Embrace Your Curiosity

Cats are skilled negotiators. And none is more skillful than Uma Maya, Empress of Chatsford Hall. She's able to convince me to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, without a single word. I believe that Catherine the Great had the same effect on the Orlov brothers.

Uma is now too old to climb the stairs, but that’s hardly a problem for her; whenever she feels the urge to view the world from a second‑floor window, she simply has me carry her up. In fact, she’s gone so far as to train me.

Each morning at 6:00 AM, I get out of bed and make my way to the bottom of the staircase, where I find her waiting for me. She is already in position, looking up the stairs. I place one hand under her chest and one behind her butt. She then sits in my hand, and up the stairs we go.

Uma’s methods are far less grandiose than C the Great’s, but her quiet persuasion has left an indelible mark on our mornings together. The ritual of carrying her up the stairs has become a central part of our bond, a small daily ceremony that reflects the quiet, intricate ways we share our lives.

There’s a very specific reason she wants the window seat at that hour: the big yellow school bus stops on the street just below. Her face lights up with excitement as it arrives, brakes squealing, lights flashing in the pre‑dawn darkness, while the children make a great fuss to climb aboard. I admit that I, too, find it an exciting way to start the day.

You’re probably wondering how and why a grown man can be so easily manipulated by a nine‑pound calico furball. But if I tried to explain, I’d have to start with my lonely childhood, when my only companions were imaginary friends. From there, I’d be compelled to talk about the inferiority I felt throughout my teens, the isolation that followed, and how it all pushed me toward alcohol and drugs during the decade of excess. 

No one really wants to hear all that. Besides, we all struggle in one way or another, and we all get through hard times in our own way, dancing to music no one else can hear. It's a story for another day.

The short of it is that the morning ritual I share with Uma is a healing balm for the slings and arrows that I share with the rest of humanity. As one good friend recently put it, We are, all of us, just a complex mess!

I love watching this old, furry friend of mine as she gazes at the bus we fondly call Juliet. We borrowed the name from a familiar line: “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the…” big yellow school bus. The phrase belongs to the Bard, not Google’s Bard, but the one from Stratford-upon-Avon, who had a way with words that generative AI can only aspire to in its dreams.

Uma’s intense curiosity makes me wonder whether she feels she’s missing something by not getting on that bus. Perhaps she imagines that a day in school might reveal the finer points of stalking mice. It’s impossible to know, of course. Cats keep their deepest passions close to the heart.

Her unwavering fascination taught me that curiosity knows no bounds. Just as she ponders the mysteries of the passing bus, I wonder about the ever-changing world around me. 

Uma’s quiet eloquence inspires me to embrace my own curiosity. As I see it, the constant pursuit of understanding leads us to life’s unexpected joys. That possibility alone is what gets me out of bed each morning, ready to meet the day with hopeful expectations for a better world.

Why Write At All?

From my earliest years, I wanted to be a writer. It was not that I had any particular message for humanity. I just wanted to write something light and humorous to make me feel better about my own dreary life and maybe, with a little luck, those stories would help someone with a similar life feel better about theirs.

Beignet Lafayette, Cat of the Year for 5 consecutive years.

There was a brief period in my late teen years when my writing teachers in school convinced me that I had some talent and should keep writing. Their encouragement, which I am grateful for, allowed me to think that a muse had called to me and was silently urging me to share the stories in my head. I realize now that if I ever received a call from a muse, it was a wrong number. 

Thank you P.G. Wodehouse for that bit of wordplay.

It's good that I didn't have a message for the world in mind because, after all these years of writing, still not a glimmer of a message has appeared. Unless I get hotted up in retirement, I fear that humanity will remain a message short.”

Whatever the reason, and even if there is no reason, I continue to write.

I have many writing friends who strive to turn out perfectly crafted stories. But not me. I think of my stories as musical comedies; the music plays in the background. I begin with real-life experiences and then look for ways to make them humorous but there must be something genuinely quirky about the actual event. 

When I find the absurdity, I exaggerate it but I don't make things up just to be funny. That's why I sometimes go through a dry spell with nothing to write.

When I can laugh at the circumstances that cause me anxiety, anger, or embarrassment, I feel that I have some control over my quality of life. If I exaggerate the events to make them funnier, so what? The time for concern is when I can't find anything amusing in my daily life.

And so I don't worry about the exaggeration. The story is still true, just a bit more interesting. The Nac Mac Feagals, a race of wee people created by Terry Pratchett, always offered two stories when asked for an explanation. One story contained only the facts. The one the Wee People preferred had elves and dragons woven into it. When people chose the bare facts version, the Nac Mac Feegle would show their disapproval by exclaiming, 

Crivens!

