the busy woman and the cat
by ellen laPenna

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she was busy! She was busy like everyone else in her wacky culture, except that she was also a bit manic and scattered. She had a to-do list, thankfully. But even that didn’t keep her focused. Her beloved cat would watch her skitter from room to room, as she tried to accomplish first one thing, and then abruptly, another—suddenly remembering that it, too, was important.

And so the days went as they lived together in the simple little house the woman recently purchased. The cat, named Seraphim, tried to engage the woman in play. Dressed in his shimmering, lynx-like coat, he would lure her with a plaintive meow into the little front yard under the old dogwood trees. “Come play with me. I’ll bring in more dead creatures if you don’t,” he would silently threaten.

Often her desire to be a good “mom” would compel her to drag a vine or very long blade of grass along the lawn for him to catch (she had not yet purchased a weed-eater). Her favorite part was watching Seraphim capture the green snaking thing in his mouth and then parade about with his feathered tail high. “I have captured the transgressor, for all to see,” he would boast. And the woman would follow him about, as if she were on a leash of his own making.

This play would go on for 10 minutes at best, until the woman just had to get back to all the important things she needed to do: read those reports, make that phone call to the friend whose mother was dying, continue the ridiculously slow process of unpacking the ceiling-high boxes that filled the living room. And she would go back to the scurrying, feeling light on her feet, and empty, with the adrenaline rush.
Still, she would often stop to pet Seraphim, who had fur as soft as a rabbit’s. She truly loved these little breaks. And he didn’t mind, for her fingers were nimble and sensitive, and would find all his favorite spots beneath his exquisitely patterned fur. But like many cats, his tail would eventually start to twitch, and she knew an underlying tension was mounting. It would quickly peak, and he would start to kick and bite. She would protest when he was close to really hurting her, and he would heed her complaints, reluctantly. Still, with her psychology background, she didn’t want him suppressing anything, so she allowed his animal outbursts to a limited degree.
What could be frustrating him, she wondered? I do play with him, and he eats almost a can of that darn beef-and-wheat-germ stuff that costs $1.25. I pet him all the time, and I don’t force him to stay inside or in my arms. I clean his litter pan daily.
One night, after they had been particularly close, with lots of playing and petting, the kick-and-bite routine began again. This time, she strongly asked Seraphim, inside her own mind, what was the problem. She really wanted to know and, much to her surprise, he told her.

“Just be with me,” he said. “You are always petting me, which I like, but you are doing it out of habit or trying to fit an idea you have of being a good person, a good “mom.” Slow down. Just be in your heart with me.”

Yikes . . . she had heard him speak inside her own mind, and he meant it, too. For when she stopped petting him and let her consciousness fall deeply into her own body, into her heart, she felt him soften. She let her mind be easy and relaxed as she dropped within, feeling the loving connection she naturally had with him. It wasn’t about doing anything. Slowly she brought up her hand to gently meet his paw. He sweetly flexed against her. She moved her face closer to seal the gesture, but it was a false move. He recoiled, grimacing and curling his paws away from her. To give him some space, she scooted back to lean against the refrigerator as he lay in the wooden kitchen chair. She closed her eyes and sat alone, feeling the connection again. She stayed this way for sometime, enjoying the moments of peace and of silence. She could feel her heart. And this is what he had really wanted. Beyond expensive food and time for play, he had wanted her to be connected – connected to him and connected to herself. How about that for true love?

Ellen LaPenna is a freelance writer and editor, who also enjoys using her psycho-spiritual, healing and creative skills to assist individuals and groups. She lives in Asheville with her beloved Seraphim.

[ 828.277.6400; Ellen.LaPenna@bigfoot.com ]