Cat Zen

"Poopsie," I said and if I was taking liberties with the familiar form, what of it? I was in a stir and needed soothing. And that soothing I needed immediately. Nothing like that cat in the adage stuff--the one that let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would.'

"Poopsie," I said, "it's another morning. Can you believe it? Consider the odds, I mean. Wouldn't you think that any day now we should begin without a morning. Otherwise, it's just one damn thing after another. Whatever are we to do?"

"Speaking for me," she said, "I'm on my way into the office and you, if you will follow my suggestion, will complete some of the things on that list I gave you."

"Forget lists," I said, "this is no time to be thinking of lists. Hell's foundations are shaking."

She gave me a look, not thoroughly compassionate but not totally lacking either. Then she said, "What are you talking about?"

"Ms. Wonder," I said, with some topspin, "have you not been paying attention? The world has jumped the rails. We're off the path. Last week, if it could go wrong, it did and now the same is happening this week. Consider Uma for example. She disappears."

"She has found a new hiding place that we don't know about," she said with a sanguine smile, "but she hasn't disappeared into thin air."

"I beg your pardon," I said. "Thin air is exactly what she has disappeared into. She takes a few steps toward the hallway each morning and then poof--gone."

"Not poof--gone," she said.

"Yes, poof--gone," I said.

We stood there for a moment or two, giving each other the eye and sizing each other up. You know how it is when two strong personalities are in close juxtaposition, if that's the word. The atmosphere can somethings get thick.

"Maybe you should try meditating, like Eddy here," she said reaching to stroke the back of the cat who sat on the toilet seat staring into the trash-can, as he does every morning.

"I meditate!" I said. "I teach others to meditate too. That's what I do. I immerse myself in meditation."

"Yes, but Eddy meditates first thing every morning right after breakfast."

"He's just lethargic from eating so much food," I said.

"He contemplates the void," she said still stroking the back of that cat.

"Are you implying that the trash-can and the void are the same?" I asked.

"Think about it," she said. "Everything that goes into the trash-can is considered to be worthless--it amounts to nothing. No matter how much you put in, the contents are always worthless. So the trash-can in that respect represents nothing. Then when you consider that everything is eventually used up or loses it's value and is thrown away, you realize that everything ends up in the trash. Everything becomes nothing. The trash-can, like the void, represents everything and nothing."

I was non-plussed. Wouldn't you have been in the same situation? I mused on this observation for a long moment. This Poopsie Wonder, as I've always said, and as you have certainly found by reading these missives, this Ms. Wonder is amazing. She knows all.

"Do you suppose that Eddy actually contemplates the void intentionally?" I said.

"Probably not," she said, "but do we actually have to be aware that we are meditating?"

"Actually, the essence of meditation of to be aware of nothing but existence," I said.

"Well, there you go then," she said.

"Truth!" I said. And I immediately trained the focus of my attention on trash-cans. I still practice the contemplation of trash cans and their contents. It's not too much different from my former preoccupation of goals and bucket-lists and other such nonsense.

Napoleon or Not

I awoke with that feeling that sometimes comes early in the morning that you need urgent care, or you need to get to Urgent Care in about 3 seconds. I thought I'd swallowed a migration of butterflies but was relieved to discover that it was only Ben's tail. You're familiar with Ben, of course, the Ragga-muffin cat, properly referred to as Beignet. 

As soon as I could breathe again, I bounded out of bed, and seeing a cloud of steam and a small river coming from the salle de bains, I knew Ms Wonder must be within. I desired her thoughts on a subject of interest and so I waded into the stream. A raft of ducks appeared out of the mist and swam out the door and into the bedroom.

Beignet Lafayette

"Poopsie?" I said, directing my voice toward the sound of rushing water.

The torrent of water stopped abruptly and presently a Venus-like form appeared. Two emerald-green eyes gave me a look that made me think that my pajama top and bottom were mismatched but no, a quick glance in the mirror told me that the corn-flower blue pants and the heliotrope t-shirt were parfait.

"What?" I said.

"Why are you wearing Abbie on your shoulder?" she said and I'm blowed if she didn't describe the situation perfectly. I recognized the question, however, as diversionary, and I did not intend to be distracted. I pressed on.

Abbie (Abracadabra) Hoffman

"Oh, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I said lifting the little ninja from my shoulder and placing him on the floor. "If you have a moment, I have something to run up your flag pole."

