I am certain that I have the faith of a cat
by which I mean — I have faith in myself
and I invite you, God, to love me if you must
but do not expect my flattery or my fawning.
Prove yourself to be impressive enough
and I might condescend to recognize you,
deign to share my space my life with you;
but dare to draw near for a moment of intimacy
and I will run — shy and suspicious of any joy
that might spoil my self-possessed confidence.
I am certain that I have the faith of a cat
but you, most devious God, understand
that I have the faith (and faithlessness)
of a puppy — impressed and overjoyed
by even a fleeting glance of your attention,
pathetically deflated and woefully confused
by your absence, so eager to please and so very
delighted to obey, always anxious to stay by your side;
clearly my faith has no self-esteem apart from your love.
God help me — why can’t I be a cat?!