Sheba sleeps by the side of my recliner for hours. I reach down and stroke her over and over until my arm gets tired. She is so soft. She doesn’t care that the motion is repetitive and doesn’t stop. Ronnie says it would drive her crazy if I touched her that way.
While I’m reclined, Scarlett makes her way to my lap while Sheba sleeps. Sheba is competitive about my lap even though at 80 pounds she’s never on it. Scarlett doesn’t like repetitive touching. She prefers I pretend to ignore her. My lap is a comforting place for her. The rise and fall of my breathing is akin to riding calm ocean waves. If her purring falls quieter, my taking a deep breath causes it to reverberate loudly.
The thing is they are both over ten. I know their time with me is limited. I focus on that they’re here now, softly contacting my body. Regretting their disappearance is for when they’re actually gone.
Possibly, humans are the only animals whose minds can dwell on the the future without it being related to survival. I don’t know for sure. By my observation, these two beings are focused on the now. This isn’t true around feeding time. Then, it appears to be keen anticipation rather than contemplation of potential loss. I’m human. There are limits to my imagination around other beings whose perceptions are different than mine.
I hate to get up when Scarlett is on my lap. Unlike Sheba, it takes time for Scarlett to get comfortable. I always know Scarlett is temporarily settled. For three weeks give or take, she finds a place she’s at every day. Without notice, she moves to another place. She was happily sleeping on a blue pillow on the coffee table day and night for over a month. I liked her being there. I thought maybe this was an ongoing thing. But one evening, there was a cat throw up event. I was forced to wash the pillow cover. That was it. She moved on never to be enticed back to the pillow. Buying a bed for Scarlett is a losing proposition.
A favorite place is the purple pillow on the Ronnie’s lap. Every night, Scarlett and Sheba do a dance. Sheba is jealous of Scarlett being on Ronnie’s lap. When Scarlett is successfully on the pillow, Sheba gets a treat. What a conflict. Every night, the dog fights herself. “I don’t want the cat up there.” She blocks Scarlett’s path. “But, I want the treat...but, I don’t want her up there.” It’s a philosophical conflict. The dog will thoroughly bake herself by the fire to block the cat until she remembers the treat.
Scarlett patiently waits for Sheba to figure it out. She appears in no hurry with her studied cat nonchalance. At the right moment, she makes a run for it. The dog has tried many strategies. She gets water in the kitchen as a distraction, hoping Scarlett will make a move while she’s away. Recently, Sheba lays down on the other side of Ronnie’s chair out of view until the deed is done. She’s ready for the treat as Scarlett’s paws hit the pillow.
The last few months Scarlett has gotten more attached to sleeping on my reclined chest not even having to go to the purple pillow when Ronnie sits down. I’m honored. The bad news is Sheba doesn’t get a treat when Scarlett gets on me. As compensation, she gets continuous petting next to my chair.
I had shoulder surgery last month. I discovered the soothing presence of Scarlett on my chest. I’m practicing my deep breathing when she’s on me. There is something comforting about breathing and letting go of my worldly cares with Scarlett riding the swells of my chest.
It’s not possible to entice Scarlett to do anything. Her being on me is as fragile as a bud shooting through spring soil. Is it going to happen this time? She can just as easily get bored with the whole thing and move back to the bedroom quilt to sleep. Scarlett doesn’t post a schedule. It’s the quirky thing about cats. “I’m not inclined to do it if you give any sign it’s what you want.” Unlike a dog, who’s entire life revolves around, “I’m ready. I’m ready. Are you ready? I’m ready.” Predominantly, I’m a dog person. But I’ve had incredible relationships with cats. Scarlett is one.
Ronnie frequently goes to bed before me. If I’m lucky, Scarlett is on my chest and Sheba next to my chair when Ronnie kisses me goodnight. Ronnie places a small amount of wet food on the table for Scarlett saying, “Scarlett, it’s ready for you” in her sweet, lilting voice. If anyone has the keys to Scarlett, it’s Ronnie.
“Don’t say that!” I say. “I want her to stay here.”
Similar to Scarlett, Ronnie is not always obedient to my wishes. “I was just reminding her,” she says innocently.
Much of the pleasure of life is attending to what’s happening in the moment. I know that Scarlett and Sheba will pass one day. As Ronnie and I age together, I am aware one of us will die before the other. I’m not looking forward to any of it. The only thing I can do is focus on today and express gratitude for what I have.
As a child, my mother read poetry to me. A favorite was by Kalidasa, an ancient Sanskrit author, paraphrased of course:
Look to this day
For it is life
The very life of life...
If yesterday is but a memory
And tomorrow is only a dream
Then, today is where the rubber meets the road.
If I only have one road, I’m blessed with my animal buddies...and Ronnie-honey.
Joceile
1.14.21
[Picture of me reading with Scarlett riding my breath.]
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