wordless bonds of affection

A friend's cat died recently, and makes me reflect on the wordless bonds of affection between me and my buddy. She can't speak with me, but there are many ways that we communicate with each other. Her simple quiet presence is its own reminder not to get lost in one's own thoughts about the past or the future.

People have, for quite a long time, treasured the companionship of these little characters. Indeed, in the margins of a manuscript he was copying roughly 1200 years ago, one Irish monk jotted down a poem in tribute to his cat.

So, in honor of my friend's cat, and mine, this tribute, written by that anonymous 9th Century Irish monk --

Pangur Ban

I and Pangur Ban, my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men,
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see,
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
Oh how glad is Pangur then!
Oh, what gladness do I prove,
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban -- my cat -- and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.