“I have lived with several Zen masters -- all of them cats.”
[Eckhart Tolle]
Every morning, when we wake to start our day, Hachi immediately greets us with a strong series of cries that I firmly believe could best be translated as "Good morning. Breakfast? Breakfast? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST??" He's polite and/or patient enough to not try to wake us. I've had cats that would climb on you and breath in your face to try to rouse you. He doesn't do that. He'll sleep at the bottom of the bed or wait nearby, or sit on the windowsill (warm weather) or radiator below the windowsill (cold weather). But once alarms start going off, he knows that means it's time for us to get up, and that means it's time for breakfast. He, like me, is a creature of habit.
I wake each morning with an odd discomfort in my stomach. I believe it's a side-effect of a medication I have been taking for years, because I first noticed it only after I'd first started taking it regularly, and its side effects are all on the digestive tract. When my stomach is empty it's not just uncomfortable but can be quite painful. The more empty, the more painful it gets, such that fasting for a blood test is a terrible experience, but most mornings - provided I had my usual late evening snack - are just a discomfort until I get something in me. It's not a big deal. I think of it as a reminder that it's good to start your day with breakfast - something I didn't do for years prior - and Hachi certainly agrees. Food first!
When we go downstairs for breakfast and to feed Hachi, he resists being pet or picked up. He has no interest in affection while he is hungry. He's not even always truly hungry; sometimes once you set the food in front of him he sniffs it and walks away and will come back later to eat. He just needs that box checked. It's his routine, and he sticks to his routine.
After he eats, or at least after he knows breakfast is set out for him when he gets hungry, he wants to play. He'll try to lead you to the hallway where his toys are. He may even tag you on the leg and run away, hoping you'll chase him.
I work from home these days, and nine times out of ten I have what I refer to as "my 9 o'clock meeting". At 9am (almost punctually, which is a little creepy), Hachi will come to where I'm working and rub against my legs and meow a few times to be picked up and set in my lap. There he will lie down and purr and cuddle into me. If I'm wearing a wool sweater and wrap him up in it, he'll purr extra loud and stay extra long. He's usually there for about 10-15 minutes, or until an outside noise startles him, after which he'll either leave or move to a nearby chair to sleep.
This is our cat's morning routine: Eat. Play. Love.
I'm off today, so I'm upstairs instead. I started writing this just before 9am. He arrived about that time, meowed as if so say "You weren't in your office!" and is now curled up asleep next to me. If Liza-Ann were home, he'd spend at least some of his day in her lap or curled up near her. When Dan returns from school he'll spend some time at the foot of Dan's bed, purring away curled up next to his legs.
When suppertime approaches, it will be the same routine again. He'll scream about supper. He'll want to play just after. In the evening he'll often curl up between Liza-Ann and I on the couch when we're watching TV. (He recently binged all six seasons of The Expanse with us and I think he only missed maybe two episodes.)
It's a simple life, and an incredibly good one. I try to do the same but work and errands obviously consume far more of our lives than any of us would prefer. The errands I don't resent. Life has certain requirements. The work I used to enjoy, but these days not so much. My stress to satisfaction ratio is on tilt. I look forward to retiring, hopefully in about ten years, give or take. I'm envious of our cat, you see. He seems to have adopted the lifestyle I want.
Liza-Ann, Dan, and I are universally agreed that Hachi is the best thing we've ever purchased. We provide him a good life, and in exchange he provides us with comfort, consolation, and a powerful lesson in Zen philosophy:
Eat. Play. Love.
We should all be so fortunate.
