The cats of the streets of Mecca
know no bounds.
They follow pilgrims to unknown destinations,
weaving their way in and out of crowds,
surrounded by those adorned in white religious garments.
No one calls them by name.
They are fed by the hands
of those God brings to the Holy city
to complete a mission.
Do they call the city home, as many of those who visit wish to do?
Do they find comfort in the sounds of the call to prayer, as many of those who frequent the land?
What is the meaning of their decision to approach those who sit and bask in the glory of the magnificent structures that contain a high degree of significance to the common muslim?
It seems
the cats of the streets of Mecca
know some things that we don’t.
In their humble coats, shrouded in mystery,
they call this place their abode.
Children of mothers and fathers find their way along the trash lined streets,
their common interests lie in food recently thrown out, and small rodents skittering upon rocks.
These cats are God’s servants just like the rest of us
remaining here,
fulfilling their obligations,
on the streets
of Mecca.
