Friday, November 27, 2009

Meditation on a cat's life

Sheba likes our morning time together. Tom is not up yet; I come in my study and sit down in my chair, and she jumps up on her chair. It is one of her dedicated pillars, with a folded towel on it, and Buffy, a soft stuffed cocker spaniel, lying beside her. And this hour is dedicated to us being here quietly. I tap on the keys. Sometimes she steps over onto the computer table and taps of the keys herself. Then, finding no interesting outcome, she goes back to her pillar, where now she is curled up in that enso cats make to sleep deeply in. I can watch her sigh and then see her breathing change to low. When I am meditating I try not to control my breath. Sheba never has to make an effort at that. She is an animal: few choices, little indecision. She was in hell in Cat Welfare, constantly afraid of the other cats, and just like a child in an orphanage, couldn't do anything about it except look longingly at the visitor who came in the door. She had written me off by the time I made up my mind to bring her home and weave her into our family life.

1 comment:

  1. lovely cat tale. Sheba is a beauty. I miss having a cat but am in moving limbo so will have to wait a bit to enjoy this lovely wordless company again.