No, this is not an entry about Buddhism. I am grateful for my not-so-small and not-so-normal cat, Zen. Zen turned 11 this year, which is hard for me to imagine, as it seemed like just yesterday I was adopting a tiny runt with gigantic headlight eyes.
Zen is having a difficult time with the recent move. She has never lived with another cat before, aside from her litter-mates way back when, and I believe her poor eyesight is adding to her insecurity because she cannot track Torgi’s movements very well. Regardless, our little family persists, and I am hopeful that in a few more months we will all be adjusted to the new living arrangements.
Zen is round like a little football, and still very strange, and she is devoted to me. When I am sad or lost, she is unfailingly comforting. When I am stressed, I have dreams of Zen escaping from car windows or back doors, and I cannot find her. These are obviously fabrications of my twitchy mind because when Zen escapes in waking life she just crouches down and sniffs until I grab her and drag her back inside.
On the hardwood floors, her little stomps resonate through the quiet house, and I am comforted just knowing she exists.
(This entry is part of one month of gratitude.)