Don't you agree that the Elves-and-Dragon version offers greater possibility for entertainment? And if fantasy doesn't fit in the story, you can never go wrong by substituting cats for elves and dragons.

I suppose the greatest benefit that comes from fictionalizing my daily life is that it allows me to distance myself from the uncomfortable nearness of dark, foreboding thoughts.

In that calm, friendly, sometimes funny space that comes from detachment, I can find hope for today and purpose for tomorrow.

I'm On My Way

Don't know where I'm going, but I know where I've been. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm on my way.

The Circular Journey is a blog that I use as a sort of journal to record my attempts at becoming a better version of me. And yes, despite the numerous indications to the contrary, I do try to become a better at being me. I like to think I'm escaping the limitations of yesterday. 

Despite what Marie Forleo, Gary Vee, and  Seth Godin would have me believe, as inspiring as they certainly are, progress is a slow, difficult, and inconsistent process. It also, for some mysterious reason, causes me to write long, rambling sentences.

Sarah Hall assures me that there is a vast, universal intelligence that loves me and wants only what's best for me. That intelligence is bombarding the entire world with a loving energy that will upgrade our chakras and help us to achieve a higher level of consciousness. 

I'm not sure what's meant by a higher level of consciousness. Does it mean that more of us are becoming twee? I like to think so.

Whatever is meant by that higher-level stuff, it makes me feel better to hear her say it even though I don't know what she's talking about.

And even though I like to listen to her messages from the angels, the help we receive, assuming that we are receiving something, from this all-loving and all-powerful being doesn't make the process any easier or faster.

It would be so nice to say a few affirmations, declare a clear, coherent intention, and become transformed into a new and better mindset. The way they do in movies.

The gist of the matter, for me at least, is that I don't know where I'm going. Not really. I do know where I've been and I didn't like it there. Until I find my Camelot, I'll keep working step by step on my self-improvement journey, which I like to call, The Circular Journey. 

I'm on my way! Fierce Qigong!

I Believe in Magic

Moonlight fell softly like a quiet rain outside my bedroom window and I lay awake watching Abbie as he watched the moonlight. And he did watch the light, quietly, intently, and with a singular purpose. There was just enough pale illumination to outline his ears, ever alert, to the sounds of early morning silence. His eyes, wide open, and curious, reflected the magic of a nearly full moon, and I was able to appreciate that magic as a reflection of his fascination.

It has always been this way since he arrived in our lives. He was only a few months old when we adopted him. The name on his passport reads, Abracadabra, named by the 8 year-old daughter of the foster family that cared for him as a kitten. It seems only a few months ago that Ms Wonder sent a photo to me of a little black and white guy, the markings that we call a tuxedo--black waistcoat, white ascot, white gloves, white spats. Very formal.

Although it has been at least 10 years, I still remember that photo in detail. His eyes were wide and round, as though the world he saw through those eyes was full of fascination and wonder. It was magic at first sight.

I was instantly in love with him. But no, it was something more than love. The wonder that filled his eyes was infectious! I wanted to see the world the way he saw it and I knew I had to have him in my life. We made it so.

We call him Abbie, but his name is Abracadabra, just as the 8-year-old named him. She seemed to feel it imperative that we know everything about him that she knew--the games he liked, the food, the way he preferred to be petted. We understood the emotion that caused her to insist that we care for him the way she had. We understood perfectly. It's like being enchanted by fairy music. Once you enter fairyland, you never want to come back.

We considered Abbie a loner when he first came to live with us. A loner and an explorer. I suppose one would feel compelled to explore if infected by the wonder-lust reflected in those eyes. One of his favorite spots to explore was the top of the kitchen cabinets. Many times, when counting cats before leaving home--an activity I highly recommend when you live with 5 cats--I would wander the house calling Abbie! Abbie! At last, remembering to look up, there he would be, atop the kitchen cabinets, watching me. Wonder eyed!

Although the other four cats accepted a routine of twice-daily feedings, Abbie preferred small meals, several times each day. He somehow convinced me to willingly comply with his wishes. For the last 10 years, I've gotten up at least twice during the night to feed him. And the amazing part, the wondrous part, is that it never bothered me. Enchanted!

How could one not fall in love with a little guy that had started sleeping with you, in the same spot every night, just so he could let you know when he was hungry without waking the entire house. Each night when I go to bed, I smooth the spot that is his spot in anticipation of his arrival. Eventually, I wake to his presence and his quiet little "brrrppt" that lets me know it's time to eat.

He developed a routine to communicate with us at mealtime, or should I say to train us. The procedure involved stretching the right foreleg to touch my leg with his paw--meaning that he would like another spoonful--then moving toward the door and looking back over his shoulder toward me to let me know that we could return to bed.

