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Because an anchoress could have a cat,
We may assume she had one.  That it sat
Beside her while the pilgrims came and went,
Giving, like her, a lesson in content.
That it was quiet when her visions came
And when they passed it slumbered just the same,
But any mice who trespassed in the cell
Were given reason to believe in hell.
That with a feline love of body heat
It nestled in her lap or on her feet. 
That it died peacefully, grown old and fat.
Love was my meaning, purred St. Julian’s cat. 

—Gail White

Photo by rocketjohn via Creative Commons