2018, Mirror Image Edutainment, Alan John Mayer
My cat’s name is Miao.
She knows I am serious when I call her by her middle name, Fluffy. What I say is “Fluffy, get down. You know you are not supposed to climb the furniture.”
What Fluffy hears is “Fluffy, ………………………………………………………………………………………………….”
At first, Fluffy started putting her paws on my desk, meowing to get my attention. Remembering the effort it took me as a child to try to get my mother’s attention, never getting it until I was able to serve her in her grief over the loss of my father, I make it a point to respond to my dependent four-legged friends. I adopted a dog because I want to be dependent, and I adopted a cat because I want to take life easy.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, looking the creature in the eye.
“Miao” she replies, reminding me why I picked her out of the litter in the first place.
Now Miao Fluffy does not just put her paws on my desk. She sits on top of my papers on my desk, meowing as she looks up at me. If I cannot find the remote, she is lying on it, controling what I view. Whether it is A Course in Miracles or my own book, she will sit nowhere else but on top of my work, and all I can do is laugh and love her. Is that not why she is here?
Here she is, reading Goethe. She is Third grade reading level, an ‘Las Aguilas*’, in Spanish. * The Eagles.
Every morning in bed, she reclines on my chest until she is bored with me. I clean her eyes. We kiss Eskimo style. I stroke her face while she purrs, reminding me of the importance of the Nine Verities of Life:
love, joy, peace, beauty, harmony, strength, understanding, compassion, and wisdom.
As I change the sheets on my bed, I notice Fluffy is not satisfied sharpening her nails on her six kitty condos and four scratching posts placed strategically throughout the apartment for her amusement. No, Fluffy likes to sharpen her claws on my bed, and my new purple fitted sheets.
She’s been at it again. I laugh, as I open a cabinet door, to find her pop out. Here she is exploring, while Meck looks up to his big sister.
Then a thought hit me. How does my relationship with my cat relate to the way I was raised? Growing up in the Home, if I broke something, or placed the knives on the table facing the wrong direction, I was reprimanded, and not with particular compassion. It was never about how I was growing up. It was about whether or not the table was arranged properly.
Dad explained. Mother blamed. This was her dining room, her house. After all, Dad handed it over. I was guilty until proven innocent. Even declared innocent, I was still guilty just for being. “Geh weg. Verschwinde wie die Wurst in der Spinde! Mach, daß Du weg kommst!”
The placement of silverware and glasses on the table was more important to her (and consequently to me, as well), than the emotional development of her son. Items of beauty, forms in particular, anything Mummy associated with her childhood, dysfunctional as it was, became something to treasure, care for, polish, revere, even worship.
For a good laugh, read the post Mummy’s Golden Locks. Learn how Mummy kept her kids from eating her out of house and home.
There is one life.
This life is God.
This life is perfect.
This life is my life now.
Perfect thought, perfect word, perfect action.
I give thanks for all my good.
I release, right thought, right word, right action, pray for the best outcome.
And so it is.