{"id":26831,"date":"2026-06-04T19:22:18","date_gmt":"2026-06-04T23:22:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/?p=26831"},"modified":"2026-06-04T19:22:18","modified_gmt":"2026-06-04T23:22:18","slug":"the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/","title":{"rendered":"The Name of the Rule is Compassion"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

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image via Pixabay<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/p>

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Willow the cat lives under the porch.<\/h3>\n

I pretend not to know she is there.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t possibly afford another cat. I really can\u2019t even afford Charlie the traumatized cat<\/a> who came to live with me last April. Technically, this house is not even supposed to have a cat, but the landlord smiled when he met her. She lives outdoors guarding the garden during the day, and comes in the side door to sleep in the cellar at night. That\u2019s all the cat I can possibly take.<\/p>\n

There is another cat who comes to our property daily. LaBelle is always infested with feral cats, but this cat has a collar. She is a smoky Russian Blue<\/a> who used to belong to the child who lived just a few houses down from the Artful Dodgers\u2019 house.\u00a0<\/a>Let\u2019s pretend that child\u2019s name was Willow. I can\u2019t tell you any stories about Willow the girl, the way I\u2019ve told stories about the Artful Dodgers, Jimmy\u2019s boy<\/a> and the Baker Street Irregulars<\/a>. Willow didn\u2019t play with the other children. She only bullied them. She barely ever spoke, and when she encountered other children outside she would push them and hit them. Sometimes she chased them all the way to my house, where they came inside to hide until Willow went home. I couldn\u2019t do anything to help Willow. Adrienne said she took all her classes in the special needs classroom and didn\u2019t come out of it at school. Last summer, Willow\u2019s family moved away, and wherever they are, I wish them the best. But they abandoned the cat.<\/p>\n

Every time the cat wandered over to my yard, the children would cry \u201cOh no, it\u2019s Willow\u2019s cat,\u201d and chase her away the way they wished they could do to Willow. They never said the cat\u2019s name, if they knew it in the first place. They only called her \u201cWillow\u2019s cat.\u201d\u00a0 Charlie would arch her back and spit at Willow\u2019s cat, who was feistier than Charlie and sometimes bopped Charlie\u2019s nose with the claws out. I\u2019d never had a cat in my life before Charlie, so I didn\u2019t understand why Charlie kept coming home at night with scabs on her nose. I thought she was getting a ringworm infection at first. But one evening, I came out to find Charlie hiding in fear halfway up the tree while Willow\u2019s cat ate from Charlie\u2019s dish, and that\u2019s when I put two and two together. And then Willow\u2019s family moved away, but Willow\u2019s cat remained\u2013 still with her jingling collar on like a domestic house cat, but with no house to return to at night.<\/p>\n

I got tired of calling her \u201cWillow\u2019s Cat,\u201d so I just started calling her \u201cWillow.\u201d<\/h3>\n

Willow is shy, as most Russian Blues are. She slips away to hide under the porch when she sees me coming. She never comes out when I let Lady McFluff the guinea pig graze under a laundry basket while I pull weeds in the garden. She never comes out when the neighbor children visit me for Popsicles and a tour of the garden.\u00a0 But I see her often enough, in the evenings, eating out of Charlie\u2019s dish and sneaking a drink from her water bowl. They seem to have come to a truce: Charlie eats the gravy out of the Friskies can and then goes to hide on the porch roof. Willow sneaks up to the porch to have a few bites. Then Charlie comes down, and Willow runs off. One night I was terrified because I couldn\u2019t find Charlie at all. She didn\u2019t come home for thirty hours, which isn\u2019t like her. Just when I was afraid she\u2019d left me forever, she ran into the yard with Willow, and I don\u2019t know if they were chasing each other in a fight or in play.\u00a0 From what little I know, this is the way cats stop being rivals and become neighbors.<\/p>\n

Once, I was sitting on the porch talking to Jimmy\u2019s boy in the late evening, and a round gray figure moved in to eat from the cat dish just inches from my back. I didn\u2019t turn around, because I thought it was Willow, and I didn\u2019t want Willow to go hungry waiting for me to go inside. When I finally glanced behind me, I realized that I was right next to the neighborhood racoon who sometimes peeks at us through the window at night. I\u2019ve named the raccoon Hattie because she reminds me of a Davy Crockett hat my parents bought me at the gift shop at Watoga State Park one summer. Jimmy\u2019s boy wanted to trap Hattie and keep her in a cage as a pet, but I explained that raccoons are wild animals who visit, not pets we can keep.\u00a0 I said the same about Giovanni<\/a>, the possum who lives in the tree and once wandered into my groundhog trap. Giovanni has found a mate lately, a lady possum I call Ciara. Jimmy\u2019s boy wanted to keep Giovanni and Ciara for pets as well.<\/p>\n

