I was thinking the other day about keeping upbeat during these days of hiding away from a virus and masking away any possibility of meeting and connecting with new friends.
I hate these blasted masks! It thwarts my desire to connect with others at church, in the marketplace, in the neighborhood.
So I spend extra time at home. Besides having Bruce at home, I have extra time to read and study, pray, write, and FaceTime with some of my remote friends.
I also find solace by cuddling with my funny and outgoing cat, Link.
Link is a large marmalade cat with longish fur and an especially luxuriant tale. When he walks he uses his tail like a dancer’s scarf, gracefully waving it from side to side over his rump.
When he stretches, he brings his lithe tail up so high, it arcs over his body, touching the back of his head. He knows this impresses me because he looks at me after his stretching as if to say, “Ill bet you can’t do that.”
His orange eyes look just like a tiger’s, and when he walks toward me, eyes fixed on mine, I feel a little thrill of danger.
But in the morning, when I open my bedroom door, he’s waiting for me. He immediately says, “Prrt,” and rolls over onto his back, stretching his impossibly long torso out like a slinky.
I can’t resist the bate, and he knows this. I bend to rub his belly. And he bites me.
He’s learned not to bite hard.
He’s also learned to head butt my forehead. When he jumps onto the couch, I say, “head butt,” and lower my head. His little furry head meets mine with a gentle thump, and I can’t help laughing.
He comes when I call him. If I’m downstairs when I call him, I laugh when I hear the bump of his feet hitting the carpet– he’s on someone’s bed or dresser–then the horse-like gallop down the stairs and the quick search to find me. I love that because I’ve never having had a cat that would come when called.
When I’m in the bathroom, he, outside, meowing for me, slides an inquisitive paw under the door, feeling around. As many times as he does this, I always laugh.
Sometimes he forms his body into what my oldest son describes as a “kitty loaf,” folding his paws underneath, eyes half open, slowly blinking, sometimes purring.
When I say his name, his eyes open a bit wider and he gives me what I can only describe as a cat’s look of love. His tail, warming his haunches, perfectly molded to his side, twitches slightly, then stills.
When I sit at our kitchen counter, he jumps up and sits at another chair, watching, his twitching nose or tail asking questions.
And I thank God that I have this little attentive, affectionate, orange creature who follows me around, offering his companionship. Filling me with delight when he ‘talks’ to me with his mrrrrows, prrrrts, kick, kick kicks, meows, and purrs.
Yes, I sorely miss people, but for the time being, I have the comfort of Link.
Don’t these photos make you feel a little more peaceful?
“Pangur, white Pangur. Oh, how happy we are. Alone together, scholar and cat.”