"Run it," she said in that way she has of moving the story forward.

"Right," I said. "Here it is then, without preamble, having considered this and that, I believe I should stop talking about Napoleon."

Her right hand, which had been meditatively soaping a left arm, stopped abruptly as though the spring had unwound. She made a moue, if it is a moue, where she pushed the lips out and then pulled them back in again.

"I don't get it," she said.

"Simply," I said. "I keep mentioning Napoleon in my blog posts and I think it may be having a disruptive effect on the education of French school children."

"Hold on," she said, "let me get this straight. You've been making negative comments about Napoleon?"

"Of course not," I said. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Some people think of him as a little tyrant," she said.

"Not at all," I said. "An emperor for the little people in my opinion."

 "So you simply reference him in blog posts, perhaps quoting him or mentioning some of his achievements?"

"Well," I said, "I may have mentioned his retreat from the Russian front in a contingency sleigh or perhaps the burning of the French fleet in the port of Cairo but only in the most tasteful and respectful way, you can be sure."

"So what's the problem?" she said.

"Well, it's like this," I said. "I've noticed that whenever I mention Napoleon, that blog post gets a lot of hits in France. I've tried to reconcile this phenomenon and all I've come up with is that French kids are researching their country's history in school and they Google themselves to my blog where I'm sure they're entertained for hours but, unfortunately for them, they gain no useful information for their reports."

"Oh," she said, applying loofah to the left elbow, "I see what you mean."

"I thought you would," I said.

"I think you'd best leave off with Napoleon," she said.

"But only in my blog posts," I said. "I shall continue to follow his example in my plans for world domination."

"Exactly," she said.

"Thank you, Poopsie," I said. I left her soaking in the tub and I went looking for those ducks.

Sagi M'Tesi

The Next Step

I pulled on the leg-bags just as Archimedes, George Washington, and Barak Obama must all have done--one foot at a time. Did Archimedes wear footer-bags? No matter. Ms Wonder tells me that it is the small things in life that make a difference and I'm sure she's not far from wrong because it is immensely reassuring to know that you are in the company of the greats. Then there's the thing about cats. It bucks one up to be in the company of them too, and they are small. Except for Beignet, of course. He's not small is he?

"Well, Poopsie," I said, "how about it?"

Source: Mango Science

During the morning corralling of cats, I had placed her in possession of the latest developments regarding that book. You remember the book I'm working on. It's a guide for coping with the less pleasing emotions--anxiety, depression--that make one wonder why we bother. I can't wait for the book to be published because I know that reading it will change a lot of lives for the better. Maybe even mine. But no matter how many people look forward to the publication, the fact remains that it must get written, and there, as the man said, is the rub. I'll bet it was Shakespeare who said it first. He seemed to have a knack for coming up with catchy sayings. Would have been a superstar in the Marketing Department.

But I was talking about my book. My agent phoned over the holidays to remind me that it's been almost a year since we first spoke of the book. He was expecting to see a draft before now and is pressing me to get on with it. Easy for him, of course. He doesn't have to write the damn thing. Not so easy for me. I feel like the toad must have felt beneath that harrow. If it was a toad. What is a harrow anyway?

"Thought of anything?" I said to the Wonder.

She didn't answer immediately and this silence instilled in me something of the cold hand clutching the heart. What one doesn't want to hear when pressing a trusted advisor for much needed counsel is the still air. I stifled a hollow groan.

I don't know if you've ever had the experience of surprising a mother bear playing in an open meadow with her new-born cub. Me neither. But I can guess the gist of the results. The adrenal glands empty vats of cortisols into the blood stream, the heart races, the breath comes in deep gulps and the face tingles. That's what this hesitation on her part was doing to me now. I fully expected her suggestion, when she finally discharged it, would catch the Genome right between the eyes.

I continued to dress but my heart wasn't in it. I socked the feet with trembling hands, reminding myself that I was enough for anything that life was about to bung my way. The thought helped a little but it didn't completely erase the feeling that the spinal cord had been left in the fridge past the expiration date.

"It may be," I said, hoping to bolster up the spirit, "that you don't have the whole of the situation clear in your mind. Let me itemize the facts."

"The shirt," she said, and I was relieved to hear that she had changed the topic. "One strives for a straight button-line from neck to waist."

