Not long ago, I got up in the middle of the night. I was having a poor night’s sleep. An argument with a colleague earlier in the day was weighing on my mind. I had to get up early, so I got up and washed my face, aiming to reset my sleep.
As I returned to bed, I heard the soft padding of feet. It was one of our two cats. Before I could even settle in, Kiku was on the bed, looking at me expectantly. I sighed to myself. (Kiku is “savvy cat” in this post on looking around corners). Typically – but not always – this is her way of telling me she’s hungry. Can I please get some sleep?
Kiku has a “tell”. I’ve been involuntarily studying for my diploma in nocturnal cat massage for about a decade now, so I know it well. After a few head rubs, I scratch her hind quarters where it’s harder for her to reach. She now has to decide: walk to the foot of the bed (“feed me”) or nestle up beside me (“scratch me”). To my mild surprise, she settled into a loafing position a few feet away. But I couldn’t really give her a good massage – I could barely reach her at full extension. I turned and whispered: “Kiku, come here, I can’t reach you.” I patted a spot closer to me. She seemed to understand, rising and repositioning herself.
Scientists at Cornell have found that petting your cat relieves stress. I think it has to do with making a connection with another living being, and the delight we find in discovering we have the ability to make them feel at ease. It’s deeply rewarding to make a cat purr. You wonder to yourself, where does this otherworldly power come from to make another non-human species calm enough that it settles into a vulnerable state? This is why we love pets – but dogs and cats especially.
As I scratched up and down her back, I chanced upon a spot between her shoulder blades which I rarely rub. I started to work that section and the lower nape of her neck. She relaxed and her purring deepened. I thought about how she has been with us for almost ten years, and how I’m not sure how much longer she will have. I whispered to her: “I will miss you.” It then occurred to me that I had assumed that I would outlive her – which while statistically true, is not scientifically assured.
I thought about that for quite a while.
How did I get here - 4.30 am, patting the cat, trying to turn the page on an unsatisfying work day, pondering life? I resolved to apologize to my colleague on Monday. It was the right thing to do. After some time, Kiku decided she had enough, and stood up and went about her night.
I paused to consider how much I treasured that moment with her, and pledged to find similarly meaningful time with Florence, Ben and Zach the next day. I tried to remember the meditative state of mind I was in: emptied of self, and focused on her – which is not always easy to get to. I stayed awake, and had other, more private reflections. But judging from how I felt after, I need to find my way to this place more often.
I know it all ends eventually. What will I do with the time I am given?
Et tu?
J
[Note to self: Matt 13:44-46]