The Arrival of Zen

 

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This is the photo that told me I needed a third cat.  That old soul sweet face. I had two: Mocha who has an Instagram with 600+ followers and is a person in a cat suit. And Ming, the gorgeous but vacant girl who hides under things unless it’s dinner time.  I had to put Luna my polydactyl down a year ago last May. She was only six. It was horrible.

And then I started sporadically visiting the Facebook page of the rescue I got Mocha from. Nothing. Still nothing. Then…

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I know. Right?  She’s black. No Grey. No… well. She was three weeks old here and had been bottle fed. She loved people. I just knew. My gut was peaceful, my lips in a soft smile and I shook my head.

This one. 

So we waited till she was 12 weeks old and went to pick her up.  Brought one of those pet store pet carriers that’s really just a cardboard box with holes in it and a handle.  We got into the car and that little kit would have NONE of it. Panting. Scrambling. Trying to chew her way out. And we had a 1.5 hour ride home. I knew even though I wasn’t driving, letting her out was a bad idea. But she was FRANTIC.

And so.  l Let her out.

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And this is what she did. Climbed up on my shoulder and fell asleep. In bumper-to-bumper highway traffic. She’d look around every so often and go right back to sleep.

I said to my driver/husband. “She’s so Zen!”

Name stuck.  She still is. She’s smart and the other two cats find her balsy. She plays with Mocha and stalks poor Ming who has no idea what playing is (we think Ming had a kittenhood trauma, we got her late).

And now…

She is growing up and nine months old. She sucks on fingers when she can and still plops down on my left shoulder when she can. And is learning a human vocabulary (Dinner, Hungry, Play, Toy, Zen, Out – we have a small netted tent outside she and Mocha go in when I am out on the patio.)

The only issue – she’s so dark I trip or sit on her sometimes.

And in the sun, I am not really sure what color she is.

We are smitten. Even when she snores. And even when she steals food off the table.

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Cats die everyday…

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Not her. Not yet.
Not StellaLuna.

Not my Luna
My LunaBug
My Poof

Why do we chose to love someone or something (is an animal a “thing” or a “one”?) when it hurts so much when their time on earth ends?

She was a…

  • Five-year-old polydactyl torbie cat
  • Who sat like a ballet dancer (toes in front) and crossed her front legs when she walked
  • “Meow”  No. Luna’s voice was a sweet Guinea pig squeak
  • She loved drinking very cold water (ice cube freak)
  • She only ate kitten chow. I called it Crack. “Want some crack?” Squeak!
  • A brush in your hand – she’d follow you around with her tail up.
  • Terrified of my stepson (too loud and too fast -she hid under the bed)
  • Picked on by Mocha (a year older, not related)

Do cats have souls? Is there an afterlife for them? Is it with humans? Did my dad greet her?

What animals have souls? My sons (14 and 17) both gave this answer. “Maybe it has to do with love.”

Cats die everyday. This one mattered. This one hurts. I feel her absence after only 5 years.

I will miss you, Luna bug. I am glad you are no longer suffering. 

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