Crocodile & Cat

So this is a wee bit of something I don't know how to characterize - not a story, exactly, not a poem either, akin to a devotion but not something I'd write for work. But I'm fond of it and thought it should be out there (it originally had a home in my masters thesis).

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The crocodile called out to the cat. He was in the river, the cat on the bank, slowly walking, lifting one paw up and putting it down. “You walk carefully,” said the crocodile.

            “With each step I pray.”

            “To whom do you pray?” asked the crocodile.

            “To the god that made me.”

            The moon watched them pass beneath her and breathed out to the stars. The air was cool and bright. The crocodile sank under the water and watched fish dart in front of him. He came up and called to the cat.

            “Cat, what does your god say?”

            The cat pulled his feet beneath him and sat, eyes closed. His whiskers stretched in the moonlight, he lifted his chin to the moonbreeze. “It is all our god, yours and mine.”

            The crocodile ducked under water, embarrassed. The cat sat. The moon watched.

Under water, the crocodile rested his chin in the mud and counted reeds. At fifty he came up, saw the cat, and went back under. He counted frogs. That took longer. At fifty he came up. The cat’s eyes were closed and he said, “It is god who made that water and these reeds and those frogs. You were born of mud, I was born of dust.” The crocodile sank under and counted his teeth, ten times over. When he came up, the cat had tucked his paws under and slept.

The crocodile crept up the bank and lowered his head to the cat. His breath tickled the grass. His eyes were gold. The cat opened his eyes. His eyes were gold. The cat said, “Tell me.”

The crocodile closed his eyes. “What do I say?” he asked.

The cat closed his eyes. “I give thanks for the sun and the rain. I praise the sweet smell of the mud. I dance to the moon and I sing to the wind. When the wind is still, I hum to the earth. I enjoy the frogs. I chant to the trees. All this is god, and I am glad.” He opened his eyes. “What do you do?” he asked.

The crocodile sank low. “I count,” he said.

“What do you count?”

“I count the waterbugs,” he said. “I count the currents. I count the hippos and the frogs and the reeds.” The cat closed his eyes. “I count the raindrops. I count the stones. I count the winds.” The cat sat up and stretched his ears. “I count,” the crocodile said.

“The egret,” the cat said, “names things. She sings these in her sleep.”

“The elephant dreams,” he said, “and whispers these to the ibex.”

He said, “The ibex listens.”

The crocodile raised his chin to the wind. “It is good to pray,” he said.

“It is good to pray,” the cat agreed.

The crocodile slid down to the river and under the water. The cat stood up, stretched his tail, and walked, lifting one foot up and putting it down.

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Devotedly yours,

S.A.