Cats don’t need to come to their senses, because they never left.
We, on the other hand, keep wandering off.
You do not need to wonder if CAT is quietly seething about that thing you said, or that liverwurst you failed to offer. CAT does not keep his emotions in a Rubbermaid. CAT does not keep his secrets in a graceful vase. CAT splatters his contents all over his world like an evolving work of modern art.
Let the reader understand that “his world” means “the known world, unknown world, and all worlds hereunto contained under neither aforementioned heading.” (CAT has his attorney review all blog posts prior to publication.)
But if CAT is comfortable letting it all out, that’s only because he’s so skilled at letting it all in.
The fatty opulence of cheddar shreds. The parakeet shriek of CAT2. The long fingers swirling across his stripes like a Zen garden. The dreamscape of Boar’s Head trucks passing his solarium. The odors and vapors of humans, cats, and CAT’s many scented imaginary friends.
CAT flares his five senses like a pair of invisible bell bottoms, and life is so groovy, he can’t help but give back.
When you’re brave enough to taste and see that the world is unyieldingly delicious, your only regret is that you don’t have more senses. So you make it your mission to make dang sure all your friends share in your sensory overload.
If you’re CAT, this means announcing your intentions with your entire body. When CAT is furious, he is faster than Vin Diesel, calling a family meeting for the therapeutic purpose of spitting and biting. When CAT is amused, he incarnates every clown since Eden, minus the creepy ones, which leaves only CAT himself. A feline Robin Williams, he will bear hug you with humor and lovey legs, which in his case are synonymous.
When CAT is hungry, his howls alarm Neptune, waking it from its blue slumber. When CAT is sun-dogged, his bliss has its own time zone, every one of his perfect hairs in perfect alignment with the sun’s axis (“write ‘perfect,’ woman. ‘Perfect’ and ‘dudely’ and ‘righteous’ and ‘inimitable.’ WRITE ‘INIMITABLE.’ Also “him handsomer than Paul Rudds plural”).
When a living creature has spent as long as CAT in the sensory-deprivation tank, it’s little wonder he wants to make up for lost time. CAT’s life was not always so full-fat with affection and squeeze-beef. Lost in the suburbs, nobody’s cat but his own, CAT was lucky if he had time to notice the watercolor sky. When survival smells uncertain, every sense surrenders to bare-bones living. Baring secrets or songs? Don’t be silly.
Silly is the privilege of the loved.
Silly is a full-body experience.
Silly is the shortest route to coming to one’s senses.
And coming to Tabby’s Place is a very good way to get very silly, sentimental, and strong.
CAT can afford to be all of the above — and all of all aboves hereunto contained under no known heading — because Tabby’s Place has afforded him unconditional love.
All his signs are vital.
All his energies are engaged.
All his human friends have hope of wholeness, if we pay attention to our sultan of senses.
So hunt down the golden hour and let it turn you to a container of sun.
Share a string cheese with your favorite genius, feeling and tasting and earning a Nobel Prize. (CAT and his attorney have assured me this is the surest method.)
Listen to the peeping frogs and the shrieking CAT2 and the laughter of your nearest cat’s heartbeat.
Come home to the only body where you’ll ever encounter CAT. That’s proof enough that it’s inimitable.