid workers trapped inside Afghanistan as it

was pummeled by our war on terrorism.

Buddha, Chandra and eight foreign aid workers -- it was hard to hold

on to hope for them. But it was impossible not to pray.

On Thursday came the news. The aid workers had been released during an

anti-Taliban uprising in Ghazni. They were rescued by US Special Forces

and airlifted to Pakistan. I could hardly believe what I heard and saw.

Next came the phone call. Someone had found Buddha. My sister was on

her way to get her. I felt like I’d hit the prayer lotto.

Buddha had found a family -- or they had found her -- out in the rural

countryside, quite a distance from my sister’s suburban Saline home. They

had taken her in, fed her and read the tag on her collar, which had

entangled one of her legs.

How she got there is anyone’s guess. She wasn’t in good shape. She was

thin, filthy and her leg was rubbed raw and infected. “If only cats could

talk,” lamented my sister’s son, Remy.

Buddha would have a story to tell. Her discovery and return was a

dream come true, as far-fetched as the deliverance of eight foreign aid

workers from war-torn Afghanistan.

Prayers answered.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer and graphic designer from

Huntington Beach. She has been interested in religion and ethics for as

long as she can remember. She can be reached at o7

[email protected]