The artist sank down to his knees with a cry:
"Oh, the Compassionate One!" For where the last animal had stood now only white silk that seemed never to have felt the touch of ink; and the great Buddha, the Buddha whom he had painted reclining with hands folded upon his breast, had stretched out an arm in blessing, and under the holy hand knelt the figure of a tiny cat, with pretty white head bowed in happy adoration.

The Eighth Song of the Housekeeper

This is too great a mystery
For me to comprehend:
The mercy of the Buddha
Has no end.
This is too beautiful a thing
To understand:
His garments touch the furthest
Grain of sand

Elizabeth Coatsworth: The Cat Who Went to Heaven