When I was a little girl, I wanted to own the zoo. I told stories about my imaginary pet lion to my bemused first grade teacher. Now, I have a menagerie of beautiful animals all around my house, and none of them are really mine.<\/p>\n

Last night, Charlie wouldn\u2019t go to bed.<\/h3>\n

I\u2019ve developed a habit of coming down to the basement to tuck her in at night. She waits for me at the top of the steps, and if I don\u2019t come down she stays there all night. I bring down some kibble to fill her indoor bowl. She eats noisily in front of me, then jumps into my lap to snuggle for a short time, then paces around the cellar while I talk to her. Finally, she curls up in her blanket box to go to sleep, and I go upstairs to bed as well. Last night, she wouldn\u2019t eat. She wouldn\u2019t settle. She kept trying to hide in the back of the cellar, under that disgusting old slop sink that doesn\u2019t even have a faucet anymore. Eventually, she walked up the stairs to the side door and watched it like a hawk.<\/p>\n

I called to her to come downstairs and go to bed, so that I could go to bed, but she wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I heard meowing by the side door. I thought it was Charlie, but I realized it was coming from outside.<\/p>\n

I left the basement and went out the door. Sure enough, there was Willow. She bolted away and hid under the porch when I approached.\u00a0 I realized that Charlie had come in for the night a little early, and eaten her can of Friskies in the basement instead of outside, which meant Willow hadn\u2019t gotten an evening meal.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s not entitled to an evening meal.<\/p>\n

She isn\u2019t my cat. She\u2019s somebody else\u2019s, and that person left her to starve. She\u2019s none of my business: except, of course, that she came to me.<\/p>\n

I called to Willow to see if she\u2019d come out, which she didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I used to know all kinds of rules. I used to be terrified of not living up to every single rule and every single awkward custom I\u2019d ever internalized as a Charismatic Catholic. I had rules for every moment of my day and panic attacks when I didn\u2019t fulfill them. Now that I\u2019m older and utterly broken, I only know one rule. The name of that rule is \u201cthe Golden Rule.\u201d The name of the rule is \u201ccompassion.\u201d The name of the rule is \u201clove your neighbor as yourself.\u201d The essence of that rule is that nobody owns anybody, but we are all responsible for each other.\u00a0 I\u2019m not good at that rule, but I\u2019m learning.<\/p>\n

I left a handful of kibble in Charlie\u2019s outdoor dish, for Willow to find.<\/p>\n

When I came out this morning, it was gone.<\/p>\n

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Mary Pezzulo is the author of\u00a0Meditations on the Way of the Cross,\u00a0<\/a>The Sorrows an<\/a>d Joys of Mary<\/a>, and\u00a0Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

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Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, donate to \u201cThe Little Portion\u201d on\u00a0paypal<\/a>\u00a0or Mary Pezzulo on\u00a0venmo<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u00a0 Willow the cat lives under the porch. I pretend not to know she is there. I can\u2019t possibly afford another cat. I really can\u2019t even afford Charlie the traumatized cat who came to live with me last April. Technically, this house is not even supposed to have a cat, but the landlord smiled when […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2694,"featured_media":26834,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[22],"tags":[1612,507,459,16109],"class_list":["post-26831","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-appalachia","tag-cat","tag-compassion","tag-neighbor","tag-russian-blue"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Name of the Rule is Compassion<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Willow the cat lives under the porch.\u00a0I pretend not to know she is there.\u00a0\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Name of the Rule is Compassion\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Willow the cat lives under the porch.\u00a0I pretend not to know she is there.\u00a0\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Steel Magnificat\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-06-04T23:22:18+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/664\/2026\/06\/wantul-cat-5395013_640.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"640\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"425\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Mary Pezzulo\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Mary Pezzulo\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"7 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/\",\"name\":\"The Name of the Rule is Compassion\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2026-06-04T23:22:18+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-06-04T23:22:18+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/#\/schema\/person\/eefd606fd6f98b01cd46b38fcead458b\"},\"description\":\"Willow the cat lives under the porch.\u00a0I pretend not to know she is there.\u00a0\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/2026\/06\/the-name-of-the-rule-is-compassion\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"The Name of the Rule is Compassion\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/\",\"name\":\"Steel Magnificat\",\"description\":\"Everything is grace\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/#\/schema\/person\/eefd606fd6f98b01cd46b38fcead458b\",\"name\":\"Mary Pezzulo\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/steelmagnificat\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b65a50a237f24be80481c3e40cdc1c15?s=96&d=identicon&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b65a50a237f24be80481c3e40cdc1c15?s=96&d=identicon&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Mary Pezzulo\"},\"description\":\"Mary Pezzulo received her BA in English at Otterbein University in Westerville, Ohio. 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