Every morning, I have the same routine. I get in my comfy spot, get out my devotional book and my Bible, and spend time with Jesus. At least it starts out that way. By the end, it’s sort of a nap with prayers mixed in.

Usually, my cat Lucy will crawl up in my lap and curl up while I read and pray. I wonder sometimes if I could understand her prayer language, what is would sound like. Maybe this:

“Dear God, please help this heathan pagan boy to understand that I need more tuna in my diet. It’s really not that hard. More tuna. Period.

Help him to realize that I do not like being called ‘fat widdle kitty,’ as I am not fat, but big-boned. And I’m too old and dignified to be called kitty anymore. Those cat toys aren’t even mine. I don’t know where they came from.

Could you get him a girlfriend or something so he doesn’t talk to me all the time? He talks my ear off and I have no idea what he’s saying most of the time. It’s like he’s speaking moronese or something. Sometimes I humor him by pretending I know what he’s talking about.

But let me stick around for a while longer. This kid’s gonna need a lot of help. I think he needs some more quality lap time and I need more nap time, so it all works out. See?

So to sum it all up. More tuna for me, a girlfriend for him, more nap time for me.

Amen.”