Tea Party With My Cat

I sat upstairs this morning in the room I am using while my parents are here. 

In front of the big windows framing tree tops with bird neighborhoods, we have a bistro table on which, right now, sits a ceramic lamp, a green chipped vase with dusty white flowers and two stacks of books. I sat on one side eating my breakfast muffins and drinking fizzy flavored water and Lennon, our cat, sat at the other chair looking at me. 

His eyes said he was prepared for a tea party so I broke off just a crumb from my muffin and sat it on the table in front of him. He politely stood and placed his hands upon the table, then leaned forward to eat the crumb. He sat back down on his chair, stared at me (he finds me fascinating), and asked for more.

Cats are marvelous. You can play your Glenn Miller big band music CD over and over and they never yell, "Oh for goodness sake! Can't you play something different for a change?" That virtue makes them wonderful tea party companions because you can sit silently and read your Victoria Magazine and dream or you can choose to talk to your cat, steering the conversation wherever you want it to go. 

Either way is fine with them, as long as you toss an occasional muffin crumb their way.

One sunny autumn morning I had a pen light and I shined it everywhere along our walls in our sunroom and watched our cats' heads go left and right and left and right. I remember thinking, "This is one of the best things about life. This is Life, actually, and there's no other place I'd rather be."

I try not to forget things like this. Life is millions of small moments with just an occasional big moment thrown in. (It's not the other way around.)

And since there are millions of small moments, I want to make the most of them--not complain or wish they were different. May I remain awake for each one so that I'll miss nothing.


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