He loved the sound of ice tinkling in a glass or bowl. Simply adding ice cubes to his water dish would bring him racing from some remote part of the house to enjoy a long, cool, sip.

Lying there in bed on that February morning, I thought of all those things and more. I thought about how much we had bonded, he and I, in the last couple of years. I thought of the other four cats and their health issues, and the fact that Abbie was never ill.

"You and me," I said to him while stroking his back. "You and me forever."You will probably be here with me when the others are gone, I thought. It was only a week later that we had to say goodbye to him.

It is so very true, what my friend Bob says about them. "They are so small and yet they take up so much space in our lives, and when they leave us, they leave a great empty space in our hearts.

Abbie has left that great empty space in our hearts and his leaving has shattered a bit of that enchantment, tarnished something of the wonder. But that won't last long. I know that it will change because Ms Wonder and I will be eternally grateful to him for that gift of wonder and we will strive to remember that his leaving can only enhance it in the long run.

Thank you, Abbie! That early morning when you and I enjoyed our last full moon together, you taught me that even on the darkest night, one need never lose the enchantment and wonder of this great, wide world. You taught me to believe in magic.

Traffic Was Terrific!

"Genome!" I heard my name as soon as I stepped inside the door to Native Grounds. It was my two favorite caffeine addicts who, bless their hearts, had not expected to see me on this Easter morning.

I faced them and opened my arms wide to show that I was as happy to see them as they were to see me. Lupe immediately jumped up as though a stick of dynamite had warmed her seat and she began doing her Genome dance to the amazement and amusement of the holiday morning crowd.

"We didn't think you'd be here this morning," said Claudia. "Wasn't the traffic terrific?"

"If by terrific you mean terrific as in the song, There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays," I said. "As I remember, the words are, From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the traffic is terrific. If that's the meaning, then I'd have to issue a resounding, No."

"You may not be aware," I said, "but the Memorial Bridge has reopened! That makes this day not only a holiday but a zippy-dee-do-dah day!"

"Wonderful!" they said in two-part harmony, or so I like to think.

"Yes," I said, "so much better than the previous weeks when Wind Horse was forced to circle the city before getting the all-clear to enter the downtown traffic stream. As I remember, the exact instructions from the traffic controllers were, Tuscon, you're cleared for landing as long as you stay in the two right lanes then take the second exit to 3rd Street Wilma. 

Upon hearing that last statement, Lupe gave me a crooked smile and shook her head to indicate that she'd rather I didn't go there.

"Complicated," said Claudia, "sounds like landing instructions for an airplane." Lupe turned toward her with a wrinkled brow. She seemed to think that we'd been diverted from the subject at hand. She was right of course but the whole thing suited me well so I continued to move it along.

"It was only Princess Amy up to her usual hijinks in an anxious moment," I said. "Last week you will remember, I was quite nervous about being in the left lane when I needed to be in the right. The traffic next to me was so dense, I couldn't see any possibility of merging."

"What did you do?" asked Claudia. Lupe placed her arms akimbo--is that the word I'm looking for--and then stamped a foot. She didn't approve of the direction of the conversation and wanted to make it clear.

"Princess Amy got hotted up," I said, "and shouted, Be worried!", but I remained calm and reassured her that although I was a bit nervous about the situation, it was not my first time."

"But when the truck ahead of me tried to occupy the same space that Wind Horse was occupying, I asked the Universe if there was anyone in the next lane who knew how to safely and responsibly drive a car. I also reminded her--the Universe--that a safe driver who had not had fish for dinner would be preferable."

"What did fish have to do with it?" asked Claudia. Lupe sat down and began thumbing through her phone. No doubt she was looking for something to help pass the time.

"Fish?" I said. "I'm afraid you have me in deep waters there. I heard it once in my youth while watching the movie Airplane, and thought that if it was important when flying then it was probably important when driving."

"Today is Easter," said Lupe, and I don't have to tell you why she brought up this new subject when the subject at hand was completely bereft of Easters.

I decided to give the young geezer a break, meaning Lupe, not Claudia, and follow the path of her diversion as though I didn't notice her attempt at misdirection.

What I had noticed when she mentioned the holiday was that a throng of coffee addicts, all of them complete strangers, never before seen in the Castle Street District, occupied Native Grounds this morning. All of them were probably visiting the metropolis of Wilma to take Mom to Easter brunch.

All these unfamiliar faces gave the place an air of Bizzaro Bean Traders. Not a pleasant experience by any reckoning. Still, it was made tolerable by the unique aroma of the globally grown and locally roasted.

All in all, I'd say it was a pleasing gift of a fine spring day and one worthy of appreciation. I wish you a day just as fine today. Thank you for being here to share a little piece of my holiday. Jah's blessings to you.