Catbliss
Some Psychology

For me, the reincarnation fantasy has never included whether I would return as a male or female, live in the United States or abroad, or become wealthy, famous and idolatrous versus simple, chaste and poor.

Nope, I have been torn between breeds. Maine Coon or Manx, Bengal or Burmese, Himalayan or all around tom cat -- I'd trade the ability to reason with the right to cop an unjustified attitude any day.

And that's not all. Although I can't prove it, I suspect that my cat has never had the following dialogue run between her perky ears.

"I should get up and play now. Really, I should get up and move. I am so lazy. No one is lazier than I am. I'm fat, too. I shouldn't have eaten all the kibble in my dish. I'm too fat to live. I'd better run around the block now. No, I'd better run around it twice. Well, I'll go as soon as I count to 20. One. Two. ...

"Uh-oh, I can't go until I find my collar with the rhinestones and the bell. Fluffy might see me. She always has a better collar on than I do. Buster likes her more than he likes me. Everyone likes her more than me. No one loves me. I'm going to end up fat and alone. I wish I were a Siamese or a bobcat or, no -- a dog!

"Dogs get all the breaks. Maybe if I learn to bark, I can pass as a dog. That's it, I'll start sniffing everything and chewing the furniture and then I'll get my own leash and I'll be important. Oh, I give up. Where is the kibble?"

Instead, she lies on the chair leaning her head into the sunlight for hours without moving. Her eyes remain half slits that open slightly when I coo at her, then close again; her ears lay flat against her head, flicking faintly when I mention her name.

My cat hasn't read a single book on how to think less, enjoy life more fully or slow down. She doesn't agonize over decisions, wonder what God's will is for her, nor does she fear the future. She hasn't practiced being present, listened to guided imagery, nor has she longed to get away.

She does not wonder how much she has in the bank, nor panic when calculating when she can retire.

I can't be sure, but I suspect my cat doesn't spend one moment thinking about the future or the past or herself, for that matter.

She is right here, right now. And every moment is another now. Now. Now. Now. Her thoughts are simple: Sunlight. Flies. Cat food.

Now do you see why I want to be a cat?

It's a mystery to me why humans believe we are advanced life forms. We equate the ability to think and reason as somehow placing us above animals. Yet, unlike our "lower" companions, we spend half of our lives trying to be someone and the other half trying to undo the ideas we acquire about who we are.

Cats start and end up at the goal. Bliss.

As I bolted upright on a recent morning amid a storm of 4 a.m. reasoning, I looked at my guru. There she was, half asleep at my feet on the bed, vibrating me with her deep, rumbling purr.

"No wonder the ancient Egyptians worshipped you," I muttered.

With the sound of my voice, she raised her head ever so slightly, winked at me, and lay down again knowing full well how to begin a perfect day.

Adell Shay in Daily Breeze