"But I have ankylosing spond...."

"There," she said as she tugged on the front of my shirt. "Perfect"

"Thank you, Poopsie."

"Not at all."

"There are times, when I wonder if gig lines matter," I said.

"The mood will pass," she said.

"I don't know why it should," I said. "Without a solution to this problem, my life will be meaningless. Unless something pops up in my morning meditations I will be lost. Solutions do sometimes pop up, don't they? As though out of the blue?"

"Archimedes is said to have discovered the principle of displacement suddenly during his bath," she said as though remembering something her grandmother had told her.

"Was that a big deal?" I said.

"It's generally considered to have been a very important discovery just as it's generally regretted that he was later killed by a common soldier."

"Aren't you confusing Archimedes with the tai chi master who developed the Five Animal Frolics?"

"Hua Tou was killed by a mistrustful army general, I believe," she said.

"Still," I said, "one soldier is much like another but what's all that got to do with my situation?"

"Well," she said,"it couldn't have been a pleasant experience for either of them."

She spoke truth, of course, and I mused on her words. There seemed to be a lesson for me hidden there. I made a moue. I remember thinking how odd it was. It is moue isn't it, where you push out the lips and then pull them back again?

"We do what we must do," she said, "and often the best course of action is to do the next thing in front of us."

"Is that what great men do?"

"Great and small," she said.

"Alright," I said. "Today I'll organize what I have of the chapters and then first thing tomorrow, I'll get started on bringing the book to a finish."

"And deliver it into the agent's hands," she said.

I'm not sure what Napoleon would have had to say about all this but I've noticed that sometimes we find ourselves operating without benefit of a great general. I noticed it now. The room was completely absent of generals. I sighed deeply and resigned myself to finishing the draft of that book. It is, after all, the next thing in front of me.

Can't Stop Us Now

Sunshine stole across the mews from the general direction of the Atlantic Ocean, not that it was remarkable in any way. I mean, I'm damned if I know how it's done--smoke and mirrors probably--but that old sun rises each and every morning and has done so for a good long time if what I read is true. 

Statistically, it has to fail one day soon, of course, but the Genome doesn't plan to be around when it does. If you're smart, and I readily accept that you are smart, you'll book your getaway with me.

But, as I say, sunshine stole, and then it oozed its way through the gates and onto the grounds of Chadsford Hall. It made its way up the outside wall to the second-floor bedroom window, and if you're wondering how then you won't be surprised to learn that I too wonder how. Perhaps it climbs up the waterspout.

The morning was a perfect ringer for the one we'd been waiting for, Ms. Wonder and I, and we had a song in our hearts when we rose and began preparing for our trip. I think I'm not exceeding the limit when I say the general mood was bumpsie-daisy.

The reason for our whatsit was waiting for us at Litchfield in our sister state to the south. It was twenty years ago this very month that the Wonder and I published our very first travel article in the Birmingham News. We were on our way to those same Eden-like gardens to do yet another article, one that our biographers may recall as, Brookgreen Gardens, Then and Now.

The Genome that waded through a half-dozen cats and padded across the Persian carpet was not the usual Genome. The spirit was high. I may have sung a few lines of "59th Street Bridge Song" and if I didn't sing, then I must have hummed a few bars.

When I reached the sal de bains, I entered a world of mists and fruitful mellowness, and I expected to find Ms. Wonder in attendance. I was not disappointed. She was there, bubble-covered and lilac-scented to the core.

"Good morning," I called into the billows of steam.

"Oh, you startled me," she said.

"Not like you startled me," I said, "I thought you were Venus, rising from the sea."

"You came to bed late," she said.

"Went for a walk in the garden," I said.

"Good for you," she said, "the garden is nice late in the evening. Very soothing."

"That's your view, is it?"

"And the stars," she said.

"What about the stars?"

"You know," she said,"the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold."

I immediately realized that she was coming dangerously close to the blessed damozel leaned out from the gold bar of heaven and so I decided to take prompt action through the proper channels. This is the way of the Genomes and I'm sure it was the same with Napoleon. I'm sure you agree.

"Poopsie," I said.

"How does it go?" she asked, "the smallest orb in his motion like an angel sings..."

"Poopsie."

Such harmony is in immortal souls..."

