Best 09: Day Eight

What is the best moment of peace you reached in 2009 – an hour or a day or a week of solitude? What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?

I grew up with dogs. I am a dog person. But like many other stories I tell myself, all behavior indicates otherwise. I own a cat, you see. I’ve mentioned her before - how she regularly kicks my ass and makes me green with envy for her life of leisure – but now I am forced to admit that she is responsible for my best moments of peace in 2009.

Let me explain.

It has been a challenging year. An emotional year. A how-the-hell-did-I get-here kind of year. The very last thing I want to do is PAUSE and FEEL. So the idea of seeking a moment of peace is slightly terrifying. Moments of peace open up the heart. And I’ve spent a lot of energy this year madly pretending I don’t have one, trying to ignore the feel of it breaking and tearing and, worst of all, growing. Because I’m POWERLESS over all that breaking, tearing and growing. And I kinda, really, absolutely don’t exactly like feeling powerless.

Bastet decoupage stickers via Rainbow Crafts

But this sweet cat of mine must be a direct descendant of all those Egyptian seer’s familiars, despite being an American Shorthair street find, and shrugs off the absurdity of my attempts to avoid myself as only a creature that sleeps 22 hours a day can.

The sneaky little wench traps me. Every single day. And literally FORCES me into a moment of peace.

I don’t know how it even started. But now I’m addicted.

Here’s how it works…

Every night, regardless of how early or late it may be, there always comes a point when I decide it is time to go to sleep. I finally get into bed, turn off the light and settle onto my back to beckon dreams while my thoughts and fears and worries spin chaotically through my mind. It is a time of restlessness.

And then Bella jumps onto my chest and sprawls out along my torso with her nose touching my chin. And COMPELS me to pet her. And so I do.

I pet her, sometimes for only a couple of minutes, sometimes for half an hour.

As I pet her, my heart rate slows.

My brain clears of everything but the feel of her fur through my fingers.

My breath lengthens and deepens.

And she waits.

She waits until I’m at the door of dreamland.

by Alexandria LaNier/flickr

And then she gets up, hops off me and amuses herself with other things.

I don’t know how she knows when I’ve reached the precipice, when I’ve reached a full, flush and free moment of peace, but she does.

Yes, I’m frequently eating cat hair by the time Bella decides I’ve attained some serenity. And yes,  this might weird-out any human bed companion of mine (which, of course, I don’t have at the moment because I have become A CAT LADY). And yes, she does counteract this calming service with an equally effective disruptive one at the witching hour by catapulting herself across every loud surface in the house.

So maybe someday, maybe even in 2010, I’ll take that week or month in a secluded cabin in the mountains or cottage by the sea for an extended stay with PEACE.

For now, however, I wouldn’t trade my daily moments for the world.

And cat hair doesn’t really taste that bad.

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