he is the barometer. this cat of unknown, damaged origin. we are more than 4 years into our mutual adoption and progress has been slow, occasionally moving in a backwards direction.
he decides everything from a highly-skittish and intelligent take on the world, letting me know when and how to be petted. when wet breakfast is to be served. when a kiss on the head is acceptable. most times, it is not. it might lead to things. bad things. like being picked up.
so we dance. mostly just beyond my arm's length, yet his need for contact has become more pronounced. urgent, at times. he has taken to vocal utterances and lengthy morning greetings while i am still prone and under cover in the predawn light.
he is a reflection of the frightened bits of me. the soul-deep cravings held to the known side of the line. the safe and sorry side of the line.
but buddha has suddenly gotten brave. this morning, for the second time in a week, he ventured onto my fleece-covered lap while inclined with book on the couch. in response to the elaborate petting and spinal massage, he drooled copiously. it began as droplets and advanced to sticky strands coating my wrists. perhaps he was once a st. bernard. then, he farted.
the message was clear; it is such a happy relief to simply relax into this life and accept its many glorious offerings. bravery will be rewarded.