"Poopsie!" I cried and the sound of my voice dislodged a cat from a bubble cloud at the foot of the tub. It turned out to be Eddy. The cat I mean, I don't have names for bubble clouds. He gave me one of those looks that cats sometimes do give when not happy about the circs.

"What?" said the Blessed Damsel.

"You couldn't possibly put a sock in the floor of heaven, could you?"

"Sorry," she said. "Not in a good mood then?"

"I've been loonier," I said.

"I'll say," she said.

"Pardon me?" I said.

"Looney to the eyebrows," she said.

"I'm in the room," I said. "I can hear you."

"Sorry," she said, "Are you still thinking about the lost opportunity at Straw Valley?"

"Definitely, not," I said. "I work through these little setbacks and then get on with life. Live for today, is my motto."

"Still," she said, "It's a sad thing to lose a gazelle."

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "don't try me too high. I'm not in the mood to discuss gazelles."

"Over it then?" she said.

"No doubt about it. Fierce living is the thing you know. Take life just as it's hurled at you." I said.

"Good," she said, holding out a shapely arm with the expectation that the Genome would put a towel in it. As it happened, she was not disappointed. "Then it's a good day for the low-country. Let's get ours while the getting's good."

"I'm with you," I said. Sometimes all it takes to turn the tide is being in the presence of the people who are on your side. If you don't have someone on your side, I suggest you give it a try. Try it now and if you have trouble finding someone, don't worry; you can can count on me.

In the Beginning--Kapow!

‘In the beginning’, was the way the paragraph came up to racing speed, and I mention only because I remember how odd it seemed at the time. But that's a side issue and need not detain us here. The book was written by a prestigious member of the Carnegie Institution’s geophysical community named Robert Hazen. I only mention that for legal reasons. What I really want to tell you is that this paragraph contains one of the most fascinating scientific observations of the century on the subject of the origins of the Universe.

The book is titled, “The Story of Earth,” and the paragraph continues to say that all space, energy and matter came into existence from—nothing! I know! According to the author, before the Big Bang, there was nothing and then, in an instant, there was everything needed to make...well, to make today.


This is the point where we raise the eyebrow and direct one of our patented looks at Mr. Hazen and the rest of the astrophysicists, if that's what they're calling themselves these days. And why do we raise our collective eyebrows? Because, of course, we've heard it said a thousand times that scientists don't put any value on ideas for which there is not a single shred of evidence and yet this is exactly what they would have us believe.


Where is the evidence that something can come from nothing? You will find no evidence for it in this world. In making this astounding claim, the astro-scientists are putting themselves in the company of creationists and magicians.


But that's not what I want to explore with you today. I know that you're time is valuable and I don't want to wast a moment of it. No, the real punchline came when the author hauls off and let's have it on the ear bone with this natty observations: “The concept (there being nothing one moment and the entire univers the next) is beyond our ability to craft metaphors."

I admit, this statement left me non-plussed for probably two or three seconds, and I meditated on it as Ms. Wonder and I began our hike along the American Tobacco Trail. I continued to focus on this conundrum with unusual ferocity for some time as we entered that zone of village chaos, with the bicyclers, the double-tandem strollers, the roller-bladers, the “on your lefters” and whatnot.

So focused was I that a near collision ensued with a passing perfect Stormy as she legged it along the trail with a hearty “what-ho” and possibly a dog or two in tow, possibly. I was still paying close attention when we made the turn and headed down the home stretch for the finish line—so fiercely observant was I that I almost missed M. Beck, training for the United States Marine Corp marathon, even though she was tootling me as she passed.

It was at the moment that this Beck was “Hi Genome-ing” that I had an Archimedes moment. You will remember Archi, plashing around in the bath tub, sloshing water all around and shouting 'Eureka!' and whatnot. Not that I wouldn't have done the same in the circs. And that's just what I did shout when the mental machinery sorted through all the data and I found just the metaphor that the author of the book thought beyond our ability.

How had I not seen it right away, I wondered. It was in front of the nose all along. In fact, it was in front of the paragraph. The metaphoric explanation--contained in a very famous book, by the way--for the concept of everything in the Universe coming from absolutely nothing in a flash begins with those same words—“In the beginning….”

I'm sure you saw it immediately. Can't get anything by my loyal fans. And, come to think of it, I'm sure Mr. Hazen realized it too. He was just teasing us. Don't you think so?