The Language of Cats

Odd Company -- May 23, 2022

Dear Friends, Family, Neighbors, and Those of You I Don’t Yet Know —

Sometimes, even in the midst of beautiful weather, the garden full of bees, the night sky spattered with astronomical wonders, and loved ones all around, misfortune strikes. Well…”misfortune” is a judgment call. Remember that old Taoist tale of the farmer whose horses ran away? What looks like misfortune one day can turn into a lucky break the next. In difficult times, it can be hard to remember that. We humans are hardwired to focus on difficulties and dangers. It’s a survival trait. Out in the wild, it can keep us from becoming a predator’s lunch, or getting trapped in a bad place. But this focus on all things negative — “negativity bias,” psychologists call it — can also make it hard to be grateful for the good things in our lives. Without gratitude, happiness becomes something we pursue but never get hold of. I know I’ve had a bad day when, lying in bed counting my blessings before sleep, I can’t think of any.

I’ve just emerged from a particularly trying week. My husband has been ill for some time, and it’s a white-knuckle situation. He’s waiting for a lung transplant. His last visit with the doctor did not exactly contain good news. This amid ongoing snarls with prescriptions, oxygen deliveries, and blood tests. If you’ve ever dealt with a major illness in yourself or someone you’re close to, you’re probably nodding and saying “amen” right now. Healthcare in America is kind of a Rube Goldberg machine. (If you don’t know what that is, click this link to find out, and also to have a good laugh.) Not that the problems are simple. Just that the systems designed to solve them often seem considerably more complicated than they need to be. Patients and their families have to deal with all this while balancing on the razor’s-edge possibility of losing a loved one soon.

Then there were The Adventures of Nellie the Cat. Owing, we think, to a week’s worth of noise and activity due to the cutting of our redwood trees (see the last issue of OC, “Be Good Till I Get Back”) and their replacement with a slew of little bay laurels, this combined with house guests and well-wishers, one of our cats, Nellie, decided to pack her kitty bags and travel to parts unknown in search of Peace. (Well…I’m sure I’m projecting. But that’s what I imagine she would tell us if we understood the language of cats, God help us. Peace. Would it be so much to ask?) She disappeared on Thursday morning. There ensued a flurry of phone calls to animal shelters and chip registries, the printing and posting of 50 “Lost Cat” flyers, and much walking up and down streets while tapping a cat dish with a fork and crying, “Heeeeeeer kittykittykittykittykitty. Dinnertime, Nellie!” To no avail. Well, almost no avail. Someone reported seeing a cat matching her description half a mile from our house, crossing a major street. Prior to that, I was thinking only of hazards like coyotes and hawks. So I had a big new thing — traffic! — to add to my pile of possible CATastrophes. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

In the midst of all this, I’ve been doing those experiments you have to do when you think you might have developed lactose intolerance. I’ve been pretty good about avoiding dairy for the past week, but then, in response to John’s appearance in oxygen gear at our favorite restaurant, the proprietor gave us a Crème Brûlée, on the house. Surely, just a couple of spoonfuls should be all right, shouldn’t they? Not, as it turns out. There were also the steamed clams in a broth that, truth to tell, looked a little milky. I don’t know about you, but for me, one of the best parts of life is good food. It always crops up in my gratitude meditations. Likewise, nothing turns the world bleak faster than an upset stomach.

Last night, I went to bed in a state of complete wretchedness, at a loss to find anything good or comforting about my life. That’s right. My cushy middle-class American life, with a wonderful man, a nice house with a good roof, a soft bed, plenty to eat, and two cats in the yard. Well, one cat, anyway. Nothing good about it at all.

As I lay there in the dark repeating one of my favorite Buddhist metas, “Sweetheart, you’re in pain. Relax. Take a deep breath,”¹ trying not to berate myself for feeling miserable in my prosperity while many people have no home and no food at all, the words of an old song came into my head. It’s from a Rogers and Hammerstein musical, the movie version of which I loved as a kid — “The Sound of Music.” Here’s a clip of it: “My Favorite Things,” featuring the angelic voice and face of a very young Julie Andrews.

“Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things.” What an inspired list! Julie’s advice? “When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.”

Of course, it isn’t simple. It’s easier by far to forget all about the large and small wonders that surround us even in the darkest times. That is why Buddhism offers a special type of meditation designed to lead us from the dark back into the light of joy. It’s known as Mudita meditation. Mudita means appreciative joy. Practiced regularly, it is an excellent mental tonic — a way of balancing the mind, and being present for the goodness of life without denying the parts that cause suffering. How can we practice Mudita? If you have the Insight Timer app (available through app stores), you can find Mudita meditations there. But my friend, Addie deHillster at Moved to Meditate online yoga studio, has developed an excellent PDF worksheet you can download here.

Briefly, the practice of Mudita involves a conscious effort to wish ourselves and others joy, and to stop for a moment now and then to appreciate the good things in our life. Some Muditas are more formal — keeping a daily gratitude journal, for instance, or writing a daily thank you note to someone who has done you a kindness. Others are just a matter of noticing things like raindrops on roses.

If ever you’re in a place where you really can’t think of any “favorite things,” allow me to recommend a wonderful book by the beloved children’s book writer and illustrator, Sophie Blackall, “Things to Look Forward to: 52 Large and Small Joys for Today and Every Day.” Sure, it’s for kids, and childhood is the best time to learn the habitual practice of Mudita. But like all good books for children, it’s for grown-ups, too.

This morning when I got up, still feeling dreary, I noticed our other cat, Penny, pawing at the glass panes of the door that opens onto our garden. There on the other side sat Nellie, looking weary but unscathed, patiently waiting for breakfast. The sun rose in my heart before it rose in the sky! Nellie has spent the day sleeping and getting brushed. Many thanks to all those who sent good wishes and prayers for her safe return.

Photo of Nellie by yrs truly

1. Full credit for this wonderful meta goes to the well-loved Jewish Buddhist teacher, Sylvia Boorstein, whose book, “That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist,” is one of the lights of my life.