Presence: A "Lesson" from My Cat

(I put "lesson" in quotes because I so doubt that cats think in terms of teaching.  They just are, and do, and learn. That's what I suspect.)

After visiting a friend who has a cat, I was thinking back on the good times with my own cat, who died a while back.  One of her absolute favorite things to do was the bathtub game.  She'd hop into the bathtub when I was in the bathroom, then sit expectantly, waiting.  It was hard to resist her.  So, most times I'd grab an old toothbrush, squat down beside the tub, and either tap the toothbrush on the edge of the tub or poke it over just enough that she could see it.

This cat was a street cat, a survivor, who grew up catching her own food.  She never quite grasped the concept of not using her claws, and when she did use her claws, she used them as though she were catching food that her life depended on.  She was highly skilled at this, and she did not hold back in any way.  So, it was very important - VERY important - to make sure that her claws did not come near my hand.

The instant she heard the tapping, or saw the toothbrush appear over the edge of the tub, her pupils would snap open, and her body would sink down just a bit - preparing for the death-spring.  (She apparently didn't care that toothbrushes never die - she was willing to try over and over.)  At this point, I had to be ready to move very quickly indeed, or to bleed profusely.

Those times, playing with my cat in the bathtub, were incredibly fun, and funny.  Part of it was just the pure pleasure of seeing her in action, because she was an amazingly fast, efficient hunter, and cat-beautiful.  Part of the funny was the ridiculousness of making my vulnerable hand her prey.  But part of it was the demand to me to be absolutely, fully present.  If I was not, the consequences were immediate and painful - a great feedback mechanism, eh?  And that's the "lesson" I'm referring to: one of the things I learned with this cat was how it feels to be completely present in a given moment, and also how it feels to be completely present with another being.

I really have a lot to thank her for.

When Nature Comes Calling Part 2

There was another nature incident at my house.  One morning walking through the garage, I heard a strange noise.  It was not a big noise, just a little one; coming from among a stack of stored boxes and things. 

It was a rattlesnake - a very handsome one, too.

I would say I am not scared of them, but that I do have a healthy respect for them.

I've encountered them before, on the trails around Phoenix; I've even been that close to them before (about 1 1/2 feet away).  I've had them rattle at me before.  I've even captured one, using a snake catcher, from my yard and moved it into a nearby vacant area.

I've never had one in my interior living space before, however.

This one was tucked in between some boxes, well protected, very difficult to reach.  I decided to call the local herpetologists.  They came, and quickly and efficiently removed the snake.

Here's the part that keeps tugging at me.  Once the herpetology fellow had placed the snake safely in the container and we were just chatting, I heard a persistent meowing at the back door.  There was a cat out there that I had never seen before.  It was very friendly and very communicative.  I explained to it what was going on, and apologetically closed the door so it wouldn't come into the garage.  Never since have I seen that cat.

Like Gibbs on NCIS, I don't really believe in coincidences.  And, although I don't believe that all of nature is conspiring just to tell me something, I do believe that (a) I can learn from any situation, and often something deeper than initially appears; and (b) there is more to the way things work than I know.  I have no doubt that the simultaneous presence of the snake and the peculiar cat meant something, and was an opportunity for me to learn something about my connection to nature (yes, a link to another Sweet Medicine SunDance teaching).  And the beauty and strangeness of the moment is undeniable.

Leaving me to wonder - and in wonderment.  Though I can't say what it means, I can say that it was a moment of magic.